Page 91 of The Spark

I see her take this in: seven whole days. In another life, I’d have been messaging her from Juliet’s front porch while I was waiting for the cab.

Beyond the conservatory window, a cluster of clouds moves across the sun, and for a few moments the air turns cool.

‘Has he been in touch?’

I shake my head. ‘No, and I actually think... he doesn’t want to work things out. And I can’t exactly blame him. He says he doesn’t believe in reincarnation or the afterlife or ghosts, so he’s definitely not buying my theory. He called it malarkey and claptrap.’

Lara’s eyes narrow. ‘Does he also say things like codswallop and brouhaha?’

I smile, despite myself. ‘No.’

‘All is not lost, then.’

It is, actually. ‘He was so angry, Lar. He said it was like I’d been cheating on him. Which given what happened with Tabitha, is probably the worst thing he could think about me. But the thing is, I really did love him.’ I shake my head in frustration as a wave of sadness crests in my chest. ‘Do love him.’

She leans forward, puts a hand on my knee. ‘Okay, I’m going to ask you something now. Promise not to get offended?’

I smile faintly. This is the kind of question my mother usually opens with when she’s about to lay into my life choices.

‘Do you really love Ash? Or do you love him because you think he’s Jamie?’

‘That’s what he said.’

She holds my gaze. ‘Well?’

‘Both. Is that possible?’

‘Not really.’

I sigh. ‘Ash said I should see a therapist. He thinks this is... unresolved grief.’

Lara just nods, then waits.

‘And ordinarily, I’d agree, but... I still can’t get past the facts. There are too many similarities. Too many coincidences. There are just... too many. And every time I read about the walk-in theory... it’s truly the only thing that makes sense.’ I shake my head. ‘Even down to little things, like... Ash would always kiss that same bit of my collarbone that Jamie liked to kiss. The exact same spot.’

Lara raises an eyebrow. ‘Not to be captious, but Felix likes to kiss that exact same part of me, too.’

As she says this, an elderly couple shuffle past in their robes, slippers slapping against the tiled floor. The woman glares at us, then looks at her husband and shakes her head.

Lara laughs as they walk off. ‘Wow. It’s been a long time since I’ve been the most salacious person in the room.’

‘So, what are you saying?’ I ask her.

‘I’m saying, maybe speaking to a counsellor isn’t such a bad idea.’

‘You think it’s all in my head?’ I’m not accusing her. I genuinely want to know.

‘No,’ she says, equably. ‘I think what I’ve always thought – that we have no idea what happens when someone dies. But I do know that you and Ash had – have – something worth fighting for, and a counsellor could help you figure out how to do that.’

I picture the way Ash looked at me last Sunday. The love had drained from his face and eyes, replaced by cold indifference.

‘And look – maybe you just need to force him to sit down and talk to you. Maybe you just need to thrash this whole thing out. Maybe... you just don’t give him the option, Neve.’

It’s only when she looks up and I meet her eye that I realise it’s possible we’re not talking about Ash any more.

When I get back home, still smelling faintly aromatic from the massage oil, I consider how a day can be pleasant and weird all at once. Even now, I’m so base-level angry with Lara, yet it’s been surprisingly easy to resurrect something bearing all the hallmarks of friendship. Because the shorthand, the history, the groundwork, is already there. I never have to explain myself to her. She knows me inside out, as I do her, despite that missing decade. Which makes the illusion deceptively easy to believe.

But just because something’s easy, doesn’t mean you should do it. Maybe, in fact, the opposite is true. It’s a bit like getting back into bed with an ex. Easy because it’s comfortable, safe, effortless. But usually a bad idea.

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