Chapter 13
13
It was her first time in Avignon. It was only twenty kilometres from St Vianne, but with so much to do and find out about and settle into, she hadn’t had a chance to visit. But she’d received notification that her mobile had arrived at the local phone shop, so had to make the journey.
It had been more difficult than she might have imagined. Without a car, and with no local bus service, she hadn’t been quite sure what to do. A taxi to the town was a possibility, but she’d baulked when she’d enquired about the price. Thirty euros each way was far more than she was willing to fork out for such a short journey.
Adeline wished she’d thought it through more before she’d ordered the phone. Everything on the website had seemed so straightforward – until she’d got to creating a contract for herself. Then she’d needed ID and address details. As she was so new to her rental, she hadn’t yet received a bill addressed to her, so in the end she’d had to go to the mairie where a local official had printed out a proof of residence with painstaking slowness, and stamped it with an official-looking stamp. Now she had to take it to the shop to prove her existence and collect her phone.
Living in London, she’d been so used to stepping out of her house and getting on public transport; and although she’d been under no illusion that St Vianne was anything like London, she’d assumed there’d be some way of getting from A to B. A rickety bus or a local station she could walk to. But clearly not.
She’d just hung the phone up to the taxi service when she heard a cough behind her and jumped. ‘I’m sorry,’ Monique said. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. But if you’re looking for a way to get to Avignon, I can arrange something.’
‘You can?’
The result had been a ride in a van with a ninety-year-old farmer in blue overalls called Grégoire who’d regaled her with graphic stories about birthing lambs that would have made James Herriot turn pale. But somehow, she’d managed to cope and – when he’d dispatched her in the town centre – she’d waved him off, grateful both for the lift and for the fact that it was over.
Then she was alone, standing on an unfamiliar street and somehow back in the heart of things. She’d only lived in sleepy St Vianne for a few weeks but it had lulled her into a different rhythm. It was a shock to see people walking briskly, cars driving past, the number of shops and boutiques that garnished the high street. After a moment, though, she realised she was enjoying being around a little more hustle and bustle – she drew energy from the other people passing and, as she searched for rue de Combles, began to enjoy peeping into artisan boutiques, chocolate shops and shoe stores and doing a little window-shopping.
She’d loved living in London. Loved the vibrancy of the city, the fact that whatever time it was, whatever season, there would be something going on if you wanted to join in. More often than not, especially since Lili had been born, she’d opted to stay at home instead and indulge in her secret passion for reality shows, but had known that London was waiting, ready to welcome her back whenever she was ready.
Since arriving here, she’d come to appreciate the slower pace of St Vianne, the fact that the locals, even those who’d seemed a little suspicious of her at first, were friendly and always exchanged bonjour s. The fact that Lili was now thriving in a class of just eight pupils rather than being lost in a class of thirty or more.
But that didn’t mean she had to hide from everything, she realised, looking at an enamelled bracelet in the window of a jewellery store and wondering whether to treat herself.
Deciding against it, she moved forward again and made her way to the shiny glass front of the Internet shop. Inside, a boy who looked sixteen at most explained the features of her new phone to her as if she was ancient and out of touch – she wasn’t sure whether it was because she seemed decrepit to him, or because she’d told him she didn’t currently have a phone at all – something that was apparently astonishing.
She had to admit it felt nice to slip the new mobile into her handbag and know that she was once more ‘back on the grid’. She’d pass her number to Kevin later, and reset her logins for social media. Get in touch. Share her journey, see what others were up to.
It was cooler today, and as she exited onto the pavement, she pulled her cardigan more closely around her and wondered how she was going to spend the next two hours before her ride home was due. A cafe seemed her best bet, and she took a moment to peruse the few along the street she was on before selecting one with a burgundy awning and outside tables with a few scattered customers inside.
She was just walking towards the door when a woman came up to her, smiling in recognition. ‘ Bonjour !’ she said.
‘ Bonjour, ’ Adeline replied uncertainly.
‘You do not recognise me!’ The woman seemed unfazed. ‘I’m Catherine. Catherine Dupont. You served me in the shop.’
‘Oh, sorry.’ Adeline felt a prickle of heat in her cheeks. ‘It’s been so busy… I…’
‘No matter. I just wanted to say, I’m just so pleased that you’ve come.’
‘You are?’
‘Yes. I couldn’t say it in the shop, with Monique there. But she has been lonely.’
‘Oh, poor Monique.’
‘Yes. Of course she has friends, but family is so important. I heard that Monique had a daughter and I always wanted to meet you.’ Catherine smiled widely. ‘It’s nice for Monique to have you here, I’m sure.’
‘Oh,’ Adeline said. ‘I’m not… I just work for her. I’m not Monique’s daughter.’
Catherine’s kohl-framed eyes registered confusion. ‘Oh. But I was so sure. And… well, you seem so alike…’ she trailed off, her cheeks flushing a little.
‘Don’t worry. An easy mistake to make.’
‘Yes. Perhaps. Maybe I’ve been reading too many books! But I could have sworn Monique said…’ She put a finger to her lips. ‘Ah, no matter. I’m sorry to disturb you.’
‘Not at all.’
Once Catherine had turned and continued along the pavement, Adeline walked into the cafe, breathing the scent of freshly ground coffee, and feeling the warmth of the interior begin to penetrate her thin cardigan. Her hands felt slightly shaky – something about the encounter with Catherine had upset her.
Stepping past the counter with an apologetic wave, she slipped into the toilet and locked the door. Inside was a fairly large, tiled room with a loo, sink and a large mirror. She leaned on the sink and looked at herself in the glass. Her hair hung as always, straight and neat, a few inches above her shoulders. Nothing like Monique’s curls. Dark eyes, but without that extraordinary depth that Monique’s seemed to have. Her face – all she could see was Adeline. She couldn’t make out a shadow of Monique.
So why had Catherine been so sure?
As far as she knew, Monique didn’t have any relatives other than her sister, her mother, and the baby she’d given away all those years ago. A baby who would be decades older than Adeline. There was no way they were related. She rinsed her hands and splashed a little water on her face then made her way back to the counter. She ordered a chocolat chaud and took the tall glass balanced on a small saucer to one of the empty tables towards the back of the seating area to finally begin the arduous process of resetting her social media passwords.
Two hours later Grégoire picked her up, and after another conversation about livestock, she was dispatched close to the shop and, with a thankful wave, watched him disappear around the corner. Then she pushed the door of the bookshop open, inhaling its familiar scent and feeling that she was absolutely in the right place; it had started to feel like home.
Monique wasn’t behind the counter, but on hearing the bell, began to come down from her flat, her small heels clicking on the wooden stairs.
‘It’s only me, Monique! ’
‘Ah, bonjour !’ came the reply. Monique appeared bit by bit: shoes, ankles, the folds of her skirt, until she emerged whole onto the shop floor. She came over and greeted Adeline with a kiss on each cheek. ‘I hope you have your phone?’
‘Yes, back on the grid.’ Adeline grinned.
‘And that you did not hear too much about sheep and cows,’ Monique added with a mischievous look.
Adeline laughed. ‘Well, put it this way, I know more than I’ll ever need to. But thank you, too, for arranging the lift. It saved me a fortune, and a bit of rural conversation was a small price to pay.’
Monique smiled. ‘ Bon ,’ she said. She began to tell Adeline about an order that had come in, and how she was thinking of investing in a new, spinning book stand for the centre of the shop – one to contain new arrivals to catch the eye of customers.
Adeline couldn’t help looking at Monique’s face as she spoke, trying to see any similarity with her own. Something about the lips, perhaps? The eyebrows? But nothing that seemed overtly like a shared feature. She wondered again about Catherine, what had made her jump to the conclusion she had.
‘…in the catalogue,’ Monique finished. Then her brow furrowed. ‘But you are not listening!’
Adeline shook herself slightly. ‘I am!’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. Just a bit distracted. But I got the gist…’ She felt herself flush.
‘Are you OK?’
‘ Oui. Just thinking.’
Monique gave her such a quizzical look at this that she felt she had to say something. ‘It was just I bumped into a friend of yours – Catherine. She seemed to think I was your daughter!’
Monique laughed. ‘Ah, people see what they want to see. Many businesses here have family members working for them. She made a false connection. ’
‘Yes. I mean, I don’t think we look alike, do you?’
‘ Non . I do not see it,’ said Monique dismissively. She seemed to lean forward then, studying Adeline’s features, her eyes darting this way and that as she took in her skin, eyes, nose, lips. She opened her mouth briefly, almost as if she were about to say something. Then clamped it shut.
‘ Non ,’ she agreed. ‘ Rien , nothing.’
A silence settled over them as they carried on with their tasks, interrupted by the occasional customer or browser. But once in a while, when she glanced over at Monique, she saw her looking back at her, a thoughtful expression on her face.