Present day
Alfie produced two wrapped sweets from his jacket pocket and handed her one, which she accepted gratefully, of that age when a little sweetie was treat enough of an evening to cure any desire for a sugary dessert.
‘I think there are two sorts of people in the world, Lilly.’ He spoke in the easy manner that had been most attractive as she’d stared at him across the tabletop on the deck of the Tamesis, the beautiful old Dutch barge on the Albert Embankment, a fabulous place to have a drink and take in the view.
‘Those who bite a mint humbug the moment it enters their mouth, and those who suck it until it’s no more than a tiny sliver of sugar glass sitting on your tongue that eventually melts away to nothing. ’
‘Which are you?’ She liked his irreverent sense of humour and the fact that they hadn’t stopped talking. Not for a second.
‘Oh, I’m a cruncher, and proud! And, frankly, I feel sorry for those without the moral fibre or daring sense of adventure to delight in the fracturing of the outer shell, allowing the thick sticky interior to clamp to your teeth!’
‘Sorry to say, I’m actually one of those lacking in moral fibre and a daring sense of adventure.’
‘Never!’ Alfie shook his head in obvious disappointment.
‘’Fraid so.’ She sucked air through her teeth. ‘I think I used to be a cruncher, but nowadays I’m more worried about fracturing the outer shell of my weakened molars. Age has made me cautious,’ she admitted.
‘In some ways, yet you still let an old fart like me take you out for a drink.’
‘I did. Call it a moment of madness.’ She fell into step alongside him as they walked by the riverside.
‘Days like this remind me what I love most about this city.’ He breathed in slowly through his nose as if taking in the essence of the place. ‘There’s something about being near the river . . .’
‘As you know, I am rather fond of it myself.’
‘Do you ever take to the water, go boating?’
‘Err, no.’ She laughed at the prospect. ‘I did get a water taxi once back in the nineties, just to try it out, and it was odd. Having spent so much of my life looking at it, to be on it was strange, but it was a quick trip, over in a flash.’
‘That’s a shame. I feel excited when I walk along it, get close to it.’ He stared across the river.
‘Every day is like that for me. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,’ she confessed.
‘Really? You never want to run for the hills, go to the sea or follow the sun?’
‘Nope. I like the odd day out, but’ – she shook her head – ‘not really. People talk about going abroad, keen to tell you all about the sights and sounds that they found awe-inspiring – the crystal-clear waters of the Maldives, the cobbled streets of Paris, the canals of Venice, the skyscrapers of New York, the deserts of the Sudan . . . All unique, beautiful and shaping the human experience, and I get all of that. But that’s exactly how I feel about my little corner of London.
That same feeling that I’m experiencing something beautiful, something fleeting.
I find it awe-inspiring just looking at this old river. ’
‘I think I fell out of love with her a bit, this city of mine. I like to come back, and I do, weekly, but I also like to walk my fields and listen to the birdsong.’
‘That sounds nice.’ She finished her sweet.
‘I find there’s a huge difference between Londoners and those that visit.
Tourists and day-trippers talk about the sights and the lights, the theatre, the crowds, but those of us who know the old girl understand that it’s moments that make this city great. ’
‘What do you mean by moments?’ Alfie stopped walking and turned to face her. It was both pleasing and encouraging, to seemingly hold his attention in this way.
‘I mean the little glimmers of pure joy and life-affirming wonder that can fill you right up, like—’ She wanted to eloquently raise the points that rattled in her head.
‘Like being on the top deck of a bus that goes over one of the bridges at sunset when you get that unique, fleeting view of the buildings on the river, back-lit with the red and gold of the setting sun. Or, seeing the face of a tourist the first time they see St Paul’s or Trafalgar Square.
Their excitement, it’s infectious! And flags – we are very good at big old rows of flags, any excuse, all along The Mall, and St James’s; jubilees, royal weddings, state visits, whoosh!
Up they go! They fill me with pride. Popping into a shop or café and the person behind the counter recognising you and chatting to you, letting you know that of all the millions of people jostling for space and connection in this big city, they know you because you are a part of it.
Or that feeling of lying on the grass with your eyes closed in one of our parks, on fresh-cut grass with roses blooming in the flower beds and ducks quacking, quite bucolic, yet still with the hum of traffic out of sight but not earshot. ’
He laughed and nodded, as if he, too, had those moments.
‘And is there anything more glorious than a cold breeze through the open doors of a crowded bus on a hot day, or when the Tube doors open right where you are standing on the platform as if it’s your own personal transport!
Knowing a shortcut, the best bakery, where to get great coffee, and chatting to other Londoners who share your childhood and education because it’s the same as theirs.
Lying in bed at night, knowing that however lonely you might feel, you’re never alone.
And that London hum; the collective noise of the capital, interspersed with horn toots and shouts!
This city is twenty-four-seven, and you only have to holler out of the window or into the hallway and someone will come if you need them to.
’ She felt her face blush, having shared her enthusiasm and possibly too much with this man, a stranger.
‘You feel lonely?’
‘Sometimes . . .’ She was not about to admit that her biggest fear was the bone-deep loneliness of isolation, that particular silence that had noise . . . and it felt stupid to say she still half expected her dad to call out his welcome when she arrived home. ‘But doesn’t everyone sometimes?’
‘I guess so.’ He swallowed. ‘Yes, I suppose we do.’
‘When are you loneliest?’ It felt a little like prying, but as they were sharing . . .
‘First thing in the morning and last thing at night,’ he answered without hesitation. ‘When the only sound in the house is me. It’s one extreme or the other, really, either the girls and grandchildren are there creating mayhem, or it’s deathly quiet. No London hum in the countryside.’
Lilly appreciated his openness, matching her with his vulnerability.
‘It might just be me, of course, and my blinkered love of London that colours the way I see it. In the same way a mother will look at an ugly baby with a look of such pride as if no one has ever created a human so beautiful or perfect or unique.’
‘Like being eighteen, wearing beer goggles and finding every girl beautiful because you’re three sheets to the wind!’ he chimed.
‘Yes, exactly like that. And I don’t want to sound cruel.
I’ve never been a mother, so who knows how I’d have viewed my own offspring!
’ This she did with intention, letting him know she was childless, and she did so with a small laugh, hoping it smothered the knife of loss that went right through her breast at no more than the mention of it.
‘Well, if you were anything like me, I was definitely that kind of parent who looked at my very ugly kids and could say with certainty they were the most beautiful creatures ever born, the cleverest, too, and the funniest. I think that’s why it took so long for us to accept it, my ex and I, to admit our marriage was over, because it was like’ – he paused – ‘it was like, how can we not still love each other when we have made these incredible humans together? And I joke, but they are beautiful inside and out. Take after their mother, obviously.’ These last words he offered without humour. It was gracious, kind, intelligent.
‘Obviously.’ She smiled at him. ‘I understand that, not wanting to give up because something good came out of it.’ Lilly coughed, now feeling slightly uncomfortable as her emotions surged, wishing they could go back to discussing mint humbugs and sunsets spied from the top deck of the bus.
‘I mean, I’ve never been married. That all . . . all passed me by.’
‘How did it pass you by? If that’s not being too . . .’
‘No, no, it’s a good question. How did it all pass me by?
’ It struck her then as the saddest of statements, that marriage, children, a shared life, things that seemed to fall into the laps of just about anyone who wanted them with varying degrees of success, had not come to her.
She took a beat. ‘I always thought it would be easy, just what happened. You grew up, got married, had babies, worked hard, died. That was kind of the blueprint for life.’
‘Sounds bloody miserable!’ he added.
‘With obvious pockets of pure joy, if you knew where to look! Fulfilment in your career or whatever, a love of music, yada . . . yada . . .’ she added to appease him.
‘It honestly didn’t occur to me that I might not do those things.
My mum and dad’s marriage didn’t work out, and I think that was the first time I was aware of this feeling of otherness, that my life wasn’t the same as other people’s because my mum walked out. I was an oddity back then.’
‘Yep.’ He nodded, of the same generation as her, when couples stuck together no matter how miserable or due to economic necessity, societal pressure or lack of choice.
Everyone seemed to have a mum and a dad and at least one sibling under their roof, and if you didn’t, well, what was wrong with you?
‘That otherness seemed to stay with me, I don’t know why really, but my life wasn’t like other people’s. I look at my friend Glenda, and it’s been very simple for her. She’s followed the blueprint without trying, really. It all just fell into place for her.’
‘Do you resent that?’
‘No, no!’ She was emphatic. ‘Not at all. It’s more that I didn’t realise I wasn’t in the race until it was too late and everyone else had crossed the finishing line, if that makes any sense.
I kind of had my head down and then had my head turned and then had my head messed up a little bit, and by the time I came up for air I was in my early forties, and everyone around me was paired up. ’
‘Forty? No age at all!’
‘Not now it isn’t, but at the time . . .
’ She smiled at him, knowing he’d get it, how every decade helped you realise how very young you were only ten years ago.
There it was again, that darn bulge in her throat of sorrow at just how quickly the decades had indeed passed.
‘My nan once said to me, and I remember this even though I can only have been maybe six or seven, that you might be like the last sock at the back of the drawer, one of those odd socks that lingers until another odd sock comes along and, just for the sake of neatness, someone brings you together and you become a pair. I wonder if maybe that affected my perception of myself, my view of having a relationship with another person. Maybe it was that lingering, almost subconscious view that I was the oddest of socks?’
‘You never met another odd sock?’
It made her think about Rex, who for a while had so very nearly fallen into place for her.
Lovely Rex, a fling . . . She hadn’t thought about him for the longest time .
. . One thing Lilly did know was that pondering what might have been didn’t get you anywhere; another lesson Bertie had taught her.
‘Not really.’ She coughed to budge that lump.
‘I did have a dear, dear friend; love of a different kind, someone who you could definitely describe as an odd, vibrant, wonderful sock!’ She smiled now to think of the glorious Bertie Barnes.
‘And romantically, I have had a couple of . . .’ She ran out of words, unsure how to phrase what she had experienced without that, too, sounding bloody miserable.
‘I did meet someone, but there was nothing odd about him, not at first. I was curiously drawn to him, as if fate had put him there.’ Lilly was aware that she had been more open than was comfortable.
‘Anyway, don’t know how we’ve veered on to that stuff and nonsense!
I guess, in short, I was never really drawn to the idea of a summer wedding, a floaty frock, pastel flowers and all the shenanigans that go with it. I never felt like it was for me.’
‘You don’t believe in fate?’
‘No, I don’t, not at all. But I believed in him.’ She drew a sharp breath; it was not only painful to make such an admission but also a shock that she had felt comfortable enough to do so.
‘Hmmm.’ Alfie started walking, at a slower pace this time, and she matched him.
‘I don’t regret the way my life has turned out, not now. I’ve been freer than a lot of my friends, unencumbered by the day-to-day running of a kitchen, looking after a family, kids and all of that.’ The words sounded a little hollow, even though there was some truth in it.
‘Do you think your obsession with the river, if I may call it that, is because you have been freer, not distracted by the routine of caring for a family, cooking meals, and all the stuff that goes with it? I’m not sure if that’s okay to ask.
I am having to remind myself that we have only just met and this has taken a very deep dive! ’
‘Yes, it has.’ She chuckled as he echoed her thoughts.
‘So, are you suggesting I am married to this river, and that it holds my attention in the way my children might, or a devoted husband? And that the hours I would spend defrosting fish fingers or darning socks, odd or otherwise, packing lunches, or whatever it is parents do – are you saying the time I would spend on all of those tasks, I instead lavish on this body of water?’ she asked, half in jest.
‘Well, I suppose I might be!’ He smiled at her then, a warm, connecting smile that promised another day just like this one.
‘And I suppose you might be right.’ She held his eyeline.
‘Not that it’s anything to do with me, of course. I mean, each to their own.’
He raised his hands over his face as if she might strike him; instead, she laughed. He was funny and smart, and she knew this was the kind of moment that made life in this city wonderful. Exactly this.