Page 3 of The Spark

‘What?’

‘The painting.’

‘Grandad said... it was about loneliness. Or maybe fear. It was painted during the war.’

I kissed him again. ‘Your parents think I’m holding you back.’

‘I don’t care. I love you. I love you, Neve.’

I slid my hand inside his dressing gown and felt him inhale, breath sharp with pleasure as my fingers skated over his skin. I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to show him, again, just how much I loved him.

People kept telling me it was impossible that, aged eighteen, I’d found the person I wanted to spend my life with.

And yet, here we were.

‘It’s you and me, Neve, for ever.’ The words slid from his mouth into mine. They tasted so good, exactly what I wanted to hear.

‘For ever,’ I breathed back.

Chapter 2.

Now

My screen is now the only light in the deserted office. It glows bright as a fish tank in the gloom. I check the time, stretch my arms above my head. Ten o’clock. Another hour should do it, then I can hit save on this pitch pack before my final read-through tomorrow.

My phone rings. Its vibrato makes me jump in the library-like hush of empty open-plan.

It is, surprisingly, my ex-boyfriend Leo.

‘Hey,’ he says languidly, like it’s this time last year and he’s asking me what type of beer he should pick up for tea.

‘I’m working,’ I say politely, not at all keen on encouraging any misplaced nostalgia. ‘What’s up?’

‘Plus ça change.’

‘I don’t know what that means.’ (Neither does he.) ‘Can I help?’

He exhales. I hear the click of a lighter. Within the space of ten seconds, I’ve been reacquainted with the key traits of Leo’s that used to wind me up the most. I just need him to call me babe and start talking about cryptocurrency, and he’ll have covered at least the top five.

‘Babe, I thought you should hear it from me first.’

I keep my eyes on my screen, delete a rogue apostrophe, add in a couple of commas. Is the font too small?

‘I’m getting married.’

‘Oh. Really?’ A beat. ‘Congratulations.’

His girlfriend – now fiancée, I guess – is an ex-colleague. They met while Leo and I were still together. The jury’s out on whether things overlapped. But the truth is, in my heart, I’m not sure I care that much.

‘You should come.’

‘To the wedding?’

‘Well, yeah.’

This baffles me. I’ve had maybe three conversations with Leo since I ended it, zero with her. He’s the only person I know who would issue an invite to a wedding more casually than he would one to dinner at Nando’s.

I sigh, scan my screen again. The presentation is a pitch for new business that I’m handling alone, the conversion of a Grade I listed mansion close to the North Norfolk coast. Winning the work would be another huge tick on my path to promotion.

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