The Forgotten Bookshop in Paris

by Daisy Wood

It’s important to remember the past, no matter how painful the process might be.

It seems extraordinary that the same old stories of destruction and loss are playing out, over eighty years later – yet humanity and kindness are also in evidence, and an unquenchable human spirit that binds us together in times of greatest need.

His bookshop will be a treasure trove: warm and safe in the winter, when the rain lashes down; airy in the summer, when breezes will waft the smell of baking bread from the boulangerie across the square and through the open windows. The quiet, welcoming atmosphere will soothe his customers’ troubled minds.

Jacques wants to share the joy of discovering an author who speaks to one’s soul, the thrill of losing oneself in a story more vivid and exciting than real life. He will call his shop La Page Cachée – The Hidden Page – because he knows the magic that is to be found within the covers of a book.

The bells are pealing as they walk out into the sunshine, to learn that Britain and France are at war with Germany. It is both the best and worst day of Jacques’ life; the fear of losing Mathilde is as great as his love for her, which is infinite.

Jacques feels as though Paris is in mourning; the sky is weeping black tears.

He’s going to lose his precious, darling wife. She’s brave and passionate, and that passion is dangerous.

A life without freedom is no life at all.’

‘A life without you would be no life at all,’ he wanted to say, but instead he kissed her, losing himself in the sweetness of her embrace, holding her so tightly that she laughed, and struggled to break free.

All this time alone in Paris had rekindled her love of books. Reading on a tablet just wasn’t the same; she had to hold a physical copy, smell the pages, look at the cover, flick back to a passage she wanted to remember or hadn’t understood. Bookstores and libraries were her spiritual home, so quiet and calm and full of knowledge – and now here was the ghost of a bookstore on her doorstep.

‘We’ve run out of time but you know how much you mean to me, don’t you? I was lost until I found you, standing there with a book in your hand and smiling at me as though we’d known each other for years. We recognised each other straight away, didn’t we? I fell in love with you before you’d even said a word. You were my fixed point from that moment on, the centre of my world, and you always will be.’

Death is coming for all of us, sooner or later. It’s how we live that matters.’

He closed his eyes and leant back against the seat, hearing her voice in his ear. ‘Death is coming for all of us; it’s how we live that matters.’

See what needs to be done and do it, Jacques heard the priest say. It was so simple, if one had the nerve.

There were people everywhere who needed help, once you opened your eyes – and found the courage not to look away.

She’d wanted to visit the tomb of Heloise and Abelard, the medieval lovers who’d had a child out of wedlock, married in secret and then been forced to part. Abelard had become a monk and Heloise a nun, and they had written to each other for years until they were finally reunited in death.

All my life, I’ve been making decisions based on what other people wanted. This adventure is just for me. Is that selfish? Maybe, but I don’t want to wake up in thirty years’ time and realise I’ve wasted my life. We only get one shot – might as well make the most of it.’

What havoc could be inflicted on the world by one man with a lust for power!