Page 19 of The Spark

‘I know you’re studying textiles and you have no idea what you want to do with your life, but... here’s what I think you should do.’

At that point, my career was the only part of my future that still seemed fuzzy to me, a picture not quite yet in focus. Jamie was going to be an architect, Lara was putting out feelers for internships in film and TV, and I... still hadn’t found my passion. I wasn’t interested enough in the fashion industry to want to work in it, and I felt no pull towards retail or merchandising. I was enjoying my textiles course but it didn’t set my heart on fire. Not the way Jamie’s did for him.

‘Decorating?’ I said, flipping the cover cautiously, but liking what I saw.

‘Well, interior design. You’re a natural, always have been. You have the eye for it. Look at what you’ve done with our place.’

I’d done what I could with our tiny rental. Sourced a beautiful oak coffee table on eBay. Softened the sofa and armchairs with velvety blankets. Angled lamps into dark corners. Filled the house with potted plants and gorgeous cut-price crockery, again from eBay. I’d even asked our landlord if I could uncover the original oak floorboards in the upstairs bedrooms. They’d needed sanding and waxing, but other than that, they were perfect. I did the work myself, then found some rugs to complement them, at a huge discount in a closing-down sale.

Maybe Lara was right. I did have an eye for pattern and colour – just not when it came to clothing. I definitely had an instinctive leaning towards interiors and furnishing, things like wallpaper and upholstery.

‘But interior design isn’t just decor,’ I said doubtfully. ‘There’s quite a bit of crossover with architecture. And I’m really not technically minded.’

‘Pity you don’t know any architects, then, isn’t it?’ Lara said, laughing as she topped up our Baileys. Then she pulled on the pink jumper, lay back with her head in my lap, and we returned our attention to the film.

The next morning, Jamie and I took a walk along the north bank of the Wensum before heading to his grandmother’s house for lunch. The air was astringent with cold, the sky plate steel. There wasn’t much traffic, or many people around. Just us and the geese in the silvery hush of a frost-kissed Boxing Day.

I still look occasionally at the selfies we took that morning. At Jamie, handsome in jeans and a collared jumper beneath a thick woollen coat. He was wearing a burgundy-coloured scarf, too, a gift from his grandmother the previous day.

And he smelt amazing. Harry had FedExed him a bottle of Tom Ford Noir.

‘Lara thinks I should become an interior designer,’ I said, as we walked.

‘Great idea. You’ve got a real flair for that stuff.’

‘You think I could do it? All those technical drawings you do look horrible, if I’m honest. And I’m literally allergic to maths. Anything remotely scientific makes me sweat.’

‘Yeah, but plans are just a means to an end. They’re not the essence of the job.’

We reached the area of the river where the new residential conversions were lined up along the far bank. Old mustard factories and woollen mills, now with views of the football ground and retail park. History made immortal. I thought of how many decades had passed since their bricks were laid, the scale of transformation that must have been witnessed through those windows.

‘Hey,’ he said then. ‘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 followed his gaze over to the Old Yarn Mill. Its façade was just visible through the mist – the vast, industrial windows and long roof, that timeless red brickwork emerging out of the chilly water, the charm of the projecting gantry detail on the building’s facing wall.

‘I’d be ridiculously excited, obviously.’

‘You’d have ideas?’

‘Are you joking? Millions.’ I’d never set foot in the place, but already my imagination was stirring with images of huge, high-ceilinged spaces and expansive floors, of uncovered brickwork, brushed-steel lighting, looming concrete beams.

‘Okay. Then I’ll tell you what. Once I qualify, I’m going to buy us an apartment in that building.’

I smiled. ‘Jamie.’

‘And you’re going to make it look amazing. When you’re not too busy being a hot-shot interior designer, that is.’

He turned to kiss me then, setting off fireworks inside me as ever, even though his lips were cold and damp from the wintry air. I could never understand it when people said the spark faded, once you’d been with someone a long time. Because for me, it had only ever got more intense.

‘Want to know what my favourite part is?’ he asked, as we drew apart.

‘I can guess.’

He raised an eyebrow and smiled, that way he had of challenging me.

‘Obviously the windows.’

‘Yep.’ He laughed. ‘Is it weird that I have a window fetish?’

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