‘Ready?’
He holds out his arm and Tilly loops hers through his, his body reassuringly warm and solid against hers as he guidesher 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, andTime Outwere 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.
