Chapter 26
26
There was a limited number of times you could refresh an email page without driving yourself mad, she’d realised over the evening, night and morning that followed her tentative message to the woman who’d given birth to her.
She kept running the words she’d written in her head – she’d kept them brief, not knowing how the woman might respond. Her profile details said that she’d been on the site for four years, so this really would be a bolt out of the blue.
Hi, she’d said. I’m Adeline. Your daughter. Can we talk?
She’d spent at least half an hour deliberating whether to end the message with a kiss. It was ridiculous, really, as she sprinkled them liberally in all her other messages and social media posts – so much so that once a colleague had become convinced she had a crush on him and politely reminded her that he was married. To her, a kiss just took the sting out of a difficult conversation, or simply softened the words above. It wasn’t a literal kiss. If she actually kissed everyone she sent a virtual kiss to, she’d probably have perpetual cold sores .
But she’d left one off this particular missive, not wanting to be overly familiar.
It was horrible, this second-guessing.
The moment she’d sent the email, she’d refreshed her inbox, as if somewhere out there her mum would be sitting and waiting for her and would respond immediately. Then she refreshed ten minutes later, then half an hour.
After this, as she’d left the shop to pick up Lili, she’d told herself she wouldn’t look at her emails until the next day – after which she’d proceeded to break the promise she’d made and had kept glancing and refreshing throughout the evening. Even when she’d woken up at 3a.m. for a wee, she’d quickly touched her phone screen to see if there were any updates.
At this rate, she was going to make herself ill.
Now, at work, she found herself thinking of her phone almost constantly – like a teenager waiting for a text from her crush. It was now sixteen hours since she’d sent the message and nothing had yet arrived, except a special offer from the DNA site she’d used that had almost caused her to hyperventilate when it had pinged in her inbox.
Monique, knowing what was going on, kept giving her sideways glances – the question written on her face. Each time, she’d give a slight shake of the head and they’d both resume whatever they’d been doing before.
In the end, she knew she had to get away from her desk, the computer, her phone. ‘Monique,’ she said. ‘Do you mind if I go for a walk?’
Her boss nodded. ‘Of course.’
Exiting into the open, Adeline breathed as if she’d been released from a dungeon, filling her lungs with fresh air and letting the sunlight play on her face. She’d left her phone under the counter, and already her fingers itched to go and pick it up. But she had to be strong. It could be days. Weeks. The message might never come at all.
This was almost worse than when she’d known nothing, expected nothing.
She began to walk in the bright morning air, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to remember advice from her mindfulness classes – about keeping her head in the moment and not letting thoughts draw her away. It helped a bit. She concentrated on the feeling of her shoe hitting the stone underfoot, the sensation of warmth on her skin from the sun and the slight breeze, the sights, sounds and smells of St Vianne on a sunny, May morning.
She’d walk for twenty minutes, as fast as she could in her sundress and sandals, then turn and march back. And if she could help it (and she wasn’t entirely confident about this), she’d try not to check her messages until after lunch. Or perhaps just before lunch. Or maybe a quick check when she first returned to the shop, then not until after lunch.
Or maybe… But her thoughts were interrupted as she accidentally stepped on an uneven stone on the kerbside. Her ankle twisted beneath her and she found herself sitting awkwardly on the pavement, her ankle giving a sharp twinge of pain and her hip and leg stinging as if slapped.
Instantly, despite the pain, she felt embarrassed and tried to get to her feet. The one or two people close by began to cross the road towards her as she heaved herself up and tried to smile. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, ‘honestly.’
‘Are you sure?’ came a familiar voice. ‘You took quite a tumble there.’
She looked up and realised that one of the hovering spectators was Michel. Seeing his kind, sympathetic face almost made her burst into tears – she wasn’t sure whether this was because of the fall or her state of agonising uncertainty – but she managed to hold it together. Just.
‘Yes, it’s my own fault. Not concentrating.’
Michel nodded at the other man who’d come over to help as if to say, ‘I’ll take it from here,’ and reached out to hold her arm. ‘Allow me?’ he said, dropping into English and putting on an upper-class accent.
She laughed – something that surprised her given the circumstances – and let him. ‘If you insist, sir,’ she returned in her own clipped tones.
They hobbled to a set of steps leading to a house that was clearly locked up and empty – its shutters newly painted, but fastened tightly against the light. She sank onto one of the steps gratefully, rubbing her ankle and her leg with her hand. She longed to rub her bottom too, but seeing as she was in the middle of town, judged that it wouldn’t be the seemliest thing to do.
‘I’m such an idiot,’ she said.
‘Not at all. It is the pavement that is the idiot. It has one job – to be smooth and enable us to walk. And it failed.’
She laughed again; Michel seemed to have a natural talent for cheering her up and she was grateful for it. ‘I’ll be OK,’ she told him. ‘You can get on if you like.’
‘Perhaps in a moment. I’m not in a rush. I am avoiding my desk – I have to mark exams. In fact I was going to the shop – Monique called and asked.’
‘Oh,’ she said.
Their eyes locked.
‘So you just happened to bump into me on the street…’
Michel laughed. ‘She is persistent!’
‘Yes. Although I don’t think even Monique could have engineered my falling over,’ she said, grimacing a little as she flexed her ankle.
Michel made a non-committal noise.
‘Seriously?’
He shook his head. ‘No, but sometimes I do wonder…’
It was hard to know whether he was joking or not.
‘So, are you running an errand for Monique too?’ he persisted.
‘Oh, no. I’m actually just trying to distract myself,’ she admitted.
He looked confused.
‘It’s a long story,’ she said.
‘Well, I have time,’ he offered. ‘And I’m sure that Monique won’t mind if you are a little longer than planned. We could get a drink; you can tell me this long story. I am sure Monique would be very happy about this.’ He rolled his eyes and grinned. ‘Let her think her plan is working!’
She smiled. ‘That’s kind of you.’ And she realised that she absolutely needed to tell someone. She couldn’t talk to Monique, not pour salt on her friend’s wounds over and over. And Chris would take hours to update, when she finally managed to get her on the phone. Kevin was also out. But she couldn’t dump all of this on Michel either. She barely knew him.
‘I…’ she began, her mind racing. ‘I just think it’s probably best…’
‘Ah, you do not have to tell me everything if you don’t want,’ he said. ‘But if I am honest, you look as if you need a friend perhaps?’
To her horror, she felt the prickle of tears again. What was wrong with her? It was the kind of thing people said all the time. Only this time it hit hard. Because she really did. And she was realising more and more that she didn’t have many people she could talk to. Caring for Mum had pushed friendships out of her life, had taken away thoughts of anything else. Now all she had was the void that was left; the space where her life used to be. And she was lonely.
‘Perhaps a quick coffee…’
They began to walk together, Michel’s hand on her elbow supporting her, braced, she could feel, in case she fell again on her weakened ankle.
Finally, they reached the cafe, and Michel pushed the door open and helped her into a chair, sinking into the one opposite with a sigh.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked.
He laughed. ‘Yes, I’m fine. It is a new thing, this sighing when I sit. Perhaps I am getting old.’
She laughed. ‘I doubt that very much.’
They ordered coffees then sat and sipped, and Adeline felt herself telling him all about her turmoil – how she’d dipped her toe into the pool of possibilities but wasn’t sure if she was ready to take the plunge. And how she was both terrified her mother would reach out, and terrified that she wouldn’t.
‘Basically, I seem to spend half my life being terrified at the moment,’ she said with a self-conscious grin.
He smiled back. ‘I understand. I think anyone in your situation would feel this way.’ He leaned forward slightly. ‘But as I tell my pupils, remember that the times that are the most frightening can also be the most wonderful. When we change, we grow, we learn and we become more the person we were meant to be. And I think there is very little difference between being afraid and being excited.’
Adeline thought of the phone tucked under the counter at work, the photo online of her birth mother. The fact that at any moment she could make contact. It was terrifying .
But Michel was right. It was exciting too.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
They were just finishing up when the door opened and André came in, laden with white boxes from the patisserie. He walked to the counter and set them down, exchanging a few words with the manager, then turned to leave. Catching sight of the pair of them for the first time, he smiled and walked over. Michel rose to greet him, then gestured to Adeline. ‘You already know each other, I think.’
‘A little,’ André said, smiling in Adeline’s direction but not quite making eye contact.
‘Yes. Not always in great circumstances,’ Adeline admitted. ‘I’m sorry I knocked into you that time.’
He made a flicking gesture with his hand. ‘It is nothing.’
‘But I was so rude! I was rushing, because…’
‘You don’t need to explain,’ he said, although now he was looking at her directly. ‘I also need to apologise for almost punching your brother!’
Adeline laughed. ‘Oh well, he probably deserved it,’ she joked.
There was a pause and Adeline found herself forming words in her mind. Let me buy you a coffee to make up for it! The sort of thing that someone more socially competent might say to a potential friend. But the words died before they reached her tongue.
André was just turning to go when Michel shot out a hand and put it on his forearm. ‘Wait,’ he said.
André looked at the hand quizzically.
‘I have an idea,’ Michel said, his eyes sparkling with mischief.