Page 50 of The Spark

When I’m finished, Ash sets down the cards. He reaches for my hand and says, ‘Neve, I’m so sorry.’

I feel a confusing flicker of disappointment when I see there is nothing at all in his eyes except surprise and sadness on my behalf.

I don’t tell him, of course, about the box I keep under my bed. The box that’s still filled with memories of Jamie. The tickets from Mamma Mia. Birthday and anniversary cards. The corks from the champagne his mother bought us, that first night in Edinburgh Road. Beer mats, even parking tickets. Answer sheets from pub quizzes. Cinema stubs. Things that would mean nothing to anyone but me. And finally, our pregnancy test, the one which once bore two tiny yet unmistakeable stripes.

Chapter 23.

We’re in our daily stand-up meeting when Kelley says she can’t make the awards do she’s been scheduled to attend on Friday night due to childcare issues, and would anyone like to take her place? The room shifts uncomfortably. Eyes avert, arms cross and uncross. Each year, KLI sponsors the Business Person of the Year category at a local business awards, an event which most of us have attended at least once. But it’s the kind of do you endure rather than enjoy, because of the inevitable small talk and clapping for an infernal number of awards for so long your palms start to burn, and then shouting to be heard above the over-enthusiastic DJ. It isn’t anyone’s idea of a decent Friday night, except maybe someone newly discharged from a long stay in hospital. I usually enjoy a chance to network, but I’ve found in general it’s much better done over breakfast, because of the pastries and strong coffee and a definite end point at which everyone can legitimately leg it.

But with the prospect of promotion ever-present in my mind, I stick up my hand and say, ‘Love to,’ to which Kelley smiles frostily, because she knows no other way.

‘You’ll be presenting the award,’ she reminds me. ‘Touch base with them today, introduce yourself.’

‘Absolutely,’ I say brightly, making a note to do so. On the other side of the room, Parveen forms an L with her thumb and index finger, then raises it slowly to her forehead.

I do actually have another more enticing reason for volunteering to take Kelley’s place. Ash’s company is sponsoring the Green Business of the Year award, and sure enough, when I mention it to him, he reckons he can wangle a ticket. I remind him it’s black tie, then spend the rest of the morning fantasising about seeing him in it.

For all her jibing, Parveen’s going too, and our HR guy, and Kelley’s assistant. We share a table with the business development team from a local hotel, who seem up for a laugh. For an awards do on a budget, the room actually looks pretty nice – lots of crisp white table linen and creamy floral centrepieces and grey-shirted waiting staff gliding smoothly around with platters and bottles.

Parveen raises her eyebrows as I reach our table. ‘Wow.’

‘Is that a compliment?’

‘Yes, obviously. You look amazing.’

‘So do you.’ Parveen’s wearing a long-sleeved dress in sequin-studded blue chiffon, which is arguably much more elegant than the dress I’ve picked out.

It’s the same one I wore years ago, on my trip to London to see Jamie that first summer. Tiny, black, bold. I stood in front of the mirror for an inordinate amount of time before leaving the house earlier, feeling the dress’s ruched fabric between my thumb and index finger, remembering the day Lara took me shopping and insisted I splash out all that money on it. Even now, I don’t think I’d spend so much on a dress. But back then, I hadn’t cared.

‘Is it too much?’ I ask Parveen, sitting down quickly.

Parveen smiles, grabbing a bottle of white wine from a cooler. She fills my glass. ‘Not to be a bad feminist, but we both know you’re wearing that dress for Mr Heartwell’s benefit. And, trust me – he is going to love it.’

I whack her playfully with my clutch bag. ‘You’re wrong, actually. And can you stop calling him that? You make him sound like a geography teacher.’

She sets the bottle back in the cooler. ‘Quite jealous right now. Everyone’s got a crush on Ash. I bet he looks hot in black tie, too. When Maz wears it he just looks like a slightly awkward member of a chamber orchestra.’

I smile, on the verge of reminding her it’s still early days with me and Ash. That, objectively speaking, we have barely got started. But somehow, I already know that would be a lie.

I catch his eye about ten minutes later as he arrives at his table, greeting colleagues. We exchange a smile, and thirty seconds or so later, meet in the middle of the room. The awards aren’t yet underway, and everyone’s still milling around. I know that’s what I’m meant to be doing, too – networking and making contacts and paying compliments. But all hope on that front is lost, because the man standing in front of me is far too much of a distraction.

‘Black tie suits you,’ I murmur into his ear, as we air-kiss.

‘And you. You look incredible. I’ve missed you.’

I smile. ‘Since yesterday?’

He looks at me in a way he usually saves for dark corners in bars, the suspended seconds before we kiss. ‘Yeah, actually. It’s getting more and more difficult to be apart from you.’

Trying not to think too hard about getting to undress him at some point tonight, I tell him I’m presenting an award on behalf of Kelley, necessitating impeccable behaviour all evening.

‘What – no kissing on the dance floor?’

‘None.’

‘Or sneaking off to the loos?’

‘Only if you want to get me sacked.’

---