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 rereadsThe Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobeevery Christmas and has an adopted stray cat named after Georgette Heyer.
‘You could say that. Maybetooinspired, 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.’
