And his reply, ‘I thought you knew.’
She squeezes her eyes tightly shut, wishing she could go back and change things.
The flat looks messier than ever but Tilly sinks back on to her heels, all the fight having left her.
28
Book Lane book club, tonight, 7 p.m.
When Tilly sees the notification, she is knitting on the sofa, her legs propped up on a stack of box files from Joe’s home office. Since her failed attempt at tidying she’s been stress-knitting a new jumper, and as she lifts it off her lap she realizes it is lopsided, the stripes uneven. Maybe it would be good to get out of the house.
When she arrives most of the chairs in the shop are already filled, the tables pushed aside to make room. It is cosy, to say the least.
Alfie looks up as she takes a seat at the back, his hand raised in a wave. The group is small but lively and they welcome her warmly. Every now and then, throughout the evening, she catches Alfie glancing at her as if checking that she’s OK.
When the session disperses to gossip someone suggests moving to the pub, and everyone gathers their things to leave.
‘Coming with us, Alfie?’ Gerald, one of the book club members, asks him.
‘I should stay and get things tidied up. But you have a good night, and thanks for coming.’
‘What about you, Tilly?’
‘Not this time, thanks, but maybe next time.’
‘We’ll hold you to that!’
Eventually the shop empties, leaving just Alfie, Tilly andGeorgette, who prowls the shop licking up biscuit crumbs. It’s later than Tilly realized. She should probably get home but the thought of returning to the chaotic apartment doesn’t feel especially appealing. Instead she starts collecting discarded paper cups.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ says Alfie as he turns around and spots her, having just shut the door and turned the sign to ‘closed’.
He looks tired, his hair messier than ever, and there are dark circles beneath his eyes.
‘That’s OK. I figured you might need some help. And it makes a nice excuse not to go to the pub. I’m really glad I came tonight but I’m not sure I’m up for much more chat about genre theory with Gerald.’
‘You can’t blame him, he’s an academic,’ says Alfie.
Tilly laughs in reply. ‘I hear there’s no cure for that.’
Alfie procures a plastic bag and scoops up paper napkins abandoned among the books. Despite the warm evening he’s in a forest-green jumper that hangs off his frame. For a second, she recalls the sight of him in his cycling jersey and the strong, muscular arms that are usually hidden beneath his oversized knits. Ever since that day by the canal it’s been quite difficult to look at him in exactly the same way.
‘Did you enjoy it, though, despite Gerald?’ he asks, the sound of his familiar, friendly voice enough to push the thought of him in Lycra to the back of her mind.
‘I did, in the end. I wasn’t sure about coming,’ she admits. ‘I’ve had a bit of a week. But being here always makes me feel calmer.’
‘Really?’ His face brightens in a way that makes her chest squeeze. He runs a hand through his wild dark hair, and for just a brief moment Tilly wonders what it would feel like beneath her fingers. ‘That means a lot. I’ve always wanted the shop tofeel like a safe space where people can just be, as well as a place to buy books. My favourite bookshops are all like that.’
‘OK, now I need to know your favourite bookshops.’
They have finished clearing up the rubbish. And so, without saying anything, they make a start on the chairs, Tilly folding them and passing them to Alfie who stacks them in the corner. As she hands over the first one, their hands brush, his fingers warm against hers.
If he noticed the touch it doesn’t show on his face, instead his brow furrows, as though thinking, before he replies, ‘It’s hard to pick. Here in London I love Daunt Books in Marylebone, especially for the mezzanine floor full of travel books.’
‘I love it there too, it’s so beautiful.’
‘BookBar when I fancy a glass of wine with my books. Then Word on the Water is amazing.’
‘Of course. Who doesn’t love a canal boat full of books?’
