This Book Made Me Think of You(77)
There’s a little pause, and then Harper says, “A human one?”
“I am happy for you. Really, I am. You and Raj make a great couple. I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your wedding invite sooner. Of course I’ll be there, if I’m still welcome.”
She turns to look at her sister’s face. Harper has her lips tightly pursed, holding back a smile that blooms suddenly into the real thing.
“You idiot. I was never going to get married without you there.”
* * *
—
A wall of sound hits them as they pass alongside the redbrick curves of the Royal Albert Hall, crowds lining the street. Flags wave furiously, and people whoop and clap.
“I think we’re nearly there,” Harper says, puffing with exertion.
“My ankle really hurts,” Tilly replies in a strained voice.
“Just a little bit further, Tils. Let’s do this last bit for Joe.”
* * *
—
Joe keeps running for as long as he can. His routes become shorter, his pace slower.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Tilly asks one morning as he reaches for his trainers, wincing as he does.
“I want things to feel normal,” he insists, and she nods, lacing up her shoes and swallowing hard.
In a short span of time, their lives have shrunk to the size of their flat and the hospital. Out in the park on their runs, Tilly can breathe again, memories of the latest hospital appointments blown away. With the breeze in her hair and the sound of Joe’s footsteps thumping doggedly beside her, she can almost pretend that everything is normal.
One morning she wakes earlier than him for once and starts dressing in her running things on autopilot. She already has her trainers on when Joe emerges, shoulders rounded and gray circling his eyes.
“Are you coming?” she asks, kissing him on the edge of his jaw.
He slumps down onto the sofa, and Tilly isn’t sure she’s ever seen him look so tired.
“You go,” he says.
“That’s OK, I’ll stay here with you.”
Joe shakes his head.
“Go to the top of the hill and tell me what the view looks like when you get back. I think I’m done.”
His voice is so resigned that it makes Tilly’s heart beat fast. She sinks down onto the sofa beside him, wrapping an arm around him. He can’t be done.
“When you’re better, we’ll go running together again. We’ll run a marathon!” He turns to her, raising an eyebrow. “Fine, maybe a half-marathon.”
She forces a smile, wishing that he’ll return it, wishing that he’d jump up from the sofa with his former Labrador energy and that everything can go back to the way things used to be.
He reaches for her hand, looping his fingers through hers. And then in a quiet voice still husky from sleep, he says, “You do know I’m not going to get better, don’t you, Mouse?”
* * *
—
It’s the final stretch, Tilly’s legs wobbling and Harper’s teeth gritted in silence as she supports Tilly’s weight. Then they hear a voice they recognize rising above the cheers of the crowd.
“My girls! You can do it, my girls!”
Tilly isn’t sure she’s ever heard her mother shout so loud. Harper hears her, too, her pained expression morphing into a grin.
“Bloody hell, Mum.”
Tilly spots her alongside the rest of their group, gesturing and shouting manically. Raj has acquired a giant foam finger and is waving it in the air. Rachel claps frantically. Tilly’s dad looks like he might be sobbing, but maybe it’s just the rain.
“Come on, my girls!” comes another yell. “Come on, my bloody brilliant girls.” And Tilly and Harper look at each other and smile, their mother’s voice in their ears as they stumble together across the finish line.
November
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Forty-Eight
Alfie Lane
Book Lane
12 Hill Crescent
London
Dear Alfie Lane,
As your landlord I am writing to inform you that I have made the decision to sell 12 Hill Crescent. The building consists of a top floor two-bedroom flat and the shop premises currently home to Book Lane. As you may be aware, the tenants in the flat recently vacated, which means I am hoping for a smooth and swift sale. As the long-term tenant of the shop premises, I am contacting you first in case you wish to purchase the building. I will give you until the end of November to think things through, as I plan to have the property on the market by January.
Please do be in touch if you are interested. And if not, thank you to both yourself and your late father for being excellent tenants. I am approaching retirement and wish to free up some capital to facilitate a move abroad. I hope you understand.
Best wishes,
Raymond Evans
So that’s it then. Alfie stares at the letter in his hands, feeling as if time has slowed. He is painfully aware of the smells around him—new books, coffee beans, Prudence’s floral perfume, and Georgette’s fur—and of the harmonious hum of customers browsing quietly and Blue whistling to herself as she strings a plethora of vibrant paper chains in the window.