Chapter 33
33
It took her a moment to realise where she was. She sat up in bed, letting the sleep finally filter from her mind, and took in the lush red carpet, the floral scrolled wallpaper, the soft but unfamiliar bed. She checked the time on her phone: 2.58a.m. Much too early to get up.
Shifting down under the covers again, she snuggled into Lili’s sleeping form and tried to switch her mind off. Tomorrow morning, at 11a.m., she was due to meet her mother. She had to get some sleep or she’d be completely wrecked for that important moment.
They’d spent the remaining hours of yesterday finding somewhere to eat and settling into their rooms; she’d tried to read her book, watch the enormous TV, but had felt every minute stretch before her unbearably. She’d longed for sleep, and it had come. But sadly, it had been short-lived.
Unfortunately, her brain seemed not to care much about whether she was tired or out of sorts tomorrow, filtering images and ideas through her mind at alarming speed. What if they didn’t get on? What if they did? What would they talk about? What would she feel like when she walked into the lounge and saw her mother sitting at a table? Would she recognise her? Would they recognise each other? Would there be a bond, something beyond understanding, or the kind of formality you feel when you meet a stranger?
It didn’t matter. None of it mattered right now in this silent room with blackout heavy curtains and luxurious fittings. All that mattered was that she slept, rested for what was to come. She listened to Lili’s regular breathing with envy – her daughter, once asleep, was usually out for the count in a way she could never remember being herself. Sleep came, for her, with a restlessness at the best of times. She doubted she’d be able to drop off again.
She climbed out of bed and went over to the window and quietly pulled the curtain back, allowing a sliver of artificial light to fall into the room. Outside, the road was still busy: cars purred along, people walked in small groups or alone, perhaps coming home from nights out or starting an early shift at work. There was a sense of purpose in the air, similar to that she’d felt in London – as if everyone had somewhere to go, something to do, somewhere to be.
In St Vianne, the houses would be in darkness by now, the inhabitants nestling under a blanket of sleep for a few more hours. Then André would emerge from the flat above the patisserie and begin work, preparing fresh bread and pastries for the day ahead. Gradually lights would appear in windows and, as the sun rose, doors would begin to open and houses would spill their inhabitants into the street for another day.
She wasn’t sure which type of place she most belonged in – the quiet backwater where all was peaceful and people had time to stop and pass the time of day with one another; or the purposeful city where lights, action and energy seemed to pulse at all times.
Turning, leaving the curtain slightly ajar so that a little light remained in the room, she caught sight of a painting on the wall. A simple oil sketch of a woman in a cafe, her eyes downturned, a coffee cup cradled in her hand. Her face beautiful; sad.
She felt suddenly weary, as if even her chattering brain wouldn’t be able to prevent sleep from coming. Pulling the curtain into place, allowing darkness to plunge into the room, she made her way gingerly to the bed, feeling her way, and climbed under the covers, their warmth making her aware for the first time that she was cold, dressed only in a long T-shirt. She snuggled up to her daughter who turned, moaning slightly, and tucked her little body expertly against her mother’s. At last, Adeline felt her eyelids grow heavy.
‘Mummy! We’re on holidays!’ The little voice made her start and she was aware that the mattress she was on was wobbling wildly. She opened her eyes to find the room light – despite the thick curtains, daylight had found a way around the edges of the material and morning had made its way into their room. She looked up and saw Lili’s excited face and her stomach dipped.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘How exciting!’
Monique had told her she’d take Lili for a walk this morning to look at the river, then to pop into a couple of shops and stop for a pastry somewhere. All the little girl knew was that Mummy was meeting a friend and Monique was taking her for a treat. No wonder she was excited.
Adeline shifted up on her elbows and eyed her phone. It was 8.30 a.m. Flinging the covers back she made her way to the little en suite and stepped into the shower, feeling the warm water cascade down her body. It made a change from the rather less decadent bathroom facilities in her tiny cottage, where she’d taken to having baths, as the water barely dripped from the showerhead.
Dressed, she went to knock on Monique’s door, Lili in tow, and the three of them went down to breakfast.
They didn’t speak in the lift, except to give Lili permission to press the buttons, but made their way to the breakfast room in silence. There, they were greeted by a light, airy room with modern tables, set on a carpet that was a riot of colour in contrast. Adeline selected a croissant and a tiny pot of jam and ordered a coffee, but found she couldn’t stomach any of her food. She looked up during the meal to see Monique regarding her, her brow furrowed. ‘Can’t eat,’ she said with a shrug.
‘ Non , nor can I,’ came the reply, and she noticed that Monique’s food was also untouched. She was quite surprised that Monique was feeling so nervous on her behalf and gave her friend a small smile.
Lili seemed to have no such problems with her appetite and managed to work her way through two pains au chocolat and an orange juice, chattering all the while into the near silence. Adeline wondered whether, even if Lili knew what was going to happen today, she’d realise its significance to their lives. She was so in the moment, so accepting of new things in the way that children can be, taking whatever happens to them as simply a sign of the way things are – never realising how their life differs from that of their friends’.
Then it was 10a.m. and she was back in the room, carefully changing her clothes and brushing her hair. Monique had taken Lili off straight after breakfast, giving her a hug before they left that almost squeezed the air out of Adeline’s lungs.
Away from her two travelling companions, Adeline had felt time slow to a painful speed. She took her time on her hair, noticing that it had grown since her arrival in St Vianne and quite liking the slightly softer look it gave her. She applied her mascara, curling her eyelashes first, more out of a need to kill time than any sort of vanity. Spritzing herself with Coco by Chanel, she stood in front of the mirror and concluded that this was as good as it was going to get. It was only twenty past ten; forty minutes to go and far too early to make her way down to the hotel bar.
Instead, she flicked on the TV in the room and watched mindlessly as scrolling headlines ran across on the screen on which a woman was talking. Her eye kept being drawn to the digital clock in the corner, torturing her every time a minute passed.
Eventually, she snapped off the TV and told herself enough was enough. It was 10.45a.m., and although she’d resolved not to be first, not to risk sitting there and scanning the room and trying to recognise someone she’d never met, she felt that if she stayed in her bedroom any longer, she’d go mad. She straightened, grabbed her purse and keycard and made her way along the carpeted corridor to the lift.
Inside, as the lift dipped, she turned away from the mirrored wall, not wanting to see herself, see the fear that was no doubt in her eyes. A couple got into the space with her, chatting about their day ahead, and she moved to the corner to accommodate them. Then they all spilled out into the foyer, into bright light and movement and, beyond, the double glass doors of the exit.
She felt sick as she made her way to the bar entrance and stood just outside the door, checking the tables within. Most were empty, but a few were occupied with people on their own, reading or checking their phones. A couple sipped from espresso cups in the corner. A woman was sitting close to a pillar, her hair swept up with just a few strands escaping. Adeline stepped in and the woman, perhaps sensing some shift in the atmosphere, turned.
When asked about it later, she’d tell people she’d recognised Sophia instantly. And not because of the photo, but because something inside her tugged the minute their eyes locked onto each other. And suddenly it didn’t seem to matter why her mother had had to give her up, or that she’d grown up not knowing that she was adopted, or that she wasn’t quite sure how to fit this new information about who she was into her life, her sense of self.
She found herself walking quickly, not caring what she looked like, or what Sophia might be thinking, but just carrying herself as fast as she could towards a woman she both did and didn’t know.
Sophia, stepping forward, her face already crumpling slightly with emotion, then rushed to meet her. And although Adeline was not a natural hugger, she fell into her mother’s outstretched arms without a thought. As they locked together in this strange place with its smell of coffee and carpet cleaner, the quiet chatter, the squeal of the cappuccino machine, with the unfamiliar sounds from the street outside, the only thing that Adeline could think was that she was home at last; that here was somewhere she truly belonged.
They stepped back after a moment and looked at each other, Adeline feeling her face stretch into a smile and seeing her own happiness reflected in her birth mother’s features. ‘ Maman ,’ she said, feeling a pang of guilt at using the word so freely with this stranger when the woman who raised her had earned the title each day of her childhood.
‘Adeline,’ Sophia said, her own voice choked with emotion. ‘Thank God. Thank God.’