Chapter 45
The smell of melting raclette cheese, truffle and freshly baked bread fills the air.
Tilly and Alfie stand at the entrance to Borough Market beneath a bridge where trains rumble overhead.
The food market heaves with stands and crowds of people.
The floor is dark and cobbled, making it easy to imagine sawdust on the ground and horses and carts trundling by, and yet the shining geometric shape of the Shard rises up, old and new London colliding.
‘It looks … busy,’ says Tilly, hesitantly. ‘For someone who chose to move to the UK’s most populated city, I’m not a fan of crowds.’
‘I grew up in London and I’m not a fan of crowds either.
But I’ve been coming here since I was a kid.
You’re going to love it, I promise. The trick is to just go with the flow of the crowd.
Embody driftwood. If you want to find somewhere specific here, chances are you’ll get lost. But if you just let yourself go with it, you’ll find yourself stumbling over the most amazing places. ’
‘Got it,’ replies Tilly. ‘I can be driftwood. I think …’
‘Oh, and another very important rule,’ adds Alfie. ‘Say yes to samples.’
‘Well, obviously.’
‘Ready?’
He holds out his arm and Tilly loops hers through his, his body reassuringly warm and solid against hers as he guides her into the throng. She squeezes his arm, trying to silently transmit reassurance back to him too. If she ever saw Freya she’d have some things to say to her.
At first it’s overwhelming, the onslaught of sounds and smells, and the press of people crowding each stall making her head spin.
But then Alfie’s face lights up and he points at a nearby cheese stand. ‘Ooh, look at that!’
An enormous half-wheel of Gorgonzola oozes invitingly. At a nearby stand barrels of olives glisten in marinated herbs and sundried tomatoes swim in oil.
Alfie grabs a sample from a board. ‘Try one of these.’
Tilly takes the cocktail stick with the large green olive he’s presenting to her, the taste of lemon, garlic and the most delicious, buttery olive she has ever tasted filling her mouth.
‘Oh wow. I didn’t know olives could taste like that.’
‘I know, right?’
Arm in arm they push their way through the market, spotting stands selling everything, from piles of fresh vegetables to cured meats, to cinnamon buns sparkling with sugar.
They take their mission of trying every sample seriously, passing each other tasters of crumbling cheeses, salty focaccia and gooey cookies.
‘You can spot the best places by the length of their queues,’ explains Alfie as they venture further into the market. ‘See, look at that huge line over there. That’s for The Black Pig. They do these incredible slow-roasted pork ciabatta rolls.’
‘Stop. That sounds insanely good – my mouth is watering.’
‘And there’s another queue over there for Maria’s Market Café – this really old-school place where the traders get their breakfast.’
‘It’s amazing to think this market has been here for such a long time, but that there are all these new stallholders too.’
‘That’s one of the things I love most about London,’ Alfie replies. ‘It’s always changing, always new. But the important things stay the same. Or at least, they should …’
There’s a strange look on his face suddenly, but then a large group of tourists surge past, separating them. Alfie reaches out and grabs hold of Tilly’s wrist gently but firmly, pulling her back towards him.
‘Sorry,’ he says gruffly as he wraps an arm around her back, pulling her closer. ‘I didn’t want to lose you.’
Warmth spreads up her neck as she tilts her face up towards his.
‘That’s all right. I didn’t want to get lost.’
The crowd surges around them but they are perfectly still, pressed up against one another. Her mouth turns dry and a shiver rushes up her spine. And then the tourists have passed and Alfie steps away again.
‘I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for something more substantial,’ he says, not meeting her eye.
‘Same,’ she replies, steadying herself. ‘I’m ready to eat something that can’t be fitted on a toothpick. But how will we possibly decide – there are so many good options …’
‘I’ve got somewhere in mind for lunch, if you like? It’s a restaurant just around the corner. We might have to queue, but apparently it does the best fresh pasta in London.’
‘Pasta?’ Tilly replies, her eyes lighting up.
‘I hope it’s not going to be too much of a disappointment after eating handmade pasta in Tuscany. I know it’s your favourite, and Time Out were raving about it, but you’re a pasta connoisseur now.’
Tilly’s face grows warm.
‘But if you want to go somewhere else that’s fine too,’ he adds hurriedly. His cheeks are pink when he glances at her.
‘No, that sounds amazing.’
The only table they can get is at the bar, sat on stools facing the open kitchen. It’s so tight that their knees knock against each other as they eat bowls of freshly cooked pasta that really is close to what Tilly ate in Italy.
At first it feels a little awkward. Tilly can’t shake off the memory of his arm wrapped reassuringly around her in the market, and the way she had to tilt her head to meet his eye.
He is taller than Joe, and as she’d taken a breath she caught his smell of eucalyptus and coffee, different to Joe’s woodsy scent but equally enticing.
But then they start talking and the conversation flows easily.
Tilly watches as Alfie grows gradually more at ease, smiling and laughing, his head tipped back, his eyes bright.
After everything she has learnt about him, she wonders whether the glimpses of the Alfie she is seeing now are more like the real Alfie, the person he was before grief and heartbreak made him think he had to push his emotions away like books organized neatly on a shelf.
They share a bottle of wine and order two chocolate tarts. Because they agree that desserts are not for sharing.
After the meal they stumble tipsily out of the restaurant. Tilly trips on the cobbles and he reaches out an arm to steady her. She loops hers comfortably through his.
‘Thanks for today,’ she says as they set off down the street, the air chilly but Alfie warm against her side.
His strides are naturally long but he shortens them to keep pace with her.
‘It’s so easy to take where you live for granted.
But I feel like today has opened my eyes again.
To how lovely this all is …’ She gestures around her with her free hand.
Alfie is silent for a second. ‘Me too. And you’re welcome. I haven’t been to Borough Market in years. And I might never have visited Buckingham Palace if it wasn’t for you –’
They are interrupted by someone calling Alfie’s name. A petite Asian woman with a buzz cut and dressed in ripped jeans and an amazing green leather jacket heads towards them, a hand lifted in greeting.
‘It’s great to see you, man.’
‘Suz!’ Alfie says with a wide smile. ‘You too. What are you doing here?’
‘Just meeting some friends around the corner,’ the woman says, going as if to give Alfie a hug but stopping when she notices his arm is still looped through Tilly’s.
‘Sorry,’ Alfie says suddenly. ‘Suz, this is Matilda Nightingale.’
‘Ah, the famous Matilda Nightingale!’ Suz says excitedly. ‘Blue told me all about your year of books. Man, what a cool idea.’
Alfie turns slightly towards Tilly.
‘Suz is Blue’s partner.’
Tilly drops her arm from Alfie’s and steps away, her mind racing.
‘I thought you and Blue were together.’
Suz looks at Alfie and then bursts out laughing.
‘You thought Alfie and Blue were a couple? Wow, she’s going to piss herself laughing. No offence, Alf.’
‘None taken.’
‘You’re not with Blue?’ Tilly asks, looking up at Alfie.
He shakes his head, his forehead furrowed.
‘We’re old uni friends. I thought I told you that?’
Suz doesn’t seem to notice the tension that has suddenly appeared in the air around them.
‘Our Alf is eternally single. Blue does love you, though. But not like that. Man, she’s going to find this hysterical. Anyway, I’ve got to go meet up with my friends but I’ll see you soon, yeah? Nice to meet you, Matilda Nightingale!’
She waves and bounces off in a blur of denim and vivid green.
Tilly and Alfie are left alone, the lights from the restaurants and bars around them glowing on their faces.
Voices spill out of the buildings but here it is just the two of them.
Tilly suddenly craves the crowds of earlier to hide in, anything so she doesn’t have to look at Alfie’s face as he searches hers, eyes darting back and forth as if trying to figure something out.
Tilly wraps her coat tightly around her, stuffing her hands into her pockets, her mind racing as the past few months flash before her eyes, memories rearranging themselves now she has this new information.
‘Are you OK?’ Alfie’s forehead is still creased, his eyes fixed on her.
She thinks back to their knees bumping against each other at the restaurant, to the way she’d looped her arm so trustingly through his.
‘If you’re single, then was this … a date?’
Other memories flash through her mind. Alfie helping her put up a tent in the park and showing her how to repair a puncture.
Alfie collecting her from the airport and the way she ran into his arms, so relieved to see a friendly face.
Alfie cooking dinner in her flat, then curling up with him on the sofa watching TV.
In her pocket she runs her thumb over the ring that she still wears on her left hand.
He runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up on end. ‘No! I mean, not if you didn’t … We’re just two friends being tourists together. Right?’
‘Right …’
He coughs, suddenly not meeting her eye.
‘OK, good,’ she reassures herself.
‘Good,’ he repeats after her.
‘Well, I should probably get home …’
He looks as though he is going to say something, but he pauses. ‘Of course. The Tube is this way.’
Alfie doesn’t try to fill the silence on the journey back. And when Tilly pulls a book out of her bag on the Underground, he swallows hard, pressing his lips firmly together and then turning to studiously read all the advertisements plastered around the carriage.
Once they reach their stop, they pause outside the station entrance. It is cold and dark now, the street quiet.
‘Well. Thanks for a good day. See you soon.’ His shoulders are rounded, hands in the pockets of his green duffel coat.
‘Yeah, see you.’
As soon as she’s inside she kicks off her shoes and reaches for Joe’s grey hoody, hanging on the peg.
She swaps her coat for the hoody, tugging the sleeves down over her hands.
There’s still a lingering trace of Joe’s smell of cedarwood and jasmine, and she lifts the fabric to her nose and inhales deeply.
She wears the hoody to sleep, curled up on Joe’s side of the bed.
On the sofa in his flat, a few streets away, Alfie flicks through his copy of the Lonely Planet guide to London, colourful Post-its flashing as the pages whizz by.
Then he closes the book, stands up and slips it in between an unused guide to South America and a copy of The Art of Travel, knowing he isn’t going to need any of them any time soon.