The Camden Tales

61 - Just A Girl

-=₪ September 1906 ₪=-

Market / Somers Town / 3.25pm

The Somers Town Market thrived under the brilliance of the midday sun. Stalls occupied every nook and cranny of the cobbles, with barrels and crates piled high in every available space. Baskets showcased an array of goods for passersby, who examined the vast assortment of vibrant produce, apparel, flowers, and assorted knick-knacks. The market was as loud as it was busy, with vendors vociferously hawking their wares and offering enticing deals. The cheerful chatter of market visitors blended with the persistent rumble of carriage wheels and the clatter of horses' hooves on the stone road nearby.

Alfie stood nonchalantly against his favoured lamppost, puffing on his pipe. The brim of his hat cast his eyes into shadow, and his cane sporadically twisted against the cobblestones, seemingly in rhythm with the processes of his thoughts.

His gaze swept across the market, lingering over the open area where he resided. This space remained barren, functioning primarily as overflow storage and temporary refuge for those seeking to take a break from the hustle of the marketplace.

Two women concluded their browsing at the fruit stall and departed, tucking small brown paper bags into the baskets dangling from their arms. Alfie's sharp blue eyes darted to the stall, drawn to the yellow of the bananas, then to the shine of the apples, over the shapely pears, before finally settling on the peaches. With a sense of purpose, he ambled closer, leaving the familiar comfort of his lamppost behind.

"Will you be making a purchase, Sir?"

Alfie turned to discover that he had inadvertently drifted close to another stall.

"No," he retorted, glancing at the display only to find that it was the flower stand.

"Would you kindly step aside then?"

"What is it with you, eh? Why can't I stand here? Worried I'm gonna pinch sumthin'? Well, I'll have you know I'm still not interested in ya poxy flowers, alright?"

The vendor stared blankly at Alfie, utterly bewildered by the unsolicited hostility from this stranger. Assuring himself that he had done nothing to provoke such a reaction, he heaved a sigh and busied himself with tidying his display.

-●=»>◆<«=●-

Warehouse / Poplar Docks / 3.25pm

"Well, this is it. It ain't much, but it's home," Alf stated, guiding Malka into his warehouse, which also doubled as his home.

As she followed him inside, she took in the lofty ceilings, the metal rafters extending between the red brick walls, and the expansive skylight, which stretched almost the entire length of the warehouse, infusing the space with natural light. Malka observed the sun's radiant beams filtering through the grime-coated windows high above, and she appreciated the dirty skylight glass for tempering the sun's glare, allowing her to better gaze upon it.

After placing her small suitcase on a large table in the centre of the warehouse, Alf observed her as she basked in the sun. Eager to acquaint her with the place, he redirected her attention to the table.

"This is where I meet with the lads, strike deals, sort stock. Over there is where we kick back," he said, pointing towards some old, threadbare sofas and armchairs arranged to resemble a living room against the rear wall. "This is the kitchen area," he declared, positioning himself by a stove and a few scant shelves fixed into the bare brick walls. "Through there is the toilet - indoor toilet, if ya can believe? Complete with shower and sink, bloody luxury that, and here is my room... well, I guess our room now. Come, have a look."