Page 27 of The Spark

You can overhear pretty much everything in our open-plan office, so I’m relieved to follow Parveen into one of the glass-walled meeting rooms.

The Kelley Lane offices made me melt, the first time I walked into them. They’re on the ground floor of a converted Edwardian house on Newmarket Road, open-plan and high-ceilinged, with walls the colour of rock salt and floors of pristinely weathered oak. Our desks sit on vintage-style pastel rugs – all cabling discreetly disguised, of course – and the space is finished with potted plants and Parveen-recommended artwork. There is a space-age coffee machine and a handful of bladeless fans, but we keep the ugly office printer out of sight in a cupboard. The air is fragranced with Jo Malone, and whenever we meet in here with clients or contractors, they always seem inclined to linger. I’ve sometimes wondered if it’s all just Kelley’s way of making us willing to work longer hours.

After the accident, driven by grief and anger and a thunderbolt of momentum that took even my own breath away, I started working so hard that my final-year projects and grades turned to solid gold. By the time I applied for the post at Kelley’s, I’d already interned for her three times. I’ll for ever be indebted to her for hiring me permanently, because it allowed me to fulfil the potential that Jamie so often insisted I had.

Parveen shuts the door behind us, crosses her arms. She hasn’t even removed her jacket. ‘Exactly what have you done to Mr Heartwell?’

A tiny glitter canon goes off in my stomach. ‘Er, I’m not sure?’

‘Well, he wouldn’t shut up about you the whole time I was on site today. He kept raving about how talented you are, and how much you’ve got in common, and how easy you are to talk to.’

I try and fail to hold back a smile. I messaged Parveen as soon as I left Ash’s apartment on Saturday – after a second coffee and a peck on the cheek goodbye – to let her know that yes, it had gone well, but no, we didn’t kiss.

‘God, Parveen, you’d have loved his apartment. It’s one of the old mills on the river, and the conversion is completely—’

Parveen raises a hand. ‘I’ll Google it later. What I want to know is, did you honestly not make a move?’

‘No!’ I say, laughing. ‘We just had coffee. It was all very platonic.’

And though technically this is true, it’s about a million miles away from how I really feel.

‘Well, that’s the opposite of what he’s thinking, believe me. He could not stop talking about you.’

In lots of ways, Parveen has come to replace Lara in my life. Or, not replace – but fill part of the gap she left, maybe. Other acquaintances feel more casual – spin class buddies, ex-colleagues. The kind of people you meet for coffee rather than confide in. But Parveen has become the latter.

I think I probably told her about what happened to Jamie within a week of meeting her. She knows he’s the only man I’ve ever loved; that I’ve been semi-serious about just three people in the nine years since he died. She’s aware of what happened with Leo, of how cynical I’ve become about love, how laser-focused on work. Sometimes, when she’s describing something nice she’s done with Maz and the twins, I get the impression she’s trying to remind me that there is still magic to be found in long-term relationships.

Parveen taps a manicured fingernail against the table. She takes her nails very seriously. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her without French tips. ‘So. Are you going to see him again?’

‘I want to, but...’ He’s so much like my dead boyfriend, I can’t breathe, sometimes. ‘I’m busy, and after what went on with Leo...’

She rolls her eyes. ‘Two terrible reasons. You know as well as I do that Ash is a catch-with-a-capital-C. Trust me, if I wasn’t with Maz, I’d be fighting you for him.’

‘You don’t fight over boys,’ I say, with a smile.

‘Actually, I threw a pint of lemonade over someone once, when I thought she was coming on to Maz. Guess who it turned out to be?’

‘I couldn’t possibly.’

‘His sister. I’d never met her before. I wanted to die. Lucky for me, his family are a very discreet bunch. In that it’s been brought up at every single family occasion since. If I never see another bottle of R.White’s in my life it’ll be too soon.’

Kelley floats past the glass doors in a fitted floral dress, presumably back from a meeting somewhere. Auto-matically, we both get to our feet.

‘You never told me that before,’ I say to Parveen, with a smile.

She pauses with her hand on the door. ‘That’s because I wanted you to think I’m way too well adjusted for cat-fighting in bars, obviously. Anyway. Are we decided? You’re going for it, with Ash?’

I wish it could be that simple. But the truth is, I’ve been trying to find Jamie again ever since he died. Which I know to be about as healthy and rational as my mother fantasising that my dad might one day come home.

And Ash is so much Jamie, I can’t imagine that getting into something with him is going to solve my problem.

Chapter 13.

Then

For Christmas that first year of uni, Jamie’s parents bought us tickets to see London Grammar the following spring. Since the gig was in London, the weekend of Jamie’s birthday, they were also treating us to a night in a posh hotel – a gesture that made me wonder if they were finally on the way to accepting me – and had booked a table for the four of us in some trendy Mayfair restaurant. I was excited to spend a weekend doing things we’d never normally have been able to afford. Or that I wouldn’t, anyway.

Work at uni had ramped up that spring. Not for me so much – having spent most of my contact time that year in the print and dye workshop, my main focus now was on writing a research essay on the role of smart materials in textile design, the pace of which was fairly relaxed. Jamie, on the other hand, had been frantically juggling essays, drawings, models and presentations, in between site visits and workshops, in preparation for assessment at the end of the year.

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