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 inherarms, 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 wasdreamingabout 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?’
