The Camden Tales

67 - What A Difference A Day Makes

-=₪ July 1908 ₪=-

Market / Somers Town / 2.04pm

After the lunchtime rush dwindled, Moey took a moment away from the card table, stretching his legs and joining Alfie. Alfie stood in his usual spot, observing the marketgoers.

"Well, I think we can safely say they're happy," Moey commented with a nod towards Daniel, Ruth, Frank, and Harry, who were engrossed in laughter and conversation over sandwiches.

Alfie glanced over his shoulder, then refocused on the crowd with his pocket watch in hand. Moey noticed Alfie's habit of holding the open watch while people-watching. He wondered why Alfie did this but got ignored every time he showed interest in knowing.

"We've so much cash in the tin that Harry can barely close it," Moey quipped, grinning.

"Good to hear," Alfie responded with a smile. "Throw money at 'em, and they're putty in yer hand," he remarked about his fickle crew.

"So, what you needs the cash for?" Moey inquired.

"This and that."

"Seemed like more than this and that to me," replied Moey, but something else caught Alfie's attention.

Alfie watched unblinking as sunlight danced on her shimmering dress, its gleam mirroring the peaches she stood over at the stall. With eyes gently closed and head tilted back, she bathed in the sunlight's warm embrace, sending a wave of weakness through his knees. The vision of her grew in his eyes as he unwittingly moved closer.

As the vendor prompted the young lady for payment, a sudden panic gripped Alfie. Swiftly, he fumbled coins from his pocket, unaware of the exact cost. Seeing her fair, slender hand extending with her payment, he hastily nudged it aside, depositing his coins into the vendor's awaiting palm.

His body froze as her voice, unheard for four long years, unfurled through the air. Despite a tone of annoyance, her feminine words were like a song to his ears. Then, the song stopped, and silence descended, sending a tidal wave of nervous tension sweeping over him like he'd never felt before. He could feel her eyes on him; he felt sick and swallowed heavily while, with a stiff nod to the vendor, he accepted the coins back from his overpayment.

Summoning all his courage, Alfie first turned his eyes, followed shortly by his head. He had conjured images of her as a woman many times, each time different and each pretty, but none he could now see mirrored the beauty of the real thing. His gaze glided down her dress, noting the subtle curves of her breasts, hips, and thighs before travelling back up to the long black hair that gracefully fell around her shoulders. Taking a deep breath, he admired the delicate flower she had transformed into. With the demureness of the finest lady coupled with incomparable feminity, she was perfection.

She reached out towards him, her fingers extended. The agonising wait for her touch, the longing for her grace, was finally at its end as her hand made contact, sending a surge of electricity through his body. This electrifying touch sent a jolt to his chest, causing his heart to pound with the might of four powerful stallions charging side by side.

"Alfie?"

Her song, sweet and soothing, prompted him to bow his head and close his eyes, immersing himself in her silver light. The soft fragrance she carried enraptured him, making each breath easier than it had been in years. However, the overwhelming wave of relief filled his lungs to the brim, like trying to capture a waterfall in a small cup.

He was momentarily at a loss for words, save for two. "Yes," he whispered. The second word required a little time, hidden as it had been, safely locked away within the depths of his bone box and guarded heart. Opening and allowing it free brought a long, restrained sea of sorrow. These tears, having swelled steadily through the years, now sought release. His eyes welled up, a lump formed in his throat, and he breathed out, "Malka."