Page 16 of The Spark

‘Who, then?’

‘Oh Neve! Just a fan, okay?’

Mum’s not famous, but she is a singer, mostly of power ballads and love songs. It’s how she makes her living, through a combination of regular gigs and one-off bookings like weddings. It’s the only job she’s ever had, and I’d be devastated if she tried to do anything else. I’m still not fully sure how she never hit the big time. Might be because she’s easily distracted, I suppose, not to mention vehemently determined to keep smoking. Still. Whenever I see her sing, it does something unexpected to my heart. It dismantles, temporarily, all the barriers between us. It frees me, watching her sing.

The downside, however, is her ‘fans’. By which she means ‘flings’. Because that’s all they ever turn out to be. She always falls hard, at the start. Give her a pricey bunch of flowers, and she’s anyone’s.

Ralph tolerates it because it’s not his right to do otherwise, since he and my mother are officially just good friends. But I see it in his eyes whenever someone new crash-lands into her life. I imagine how it must feel – a kick to the chest, the kind of rejection that leaves you struggling for breath.

‘Who is he, then? This fan.’ I only just resist the urge to use air quotes.

Mum brings the tea over and pulls up a chair. Sunlight slices through the floor-to-ceiling windows and onto the table, helpfully bleaching out all the red wine rings and grease stains.

She smiles, already giddy as a schoolgirl. I’ve seen that look so many times before. ‘Oh, it’s early days.’

I sip my tea. It tastes terrible without milk, and is weak and bitter. I set the mug back down. ‘Does he have a name, at least?’

‘Actually, I’m not sure.’ She frowns. ‘They just call him “The Duke”, at the pub.’

‘What is he, a mob boss?’

She looks at me blankly. ‘Why would you say that?’

‘Because he sounds like a cut-price Godfather.’

She waves this suggestion away as if it is more ridiculous than him being called The Duke. ‘His family must have been something to do with landed gentry, I suppose, back in the day. He shares a flat with his brother now, though. They fight like cat and dog, apparently.’

‘Sounds a bit chaotic.’

She shrugs. ‘Anyway, I just call him Duke.’

‘Any gigs this week?’

‘Three. The pub, a wedding anniversary and an actual wedding.’

Mum always looks sensational when she’s gigging. She takes it seriously – spends hours on her hair and make-up, and wears gorgeously lavish dresses. She sings under her maiden name – Daniela DiMarco – and to look at her, you’d think she lived a life of non-stop continental glamour. But most people never see the side of her that gets up at midday and drinks too much and smokes instead of eats and seeks out unsuitable men to help her forget her pain.

‘You’ll never guess who I saw in town yesterday,’ she says, tapping her cigarette over a cereal bowl, releasing a grey worm of ash.

‘Who?’

‘Lara.’

My stomach brakes hard against my ribcage. ‘What?’

‘Yes, with a man.’

‘Did you speak to her?’

‘Well, no. I didn’t know what reaction I might get. It’s such a shame you two fell out. She was always so lovely.’

‘Did the guy... look like her boyfriend? You’re sure it wasn’t her dad?’

‘He was rather handsome, actually. Impeccably dressed and very tall. They were holding hands, so yes – I assume he was her boyfriend.’

I feel my heart start to pound. The impulse to flee becomes urgent. ‘Just need to pop to the loo.’ I stand up and move past her, out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

‘Use the one upstairs,’ she calls. ‘Duke dislodged the seat off the downstairs loo.’

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