Page 116 of The Spark

‘I was.’

‘Well, that’s the way it always goes,’ she says sadly. ‘The first time.’

‘So you did suspect?’

She rolls her eyes faintly. ‘Of course. That boy was a shiny penny, Neve.’

‘I don’t know what that means.’

‘Oh, you do – shiny, perfect, always glinting. They look like treasure, but in fact they’re next to worthless.’

‘Right,’ I say, surprised to realise this makes a strange sort of sense.

‘Yes. So very shiny. But I never quite felt that he was shining for you. Sometimes I’d watch him, and that smile would fall from his face as quickly as it appeared, once your back was turned. Like a curtain on a stage. His behaviour was very... performative.’

‘How come you never warned me?’

‘Would you have listened?’

‘Probably not,’ I admit.

‘Some things you can be told a thousand times by other people, but you can still only ever really discover for yourself.’

‘Well. You were right, anyway.’

‘Gosh, it doesn’t really matter who was right, does it?’

Silence spreads through the space between us. For a moment or two, we just look at each other.

‘But... what if I’d had the baby, Mum, and Jamie had survived? I’d have his child now. An eight-year-old son, or daughter. And Jamie would be... with someone else. Not me.’

Her face draws together. ‘I don’t see that there’s much point in thinking like that.’

‘And that’s exactly what happened to you. You had me, but Dad was cheating on you, and—’

‘I never regretted having you, Neve. Not once. Not ever.’

‘You found it hard, though.’

She smiles. ‘Shall I let you into a secret?’

I consider saying no, because being appraised of my mother’s secrets is usually about as fun as receiving a herpes diagnosis.

‘I found parenting hard because it is bloody hard. But would I have swapped it, or changed it? Never. I know I wasn’t like all the other mums, and I know I let you down, sometimes. But that wasn’t because I didn’t want you, or regretted having you.’

I’m finally wondering whether, in her position, I’d have fared much better. Whether I might have become dysfunctional in the way she so often seemed to me.

I think back to what she said a couple of weeks ago. You’re more like me than you think.

‘Anyway,’ Mum says, ‘I’m a better judge of character now.’

I shoot her a look. ‘No offence, but are you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Er, The Duke?’

‘Well. I’ve actually got some news for you, on that front.’

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