Page 39 of The Spark

‘Lung cancer,’ she says softly. ‘It was pretty grim.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

There is a pause. ‘We did have... a bit of quality time together, at the end. Well, not quality. It was hideous, frankly, with the chemo. But we said all the stuff we needed to say.’

‘Was it in Norwich?’

‘Yeah. He died at the N&N.’

‘How long were you here?’

‘Three months.’

I swallow a hot rush of guilt. The email and WhatsApp she’d sent me a few years ago must have been when Billy was dying. And I ignored them. ‘I’m really sorry. For not—’

‘It’s okay, Neve. You weren’t ready. That’s fine. I don’t resent you for it.’

‘Still. It’s Billy. I am sorry.’ I loved him too, I want to add, but don’t.

‘Like I said, we had time together. Which is all that matters, in the end.’

‘Is your mum—’

She shakes her head. ‘Not in the best of health. She doesn’t look after herself too well, and she’s barely mobile, so—’

‘You’re back to help out,’ I realise.

I should go and see her. It’s less a conscious thought, more a reflex: Corinne was like a mother to me, growing up. I feel momentarily bad for having cut her out of my life, too. But the situation was impossible: I couldn’t know Corinne and detest Lara at the same time. I saw Corinne once, in Sainsbury’s, examining a bag of apples, and the urge to go and put my arms around her was so fierce, I had to abandon my trolley and walk out of the shop.

‘How long are you staying this time?’

‘Who knows?’ Lara forces a smile, but it looks a bit hollow. I can tell she doesn’t really want to talk about it.

I can understand why. It’s been nearly a decade since we shared anything personal. I’m sure she has other friends now, people she’s closer to. Bonds are forged over time, and we’ve lost so much of that.

Out of nowhere, a cave opens up in my stomach; dark, cold regret for all the years we’ve missed out on. The experiences we might have had, the holidays we never got to enjoy. The nights out, the gossip and stories, the jokes and anecdotes we’d have carried with us into old age. I realise I actually don’t know very much at all about who she is now. What music she likes, her favourite food. How she celebrated her last birthday. If she cares about keeping fit. Her thoughts on getting older. Whether she can cook, or speak another language, or do a really solid impression of someone famous. If she knows anyone famous. I can’t even guess with much confidence which way she’d vote.

‘What’s Felix’s family like?’ I ask. A first attempt, perhaps, to get to know who she is today.

‘They’re amazing. Big. Loving. So loving. I feel very lucky.’ Lara’s sitting up now, fiddling with the picnic. She rips open a giant packet of crisps, then passes me a pack of chicken empanadas.

I take one, pushing away a dark flutter of envy, as I so often do when I encounter people with functional families.

‘How’s your mum doing?’ she asks, like she can still read my mind after all this time.

‘Same as ever. Dating and drinking and doing my head in.’ I bite into the empanada. It’s good, and I realise how hungry I am.

‘Does she still hang around with that guy... What was his name?’

‘Ralph.’

‘Ralph! That’s it. I often wondered if they’d get it together. He always seemed like he genuinely cared about her.’

‘I think my mother’s allergic to people who genuinely care about her.’

She smiles faintly in response, but I can’t quite read her expression.

‘Lar, what’s Felix like?’ The over-protectiveness I detected – suspected? – before is bothering me. I need to know more about him.

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