Chapter 42
There is a young man stood beside Alfie carrying the most enormous bunch of flowers Alfie has ever seen. He clutches them to his chest, eyes lighting up every time the automatic doors in the Arrivals hall slide open.
Alfie glances at the piece of card held between his hands. Will Tilly get the sign? Should he have brought flowers? What is he even doing here? He’s always been a believer in excellent customer service but perhaps this is taking things too far.
The doors slide open again and the man beside Alfie lifts the flowers and waves them in the air. A tiny white-haired woman spots him and beams.
‘Let me take your bag, Gran,’ says the young man, rushing to take the handle of her wheelie suitcase.
‘Hello, love. Are these for me? Are there any flowers left in the flower shop?’ the woman says in reply but she doesn’t stop beaming as she takes the flowers and lifts them to her face to smell them.
A little further away two young girls let out a squeal and the man who had been holding their hands lets go and allows them to duck under the barrier and run into the arms of the woman who looks just like them and is dropping her bags and reaching her arms out for them.
And Alfie must have something in his eye because his vision blurs for a second and he almost misses the flash of ginger hair until a voice calls, ‘Alfie!’ and he is looking across at the pale grey-green eyes of Tilly Nightingale, her hair in a messy bun, her face free from a scrap of make-up, her legs bare from her denim shorts down to her muddy walking boots and scattered in freckles as though someone has flicked her knees with a paintbrush and – stop looking at her legs, Alfie!
‘Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re here!’
Alfie has never seen someone look quite so surprised and for a second he wonders if this really was a terrible idea, but then she is somehow in his arms – or maybe it would be more accurate to say he is in her arms, because she has launched herself at him, squeezing him fiercely.
‘I really am sorry for the way I smell,’ she says, her breath warm against his neck.
‘It’s OK, I’ll just breathe through my mouth.’ Although the combination of sweat, saltwater and damp fabric has, to his mind, never smelt quite so lovely.
They step apart and for a second neither of them says anything, they just look at each other as if not quite sure what to do next.
‘I am so happy to see you. But what would you have done if Bear Grylls was actually on the plane?’
She points at the sign held in Alfie’s left hand.
‘Then you would have had to find your own way home, I’m sorry.’
She laughs and it takes all of Alfie’s strength not to grin like a lunatic. Instead, he coughs and takes her bags, slinging them over his shoulders.
‘I’d say you don’t have to do that, but I’m honestly too tired. I don’t think I slept the entire weekend. It turns out the pitch we chose was covered in rocks. Every time I thought I was getting comfy, a rock jabbed me in the back. I still can’t believe you came to get me.’
‘Well, I felt semi-responsible for your terrible weekend. Oh, and I brought you these.’
He reaches into his backpack, thrusting a Thermos into her hands.
She unscrews the lid and takes a sniff. ‘Tea! THANK YOU!’
Alfie watches as she takes a sip, her face melting in pleasure, eyes closing.
‘These are for you too. I promise they’re clean.’
‘And dry!’ she says as she takes the balled-up woollen socks, cradling them in her arms like a baby. ‘Oh my god, Alfie!’
The way she says his name makes his stomach flip but he reminds himself that he is here as a concerned and slightly guilty friend.
Nothing more. She leans on his arm to untie her boots and he gets a glimpse of small bare feet before she pulls on the socks, balling up her sodden, mud-stained ones and throwing them in a nearby bin.
‘Sorry they’re a bit big …’ He tries not to stare at her feet, at the way the socks bunch up around her bare ankles.
‘They’re perfect, thank you. I was dreaming about dry socks the entire weekend.’ She relaces her boots, standing up with a smile. ‘I promise I’ll wash them before giving them back.’
‘It’s fine, you can keep them. The car park is this way.’
‘I didn’t know you had a car. I’ve only ever seen you on your bike.’
‘I borrowed my mum’s. I’ll warn you, it’s a bit small …’
The baby-blue Fiat 500 just about holds all of Tilly’s bags. Alfie’s head grazes the roof as he settles as best he can in the driver’s seat, his knees spread around the steering wheel.
‘This car suits you,’ says Tilly, flicking the crocheted strawberries that hang from the rear-view mirror.
As they move off Brandi Carlile blares through the speakers and Alfie reaches to quickly turn it off.
‘It’s my mum’s music too.’
‘Leave it, I like it.’
Tilly settles into her seat, leaning her head against the window and humming along to the music.
‘What’s your mum like?’ she says as the car crawls through the airport traffic.
‘Well, you probably guessed it from the car, but Mum is a tiny woman. I got this …’ he gestures at his long arms and legs, ‘from my dad. My sister, Tash, got the perfect blend of the two of them – she’s a completely normal height.’
‘Are you close?’
Alfie nods, keeping his eyes ahead as the lights change.
‘We always were but the three of us became even closer after losing Dad. I try and visit my sister and her family as much as I can. Mum remarried a couple of years ago. I found it a bit strange at first, but Andrew’s a good guy.
They’re happy together. I often think how well he and Dad would have got on. Maybe that’s strange …’
‘It’s not so strange. They both have your mum in common. It makes sense.’
Alfie glances at Tilly.
‘How are things with your sister? Have you spoken yet?’
Her expression clouds.
‘Not yet. I just can’t stop thinking about everything she kept from me, and how she ignored everything I said about not being ready to date again.’
Alfie shifts in his seat, feeling his hands tense around the wheel.
‘We’re supposed to be running the half-marathon together in a few weeks,’ Tilly continues, oblivious to the pain throbbing between Alfie’s temples, ‘but I don’t even know if she’s still been training.
It’s not been as fun running on my own. And I keep thinking about her.
When I was in Scotland I kept wanting to send photos to her.
She would have loved it all in spite of the rain.
She’s always been the adventurous one. Maybe that’s why she was so keen to hook me up with some random guy online.
Maybe she’s just sick of me being so sad and boring. ’
Alfie’s stomach clenches at Tilly’s words and her expression as she stares out of the window.
‘How can you not think you’re adventurous?’ His words come out a little louder than he’d intended. ‘Adventures don’t have to mean white-water rafting or bungee jumping.’
‘Harper loves those things …’
‘It can mean trying new things. Pushing yourself out of your comfort zone. Signing yourself up for a marathon –’
‘Half-marathon.’
‘That’s a hundred per cent more of a marathon than I’ve ever done.
The point is you’ve been going through one of the hardest things anyone ever has to deal with, and yet you haven’t given up.
She might have a bad way of expressing it, but I’m certain that Harper is proud of you.
People can just be crap at knowing how to deal with someone who is grieving. ’
His thoughts turn for a moment to Freya, and it surprises him to realize it’s been a long time since he last thought of her.
Tilly drags him firmly back to the present by saying in a quiet voice, ‘However mad I’ve been at her, I miss her.’
‘And I bet she misses you. You two will work it out.’
‘I hope so.’
In the quiet of the slow-moving traffic his thoughts turn to the bookshop, as they so often do.
Ever since the letter from the bank, he’s tried to come up with new solutions but he is running out of time and energy.
He might have praised Tilly for not giving up, but perhaps there comes a moment when that’s all there is left to do.
Suddenly, more than anything else, he wants to talk about it. And not just talk about it with anyone but with Tilly.
‘Tilly, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you …’
But as he glances at her he sees that her eyes are closed, her chin slumped to her shoulder.
A sound like a purring cat fills the car as she snores contentedly.
Watching her sleeping soundly, the thought of offloading his own worries seems suddenly selfish.
With everything that she has been through, she doesn’t need to deal with his problems too.
They’re his to carry, even if sometimes it would be a relief to have someone to help share the load.
‘Oh god, did I snore?’
Tilly stretches, rolling her shoulders. The car has stopped and she realizes they are parked outside her flat.
‘Not at all,’ replies Alfie, turning off the engine.
‘Oh, thank god. Thank you again for coming to get me. If I’d taken the Tube I probably would have fallen asleep and ended up in Morden.’
Watching Alfie climb out of the car is like watching a baby giraffe take its first steps. He ducks his head, just about avoiding hitting the roof, then unfolds himself, stretching out his long limbs. He reaches for her bags in the car’s boot.
‘I can take those …’
To her surprise his voice is firm when he replies. ‘I know you can. But you’ve been cycling for two days straight, Tilly, and just fell asleep within two minutes of sitting down. Let me.’
‘OK. Well, thank you.’
As she unlocks the front door it hits her that it’s been a long time since anyone other than her family has stepped inside.
She lets him go first up the stairs, following a few steps behind.
His broad shoulders brush against both walls in the narrow space.
Once they emerge in the living area, he places her bags down on the floor and looks around.
She watches him taking it all in: the craft corner and sofas covered in crocheted blankets, the books and the fairy lights.
His attention lingers on the pair of running shoes on the bookshelves.
‘Are you hungry?’ he asks, turning back to her.
‘Starving,’ she admits.
‘I picked up some things on the way. I figured you might want to eat. I can leave them for you and head off or …’ He coughs, his chocolate-and-amber eyes flicking up to hers. ‘I could throw something together while you unpack, if you like?’
In the past she would have refused, wanting to shut the door and have the flat to herself again.
But her stomach gives an insistent rumble and she thinks back to stepping through the Arrivals gate and seeing Alfie there waiting for her.
The feeling that had flooded her was sheer relief, and she has the same feeling now as she imagines a warm meal that she hasn’t had to cook herself.
‘That would actually be amazing, if you don’t mind. I am dying for a shower. Do you want me to show you where everything is?’
‘I’ll figure it out,’ he replies, starting to unload his backpack. ‘You go and relax.’
Half an hour later Tilly re-emerges, hair damp and body no longer smelling of wet dog, to find Alfie stirring a steaming pan on the hob, humming very quietly under his breath. For a second, she just watches him.
‘What can I do to help?’
He turns around and an unfiltered smile brightens his face.
But as quickly as it arrived his face returns to its usual neutral expression, as though he has tucked a part of himself neatly away in a drawer.
Tilly has a sudden and overwhelming urge to pull open the drawer, to see what else might be in there.
‘You could chop some veg?’
She nods and takes her spot beside him, their hips almost but not quite touching as they work side by side. The small space fills with the smell of onions and garlic, and with a warmth that has been missing for a long time.