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People who hated shopping at home seemed happy to shop on holiday.
Audrey wasn’t happy. She’d dreamed about this moment forever. But now she was here she didn’t feel any better than she had in London.
She’d longed for freedom, but hadn’t known freedom would feel as lonely as this.
She’d longed to pass over responsibility for her mother, but hadn’t realized that the hot burn of anxiety would stay in her stomach even after she’d arrived in France.
She couldn’t stop thinking about it.
In the end her mother and Ron had fixed whatever had gone wrong between them. Linda had told Audrey that his reaction to a fight was to seek some alone time, whereas she needed intimacy and reassurance, and automatically saw that need for space as a sign that the relationship was over.
Her mother had promised to try to be less insecure and Ron had promised never again to walk out without making it clear he planned on coming back.
The wedding had gone ahead, but Audrey had held her breath along with her posy of flowers, terrified that it wouldn’t last.
What if her mother drank too much and he left for good? Would Linda even call Audrey? She could be lying on the bathroom floor right at this moment and Audrey wouldn’t even know.
She paused when she reached a busy square.
The delicious smell of fresh pizza and herbs wafted toward her from a small pavement café, crowded with people. Everyone in the world seemed to be having fun, except her.
Her stomach growled. All she’d eaten since she left London was a squashed energy bar she’d found at the bottom of her bag.
Ignoring the pain in her feet, she shifted her backpack to ease her sore shoulders and carried on walking. Cobbled streets looked quaint and pretty in photos, but they were less charming when you were trying to walk over them.
Finally she found it, tucked away in a little courtyard and accessed by a narrow passageway. Le Petit Livre was close to the river and the charming cafés that lined the pavements.
The door was painted a bright, cheery blue and the windows on either side were filled with books of every description.
The name of the shop was stenciled onto the windows in a curve, and she pushed open the door, jumping as a bell jangled.
The place smelled of books, dust and leather but there were worse smells in her opinion. Alcohol. Smoke. Food past its sell-by date. She could name dozens.
Shelves reached to the ceiling, and she glanced upward, wondering what she was going to do if someone wanted a book from the top shelf.
“Entrez, entrez, j’arrive!” A woman emerged from the back of the shop. Her hair was white and swept up in an elegant knot, and she wore a black dress that flowed around her slender frame.
Audrey stared, fascinated. Her mother’s approach to glamour was to lower her neckline. This woman had almost no flesh on display, and yet she was the most glamorous creature Audrey had ever seen.
Confronted by such cool elegance, she was even more aware of how badly she needed a shower.
“Je m’appelle Audrey.” It was the one phrase she’d practiced a million times.
She was feeling pretty proud of her pronunciation, particularly when the woman’s face brightened.
She introduced herself as Elodie, stretched out her hands in welcome and kissed Audrey on both cheeks.
It felt bizarre to be kissed by a stranger but she had no time to dwell on that because the woman was talking in French, gesturing toward the books. She was obviously giving Audrey a summary of her responsibilities, which was awkward because Audrey didn’t have a clue what she was saying.
The woman paused, and Audrey felt a rush of frustration.
She was usually quite chatty, but she had no idea how to be chatty in French. She felt her cheeks grow hot.
“Er—I didn’t actually understand all of that—ne comprenez.” What was the phrase for not understanding? Oh, this had been a seriously bad idea.
Puzzled, the woman switched to English. “The letter I received from you was written in excellent French.” Her words were heavily accented, but it was clear that her language skills were vastly superior to Audrey’s.
“I’m better at writing than speaking.” Audrey beamed. She’d learned that a smile often distracted people from what was really going on. “I’ll soon pick it up.”
