Nelson Madekwe was a born Londoner, but he’d never set foot in Camden before. He was an Elephant and Castle boy. Proud, of course, of Sir Michael Caine – even though he thought Caine’s real name, Maurice Micklewhite, was actually more badass. Nelson’s name wasn’t his own either, he felt, having been named after such a famous man, he’d never live up to it. And with the obligatory bedroom joke concerning yet another namesake that every single girl seemed to enjoy making, Nelson was strongly considering using a pseudonym himself.

Today was a good day. Here, Nelson was completely anonymous. He’d never been to Camden and Camden had never been to him. This mutual lack of familiarity, however, didn’t stop a woman in a food stall from calling Nelson ‘darling’. It was a word he’d come to loathe, as his mother only called him ‘darling’ when she was about to slap him in the face, usually for trying to pinch a meatball from the pan. Scowling, he passed more food stalls: Japanese, Italian, Chinese, Spanish. Now, where had Leona said her stall was…?

As his sister hadn’t been very specific, Nelson had no alternative but to stroll through the Stables Market, which, he was reminded at almost every turn, had been there since 1854. Apparently, the stables had been part of a former horse hospital, and were listed as a building of historical interest. Many of the clothes sold in the shops now occupying the stables might’ve been of historical interest too, though ‘vintage’ seemed to be a more appropriate term. It certainly applied to the music drifting through a particularly deep corner of the market – a few shopkeepers were cooing along to Madonna’s Like a Virgin.

Emerging in the daylight again, Nelson finally heard a familiar voice. His sister was calling after a potential customer. “Something for the wife? Can’t forget the wife. I’m cheap, we’ll find her something nice.”
Nelson snuck up behind her and adopted his mum’s admonitory tone.
“You know, people could really misinterpret that.”
“Nelson!”
“Hello, sis. How’s business?”
“Oh, at this rate, I’ll have enough to buy a house before you do, mister Westminster.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Nelson laughed. He handed Leona the bag his mother had given him.
“Ooh, ta!”

While his sister inspected the contents of the bag, Nelson studied a nearby sculpture.
“So, all these bronze horses. Been here since 1854 too?”
“Wha’? Don’t ask me, mate. I’ve only been here for three weeks.”
Nelson shrugged. “Anyway… People to see and all that.”
“You bet you have,” said Leona.
“Meaning?”
“I know, I know, I should change my name to Emma Woodhouse, like you said. But there’s this really sweet waitress from Lithuania working in Covent Garden. If she even knows about the Battle of Trafalgar or any monuments referring to it, she’d never tease you about it.”
Nelson sighed and shook his head, but in amusement. “And I’m meeting her when?”
Leona smiled broadly. “Good boy! I’ve learned, though. Here’s her phone number, you can pick a date when it’s actually convenient.”
“Ta. Good luck with that cheap business you’re running.”
Now Leona shook her head, laughing. “Get out of here, you.”
Nelson saluted and started towards the tube station. When he thought he was out of his sister’s sight, he took his phone from his pocket.