Chapter 24
The next morning Tilly wakes to an email from her mother-in-law.
To: tillynightingalereads@
Subject: Anniversary
Hi Tilly,
We have decided to hold a family memorial here at the house for Joe’s anniversary in July. Let us know if you’d like to join in. There’s something I’d like to talk to you about if you do come to visit.
Let me know.
Ellen
She stares at the email, reminded of the conversation she’d overheard all those years ago.
I just can’t help but think that maybe you’d be happier longer term with someone who’s a better fit for you … Because we Carters are joiner-iners …
Maybe she really should join in this time. It’s Joe’s family, after all. She probably should spend his death anniversary with them. And she can’t help but feel intrigued – and more than a little nervous – when she considers what Ellen could possibly want to talk to her about.
But on the other hand, maybe she should stay well away from the woman who never thought Tilly was good enough for her son.
She turns her phone face down on the table and changes into her leggings and running shoes. If running works to clear the mind for Joe and Murakami, maybe it can work for Tilly too.
Despite her best intentions her mind is still on the email as she steps on to the canal towpath.
Which is why she forgets to check the path is clear and is met by a sudden yell and the screech of brakes.
A red bicycle skids to a halt and she leaps out of the way, losing her footing and sprawling dangerously close to the water.
The bike clatters to the ground and a pair of firm hands grab tightly on to her shoulders, steadying her before she stumbles into the canal.
‘Sorry!’ comes a low voice.
‘It’s my fault, I didn’t look,’ Tilly pants, her heart beating rapidly.
She is right by the edge, just one step away from falling in. But the large hands grip her tightly, holding her steady. She is aware of a broad chest just inches away from her and the feel of warm breath that smells like peppermint.
Tilting her head, she looks up and meets a pair of brown eyes flecked with amber, spots a tuft of dark hair poking up through the gap in a blue cycling helmet. The eyes widen as they meet hers, recognizing her at the same moment that she recognizes him.
‘Alfie!’
Instead of one of his usual oversized jumpers and baggy rolled-up trousers, he is wearing shorts and a green cycling jersey that makes Tilly realize for the first time that there was actually a body underneath all the knitwear.
And not just any body. His arms are tensed as they hold her tight, making it very hard not to stare at his biceps and forearms. They don’t look like the kind of muscles that come from weights and protein shakes.
These are the muscles of someone used to lugging heavy things as part of their daily life, like a woodcutter or a farmer, perhaps. Or, apparently, a bookseller.
He looks down, seeming to only just realize that he is still holding on to her. But instead of immediately letting go he guides her gently away from the water’s edge to the side of the path.
‘Are you OK?’ His eyes fix on her and then dart up and down her body as if searching for injuries.
‘I’m fine.’
He’s close enough for her to see flecks of auburn among the dark strands of his beard and to notice how long his eyelashes are – and that he must be wearing contact lenses, because his usual glasses are missing.
He lets out a breath, his jaw relaxing as he says in a rough voice, ‘Good.’
It’s only then that he lets go of her. Tilly’s arms still feel warm from where he held her.
‘Sorry again,’ she says, trying to make her voice sound as normal as possible. ‘I really wasn’t concentrating. I hope your bike is all right?’
‘Oh, it’s just a pile of old junk.’ He lifts the bike up from the path. ‘Actually, it was my dad’s. But I can’t see any more scratches than were already there.’
‘Oh god, I’m so sorry, are you sure it’s all right?’
‘It’s fine. It’s just a bike.’
Tilly is pretty sure that isn’t the case – she is so attached to Joe’s belongings that she hasn’t been able to get rid of them yet – but she appreciates Alfie’s kindness.
Without discussing it, they fall into step beside one another, Tilly walking on the inside and Alfie on the canal side pushing his bike. The water is green and shines in the morning sun, reflecting shards of light on to their faces.
‘I’ll be honest, it feels a little strange to see you outside of the bookshop. I sort of imagine you live there.’
He seems taller, making her realize how often he’s either leaning on the counter or bending to reach into a box of books when she visits the shop. Now she has to crane her neck to look at him – he must be over six foot.
‘I pretty much do. The shop keeps me busy. But I like to fit a morning ride in, if I can. It’s nice to see some daylight once in a while. Plus, I feel more like myself when I’ve been on the bike.’
‘That’s how Joe always used to feel about running. I was the same once too, but I’m out of practice.’
‘I take it you’ve been inspired by your May book to get back into it, though?’
Alfie gestures at her outfit and she suddenly feels very conscious of her tight leggings and strappy running top.
It makes her feel awkwardly out of place, like bumping into a colleague in a swimming-pool changing room.
But then she remembers their previous conversations in the bookshop, and feels herself relaxing again.
He might be dressed differently – and with an almost alarming display of long, muscular limbs on show – but he is still Bookshop Alfie who rereads The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe every Christmas and has an adopted stray cat named after Georgette Heyer.
‘You could say that. Maybe too inspired, actually …’
He raises an eyebrow in her direction and she explains about the half-marathon.
‘… although I’m starting to regret it. Running is harder than I remember. It was probably a mad thing to do.’
The path narrows as they reach a bridge and Alfie is forced to take a step closer to Tilly, their hips bumping.
‘It’s not mad, I think it’s brave.’
There’s a moment’s silence broken only by the sound of water dripping from the bridge on to the canal.
‘Well, I don’t know how brave I am, really, given I’m currently doing everything I can to hide from my mother-in-law. Who is a five-foot-nothing woman in her sixties, most commonly spotted in an apron and holding a batch of freshly baked cookies.’
A rumbling sound breaks through the air and Tilly realizes with a jolt of warmth that it’s Alfie, and that she has never heard him laugh before.
‘I’m guessing you have a tricky relationship with your in-laws, then?’
‘What a cliché, I know.’
‘Maybe it’s a cliché for a reason. My brother-in-law is not my favourite person in the world. But my little sister is, so I try my best to keep it together around him. But let’s put it this way – if I spotted him on the other side of a pub I’d probably dive under the table to hide.’
Tilly feels herself smiling at the image of Alfie folding his long limbs under a pub table.
‘My relationship with my mother-in-law has always been complicated,’ Tilly explains as they continue side by side along the path.
They have reached a section where the path opens into a basin, riverboats hugging the edges and a red-and-gold Chinese restaurant floating on the water.
‘She’s made it pretty clear that she doesn’t like me, even if never to my face. ’
She isn’t quite sure why she’s telling Alfie all this but there’s something about walking alongside one another that makes it easier to open up.
And as she does she realizes how badly she’s needed to talk about all of this.
It’s part of her story she’s tried not to think about since Joe’s death because it’s so messy, but she knows that Alfie understands the messiness of death.
‘How could anyone not like you?’
The question catches her so off guard that she almost trips before regaining her footing.
‘Ellen Carter has plenty of reasons. She even tried to talk Joe out of marrying me when we told his family we were engaged.’
Suddenly she is back in Santorini, the air thick with the smell of fig trees and olives, the sky and sea astonishingly blue …
It is a few months after buying their flat in Primrose Hill, and they’ve gone on holiday to celebrate.
Tilly has insisted they make a pilgrimage to Atlantis Books, the Santorini bookshop she read about online.
Joe good-humouredly goes along with it, waiting on the terrace opposite the shop while Tilly browses in the cave-like interior piled high with books.
Afterwards, she finds him outside, noticing that there are outdoor bookshelves up there too, facing the ocean.
‘You looked exactly like that when I first met you,’ he says, watching her from the shade as she browses with her head tilted to one side so she can read the spines.
‘Not much has changed, then,’ she laughs in reply. ‘After all these years you’re still waiting for me at a bookshop.’
‘Hmm. Maybe this will do, actually,’ comes his voice as he stands up and walks across to her. ‘Yes. I think this is pretty good.’
‘Good for what?’
A second later he is kneeling down in front of her.
‘Matilda Nightingale,’ says Joe, and her heart dances as a hot breeze tugs at the hem of her dress and she stands in front of a backdrop of books framed by the sea.
‘I know I’ll only ever be the second love of your life.
I know that I will always have to wait for you in bookshops and that if our home were to go up in flames I’d have to save myself because you’d be busy grabbing your special-edition copy of Little Women … ’
She had protested, but maybe there is the tiniest bit of truth in it. Joe is an athletic man. Whereas poor Jo, Meg, Amy and Beth couldn’t fend for themselves like he can.