Page 37 of The Spark

I stretched out next to her so she could finish my hair, trying not to think about how hard my mother would scoff if she had overheard this conversation. I decided to change the subject, because for the time being at least, I knew Lara’s life plans were far more interesting than my own. ‘What about you? Any luck with the work experience?’ She had been trying for weeks to arrange shadowing or even just a coffee with someone in TV set design, and had so far got nowhere.

She started combing the other side of my head for the second braid. I liked having my hair done by Lara. Her touch was gentle, so unlike my mother’s, who – on the rare occasions she’d done my hair as a child – would yank forcefully through my dark waves with a comb as though her intention was to render me completely bald.

‘Actually, yeah. I got a call today from a production designer who does heaps of stuff for the BBC. We’re having coffee tomorrow.’

‘Lar, that’s amazing.’ I twisted my head to face her. ‘God, I can’t wait to see you on TV.’

‘I won’t actually be on TV.’

‘Your name, then. On the credits.’

She paused. ‘But I want to see your name up in lights, too, Neve. Not just mine, or Jamie’s. Yours too. Right up there. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Okay.’

I’d been feeling a cold drip of apprehension as Jamie’s leaving date approached. At night, I would lie awake, picturing him meeting some fellow aspiring architect with a shiny ponytail called Ginny, who’d probably gone to private school and spent her free time fine-dining and influencing from Dubai. Temptation was everywhere, I knew that. Soho was cool, and London was overrun with Ginnys.

But at the same time, Lara’s words had struck a tiny tuning fork somewhere inside me. Maybe an enforced break from Jamie was my chance to make something happen for myself. That way, I wouldn’t spend the summer missing him, but doing something positive with my life instead.

On Jamie’s last morning in Norfolk, we went to the beach. We’d stayed up late the previous night, watching a Swiss film Harry had recommended, and I felt tired and sluggish, craving fresh air.

The beach was swarming with kids dressed in expensive clothes and wellies, their parents laden down with cool boxes and beach bags and windbreaks. The sky flared with sunshine, the view an artist’s tableau of flying kites and scampering dogs and picnickers.

I could see this for me and Jamie, one day: living in North Norfolk, maybe buying one of those beautiful flint-walled coastal houses, having children, a dog.

‘What happened to your aunt’s beach hut?’ Jamie asked, as we passed the row of pastel-coloured huts nestling in the shadow of the pine trees.

I looked at him, impressed. I’d mentioned it maybe once in passing, years ago. ‘She sold it. I think she needed to buy a car, or something.’

‘Shame. Be worth a fortune now.’

It occurred to me then, that with his confident stride and hundred-pound wellies, discussing beach huts like they were legal tender, that Jamie really fitted in here. He could have been any one of these people, who all seemed to have money and the world at their feet.

I imagined Lara admonishing me for this. You don’t have to be a certain sort of person to fit in outdoors, idiot.

Just as we were finding a place to sit, on the sand just north of the beach huts, a loud noise made us both start. It filled the air, disquieting and mournful, like the wail of an old air-raid siren.

‘Are we about to be bombed, or something?’ I was only half joking. What the hell was it?

Jamie laughed. ‘It’s the high-tide warning. They sound it when the tide turns. To let you know to get to dry ground, or you might be swept out to sea.’

Even though I could feel the blaze of the sun on my face, I shivered. I couldn’t imagine a much worse way to go than being swept out to sea.

Jamie laughed and slung his arm across my shoulders. ‘Don’t worry. I wouldn’t let you get swept off anywhere.’

‘What about you?’ You’re getting swept away to London tomorrow.

‘Well, if I did... I’d just have to come back and haunt you.’

‘What?’ I laughed.

‘Yeah. I’ve fully got plans to haunt you, if I go first.’ He turned to face me, dipped his mouth to mine and kissed me. I can still remember that kiss, even now. Salty and sun-soaked and wholehearted, like we were moments before the credits rolled in a film. I could practically hear the orchestra.

‘Just so you know,’ I said, as we drew apart, ‘I’m really not a fan of ghosts.’

‘I’d be a friendly ghost. We could have fun.’ He waggled his eyebrows, brown eyes dancing with laughter.

I tilted my head, tasting sea salt on my tongue. ‘It sounds like you’re saying we could have ghost sex, which is... just about the creepiest thing anyone has ever said to me.’

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