Page 123 of The Spark

When we reach the room where Lara spent her final few weeks and eventually passed away, Felix pauses.

I recognise every inch of it. The walnut floor and expansive windows. The vast sofa that was folded out as a bed. Coffee-coloured linen, though when she was using it, it was always smothered in a cloud of cushions and quilts.

‘Would you like some time alone?’ Felix asks me, kindly.

Gratefully, I nod, because I’ve been wondering privately if I might be able to get a sense of her in here, somehow.

He leaves me and I go inside, shut the door, then take a tentative seat. The room is quiet and still. It smells faintly of frangipani flowers.

I run a hand over the surface of the sofa, hoping to alight on a patch where her palm was once, too. Instinctively, I scan the room for the water bottle she was always sipping from, and for the fan that was constantly on, despite the air-conditioning. For her silk pyjamas, her hairbrush, her lip balm.

The last thing she ever said to me was a whispered, ‘Love you, Neve,’ two nights before she died. And I knew, somehow, that she was close to the end. That she was ready to go. I took some time off work as I waited for news, wide awake each night with grief. I kept my curtains open. For some reason, I didn’t want to take my eyes off the sky.

At one point, I felt the atmosphere shift slightly, a loss of pressure, like I was feeling her leave. Then, several minutes later, my phone rang. Felix. She was gone.

‘We had time together,’ I whisper to her now, letting a few tears fall, thinking back to what she said about Billy. ‘And you were right, Lar. That’s all that matters, in the end.’

Her childhood teddy bear is propped sweetly up in a corner of the sofa. I bend forward and pick him up, stroking his fur, which is silky now from years of repeated touch. He is just a bear, but he reminds me of her, somehow. He has kind, bright eyes. The softest heart.

As I prepare to leave the room, I hold his paw in my hand, momentarily unable to let go.

Evening approaches. There are still people milling around the house. I think that’s how it is, when you’re rich. You never have to be alone. I don’t blame Felix for that. Back at home, I’ve been working late and going on midnight walks and keeping up with a constant carousel of friends, just so I never have to feel my own solitude.

Felix opens a bottle of champagne, for us to toast Lara. We take it outside to the lounge chairs on the decking. The sunset tonight is pure cinema, the air fresh with salt and night-blooming jasmine. Beyond the garden, the sea is deep and dark as a reservoir. It shifts slightly with the tide, its surface clotted with seaweed. I get the urge to shed my clothes, run down to it and jump in, to feel myself caught in the cold squeeze of its fist.

I imagine swimming out to a point where Lara is treading water, waiting for me. I picture her waving, the smile on her face.

Felix proposes a toast. Together, we raise cold glasses in the warm air, and drink to her.

We spend two restorative weeks together, hiking and sunbathing, eating well and drinking great wine. Felix becomes a firm friend. I feel healthier, revitalised. We play tennis most days. I try yoga, which I’ve always assumed I would never have the patience for, and am surprised to discover I enjoy it. I regularly sleep in till ten. Felix introduces me to his friends and family. I get to see his offices in Silicon Valley. There are drinks and barbecues at the house nearly every night. The mood, if not upbeat, is determined, at least. To honour Lara’s passion for living. To pay tribute to the kind of life she would – should – have been enjoying now.

I enjoy the novelty of time off work. I haven’t had two weeks’ annual leave since I started at Kelley Lane eight years ago. Felix points out that taking holiday is essential for maintaining perspective and a clear head, and I have to say, I am starting to agree. True, I have checked my email occasionally, but Parveen is doing a fantastic job of holding the fort, and I am beginning to enjoy the feeling of opening my eyes in the morning and my first thoughts not being about my meeting schedule, or the problems on my to-do list that need solving, or Mrs Ogilvy’s bespoke library shelving.

One night, Patrick, a friend of Felix’s from San Francisco, finds me standing alone at the very end of the garden, looking out over the cove.

He touches my arm, making me jump.

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Didn’t mean to startle you.’

We’ve been out a couple of times, along with Felix and his wider circle, for drinks and dinner. He is handsome in a way that’s hard to ignore, and he’s charming, and athletic, and is very good at making me laugh.

‘Not at all,’ I say. ‘I was in my own little world there.’

We stare out at the water together for a few moments. Its surface is spangled with moonlight. It reminds me of the view at night from Ash’s apartment. But right now, Norwich feels a world away.

‘I wanted to ask,’ Patrick says quietly, eventually, ‘if you’d be open to having dinner, just the two of us, before you leave?’

I look over at him and smile.

‘Just something relaxed,’ he says. ‘I’d love to get to know you better.’

I wonder what Ash is doing right now. If he’s thinking of me. Or if he’s in a bar with a girl somewhere. It’s been six months since we last spoke. How could I blame him, if he’d moved on in that time? If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from Lara’s death it’s that life is short. You have to live it while you can.

But I’m not ready to move on yet. I still have so much I need to say to him.

I look kindly at Patrick, who is very sweet, with wholesome energy. ‘I’m sorry. It wouldn’t be right. I have some... unfinished business with someone, back at home.’

‘No problem. Just... thought I’d ask.’ Then he smiles, half raising both hands in a gentle gesture of acceptance, before walking slowly away in the darkness, back towards the house.

---