‘Which are you?’ She liked his irreverent sense of humour and the fact that they hadn’t stopped talking. Not for a second.
‘Oh, I’m a cruncher, and proud! And, frankly, I feel sorry for those without the moral fibre or daring sense of adventure to delight in the fracturing of the outer shell, allowing the thick sticky interior to clamp to your teeth!’
‘Sorry to say, I’m actually one of those lacking in moral fibre and a daring sense of adventure.’
‘Never!’ Alfie shook his head in obvious disappointment.
‘’Fraid so.’ She sucked air through her teeth. ‘I think I used to be a cruncher, but nowadays I’m more worried about fracturing the outer shell of my weakened molars. Age has made me cautious,’ she admitted.
‘In some ways, yet you still let an old fart like me take you out for a drink.’
‘I did. Call it a moment of madness.’ She fell into step alongside him as they walked by the riverside.
‘Days like this remind me what I love most about this city.’ He breathed in slowly through his nose as if taking in the essence of the place. ‘There’s something about being near the river ...’
‘As you know, I am rather fond of it myself.’
‘Do you ever take to the water, go boating?’
‘Err, no.’ She laughed at the prospect. ‘I did get a water taxi once back in the nineties, just to try it out, and it was odd. Having spent so much of my life looking at it, to be on it was strange, but it was a quick trip, over in a flash.’
‘That’s a shame. I feel excited when I walk along it, get close to it.’ He stared across the river.
‘Every day is like that for me. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,’ she confessed.
‘Really? You never want to run for the hills, go to the sea or follow the sun?’
‘Nope. I like the odd day out, but’ – she shook her head – ‘not really. People talk about going abroad, keen to tell you all about the sights and sounds that they found awe-inspiring – the crystal-clear waters of the Maldives, the cobbled streets of Paris, the canals of Venice, the skyscrapers of New York, the deserts of the Sudan ... All unique, beautiful and shaping the human experience, and I get all of that. But that’s exactly how I feel about my little corner of London. That same feeling that I’m experiencing somethingbeautiful, something fleeting. I find it awe-inspiring just looking at this old river.’
‘I think I fell out of love with her a bit, this city of mine. I like to come back, and I do, weekly, but I also like to walk my fields and listen to the birdsong.’
‘That sounds nice.’ She finished her sweet. ‘I find there’s a huge difference between Londoners and those that visit. Tourists and day-trippers talk about the sights and the lights, the theatre, the crowds, but those of us whoknowthe old girl understand that it’s moments that make this city great.’
‘What do you mean by moments?’ Alfie stopped walking and turned to face her. It was both pleasing and encouraging, to seemingly hold his attention in this way.
‘I mean the little glimmers of pure joy and life-affirming wonder that can fill you right up, like—’ She wanted to eloquently raise the points that rattled in her head. ‘Like being on the top deck of a bus that goes over one of the bridges at sunset when you get that unique, fleeting view of the buildings on the river, back-lit with the red and gold of the setting sun. Or, seeing the face of a tourist the first timetheysee St Paul’s or Trafalgar Square. Their excitement, it’s infectious! And flags – we are very good at big old rows of flags, any excuse, all along The Mall, and St James’s; jubilees, royal weddings, state visits, whoosh! Up they go! They fill me with pride. Popping into a shop or café and the person behind the counter recognising you and chatting to you, letting you know that of all the millions of people jostling for space and connection in this big city, theyknowyou because you are a part of it. Or that feeling of lying on the grass with your eyes closed in one of our parks, on fresh-cut grass with roses blooming in the flower beds and ducks quacking, quite bucolic, yet still with the hum of traffic out of sight but not earshot.’
He laughed and nodded, as if he, too, had those moments.
‘And is there anything more glorious than a cold breeze through the open doors of a crowded bus on a hot day, or when the Tube doors open right where you are standing on the platform as if it’s your own personal transport! Knowing a shortcut, the best bakery, where to get great coffee, and chatting to other Londoners who share your childhood and education because it’s the same as theirs. Lying in bed at night, knowing that however lonely you might feel, you’re never alone. And that London hum; the collective noise of the capital, interspersed with horn toots and shouts! This city is twenty-four-seven, and you only have to holler out of the window or into the hallway and someone will come if you need them to.’ She felt her face blush, having shared her enthusiasm and possibly too much with this man, a stranger.
‘You feel lonely?’
‘Sometimes ...’ She was not about to admit that her biggest fear was the bone-deep loneliness of isolation, that particular silence that had noise ... and it felt stupid to say she still half expected her dad to call out his welcome when she arrived home. ‘But doesn’t everyone sometimes?’
‘I guess so.’ He swallowed. ‘Yes, I suppose we do.’
‘When are you loneliest?’ It felt a little like prying, but as they were sharing ...
‘First thing in the morning and last thing at night,’ he answered without hesitation. ‘When the only sound in the house is me. It’s one extreme or the other, really, either the girls and grandchildren are there creating mayhem, or it’s deathly quiet. No London hum in the countryside.’
Lilly appreciated his openness, matching her with his vulnerability. ‘It might just be me, of course, and my blinkered love of London that colours the way I see it. In the same way a mother will look at an ugly baby with a look of such pride as if no one has ever created a human so beautiful or perfect or unique.’
‘Like being eighteen, wearing beer goggles and finding every girl beautiful because you’re three sheets to the wind!’ he chimed.
‘Yes, exactly like that. And I don’t want to sound cruel. I’ve never been a mother, so who knows how I’d have viewed my own offspring!’ This she did with intention, letting him know she was childless, and she did so with a small laugh, hoping it smothered the knife of loss that went right through her breast at no more than the mention of it.
‘Well, if you were anything like me, I was definitely that kind of parent who looked at myveryugly kids and could say with certainty they were the most beautiful creatures ever born, the cleverest, too, and the funniest. I think that’s why it took so long for us to accept it, my ex and I, to admit our marriage was over, because it was like’ – he paused – ‘it was like, how can we not still love each other when we have made these incredible humans together? And I joke, but they are beautiful inside and out. Take after their mother, obviously.’ These last words he offered without humour. It was gracious, kind, intelligent.
