Page 14 of The Spark

I feel tears in my throat.

‘Sorry. That was a bit TMI.’ He examines his glass. ‘Am I drunk?’

Despite myself, a laugh slips free. ‘Let’s hope so.’

I get another round in. Ash asks more about what I do and where I live, and I tell him about renovating my house, how much love I’ve poured into every last brick of it. But then, as he starts to describe his place – even though I think I know what he’s about to say – disbelief blows through me.

‘It’s nice. It’s on the river, actually. High up, really great views.’

I grip my glass, worried that if I don’t hold on to something, I might start to shake.

Top floor, middle four windows.

‘Is it one of the . . . converted factories?’

He nods. ‘The Old Yarn Mill. Do you know it?’

In my mind, I journey back to Boxing Day nearly ten years ago, when Jamie and I stood on the riverbank, staring up at the Old Yarn Mill. If someone told you they’d just bought an apartment in that building, and they wanted you to design the space and make it beautiful, how would you feel?

‘I do,’ I say softly. ‘I bet it’s gorgeous.’

‘Well, it could be. Though, it turns out I can do space planning and compliance and lighting and joinery, but when it comes to furnishing, I have a bit of a blind spot. I struggle when it comes to colour and fabric palettes and styling and stuff.’

I observe him for a couple of moments. His hair is definitively dark, where Jamie’s was lighter, closer to bronze. Jamie’s eyes were brown, but Ash’s are the deep, rich blue of open oceans. Ash is taller, I think, and I’m guessing he might have an athletic physique, where Jamie was always quite soft around the edges.

Still. He resembles Jamie so closely. In every way but looks, he could almost be him. The things he said about his personality changing after his accident niggle at me too, but I can’t quite figure out why.

‘Neve?’ Ash says gently.

I snap back to the conversation. ‘I could help, if you like. Give you some design pointers.’

‘Serious?’

‘Yes, I’d love to.’

‘That’d be great. I’d pay, obviously. I wouldn’t expect you to do it for free.’

‘No need. I’d love to. Whenever you like.’

‘I’m away next weekend, but... the Saturday after, if you fancy it?’

I exhale. A fortnight for me to figure out how I feel about this guy, who resembles the love of my life in a labyrinth of ways. Tonight has been like going back nearly a decade in time and sitting in the pub with Jamie again.

‘Great,’ I say.

He extends his almost-empty pint glass for me to clink. ‘Looking forward to it.’

We part ways on Fye Bridge with a hug and a peck on the cheek. But on the way home, I feel a clot of fear forming in my chest. The similarities between Jamie and Ash are... so, so bizarre. No, more than bizarre. Does he know about Jamie, somehow? Is he trying to impersonate him? Is he an old friend, or enemy, or even some kind of troll – has he looked him up online?

I message him as I walk home.

Meant to ask... have you ever known someone called Jamie?

I know two actually (and a half)

My heart somersaults. What is the half code for?

???

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