Page 12 of The Spark

‘It is kind of a weird thing to be known for,’ he says, sipping his pint. ‘I don’t feel the novelty factor in quite the same way as other people.’

‘I get that,’ I say, wishing now I’d not brought it up. ‘My mum knows a guy that got attacked by a crocodile. He’s pretty much known for having a massive bite mark on his arse.’

Ash smiles. ‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’

I shut my eyes briefly. ‘No. Sorry. Absolutely making it worse.’

Beneath the table, I feel his knee nudge mine. There’s no way of telling whether it’s accidental.

‘So, how is it, working for Kelley?’ he asks. ‘She’s got a pretty fierce reputation.’

‘Actually, I love it. She’s basically my idol. Though she would frown on this.’

‘Us . . . having a drink? Why?’

‘She’d say it was unprofessional.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘So why did you suggest it?’

I meet his gaze across the table. His eyes are inky blue, the colour of the sky at night. ‘I was curious,’ I admit. ‘You remind me of someone.’

He waits, presumably for me to elaborate.

‘Someone I knew . . . a long time ago.’

He looks intrigued. Maybe he suspects I’m referring to an ex. ‘You’re going to have to give me a bit more than that.’

I glance briefly out of the window. The setting sun is scorching the rooftops. The horizon is burned red.

‘What made you want to become an architect?’ I’m pretending to change the subject – though of course, I’m not really, because Jamie was an architect too.

Ash tips his head back and forth almost imperceptibly. ‘Well, after my accident, I wanted a change of direction. I was training to be a doctor before. I guess I just... didn’t want to waste any more time on things I had no passion for.’

‘Had you always been into it? Architecture?’

He smiles. ‘No, and... this might sound a bit... But it just kind of hit me while I was in hospital, that architecture was what I really wanted to do. Something inside me sort of clicked, out of nowhere. It was weird, but it was also the best decision I ever made. Maybe it was divine intervention, or something.’

I stare at him, my heart a series of misfired beats. ‘Who’s your favourite? Architect, I mean.’

‘I’d probably have to say Norman Foster. You’ve got to love the Gherkin.’

‘Got to,’ I say faintly.

‘Anyway. Enough about work. I would ask what you do for fun, but that is officially the world’s worst small-talk question.’

I smile. ‘Yep. Hate that too.’

‘Right? If someone says “fun” that’s supposed to mean bungee jumping, or skydiving, or go-karting, or waking up naked on the ferry halfway to Rotterdam.’ He laughs. ‘Actually, I was that guy, back in the day. Before my accident. I was all about the fun. Call Ash if you want a fun time. Everyone used to call me a “livewire” but I really think that was just a polite word for twat.’

‘You felt different, then? After the accident.’

He nods.

I sip my wine, slowly, carefully. ‘In what way?’

He takes a moment to answer. ‘I don’t know why exactly, but suddenly I just... wanted to stop all the craziness and climbing up lampposts and getting arrested for breaching the peace. No more wild nights out ending with me waking up in ditches or train depots. Much to the disappointment of my friends. They all thought I’d been taken over by aliens.’

‘So, you had a near-death experience and then...?’

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