Page 51 of The Spark

He moves a step closer, murmurs, ‘Really? That’s a shame.’

I feel the tick of desire deep in my belly.

‘All this actually reminds me of the first night I met you.’

I smile, feel the heat of his palm at my back. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. I couldn’t take my eyes off you that night. And neither could anyone else. They all wanted to be close to you. They always do.’

I present the award on behalf of Kelley, which all goes smoothly until its recipient – the owner of an all-female recruitment consultancy – whips out cue cards to deliver an acceptance speech better suited to the Oscars than a regional business awards. I miss the opportunity to leave the stage, so end up standing awkwardly next to her while she rambles on, not knowing whether to nod enthusiastically at every minor juncture of her story, or stare detachedly towards the back of the room like I’m her personal security detail.

Afterwards, the DJ gets going, and everyone starts moving towards the dance floor. I can see Ash getting to his feet, drink in hand, hopefully to come and find me. I’m no Shakira obviously, because no-one is, but I’ve necked the requisite amount of wine now to believe that maybe a quick dance with my – date? Boyfriend? – might not be the worst idea in the world. I’m sure we can keep it clean. No grinding or twerking. We’re not animals.

But as Ash approaches, my phone starts to ring. I groan internally when I see my mother’s number. She only ever calls this late at night when she’s having a crisis, or needs a favour.

‘Mum?’ I struggle to hear her over the music.

But it is a male voice on the other end of the line. ‘Mother... taxi... address.’

‘Sorry? What? Hang on.’

I find the nearest door, push it open. The music fades to a thump as I step into the hush of the corridor. ‘Hello?’ I repeat, terrified it’s the police, praying the whole drama with Bev hasn’t somehow resurfaced.

‘I have your mother in my taxi. She’s very... She’s had a lot to drink, and she can’t remember her address. She said your name, told me you’d know. I’m borrowing her phone.’

I lean against the wall next to me and sigh heavily. This isn’t the first time this has happened. I give him Mum’s address. ‘I’m so sorry. Will you tell her I’ll be there as soon as I can?’

‘Will do.’ He rings off, sounding slightly irritated that picking up a middle-aged woman has turned out to be more of a ball-ache than a group of steaming teenagers clutching post-club kebabs.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and jump.

‘Sorry.’ Ash looks worried. ‘I saw you come out. Everything okay?’

‘It’s my mother. Mum. She’s... Well, she’s had a bit too much to drink, I think.’

‘Is she all right?’

‘Er, yes. I think so. But I should probably go and check on her.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘I want to. I’ll come.’

I just look at him for a couple of moments, determined to refuse. There is no way I’m inflicting my mother in this state on someone I really, really like.

Then again. If Ash is anything at all to do with Jamie, then maybe it would be a good idea to bring the two of them face to face. Won’t there be some glimmer of recognition, from one of them at least? Some clue that in fact I’m not going crazy?

‘Well,’ I say. ‘If you’re really sure. My mother is... Well, she’s quite unique.’

‘That’s okay. Most parents have their quirks.’

I smile. He’s being sweet, but ‘quirky’ doesn’t really capture the years of lacklustre parenting, the succession of appalling men, the police, the restraining order. My mother is what happens when quirky self-destructs.

Outside, as we’re waiting in the darkness of the car park for our cab, Ash rests a hand on my back. At one point, he rubs the spot between my shoulder blades in a slow figure-of-eight motion, and despite the warmth of the gesture, I feel myself freeze.

‘You okay?’ he asks. ‘Cold?’

---