Page 52 of The Spark

‘Fine,’ I manage to mumble. But inside, I’m thinking, Jamie used to do that. Just there, just like that.

Chapter 24.

‘Don’t judge me,’ I whisper, as I put the key in my mother’s lock.

‘For what?’

‘The way my mum is.’

‘You’re not your mum, Neve.’

True, but still. I know how easy it can be to judge someone by association.

We head inside, then make our way to the living room. Mum’s curled up on the sofa in the gloom, thankfully fully clothed in a long sequinned dress and high heels, half covered with a cashmere wrap. The overhead lights don’t work in here, so I snap on the House of Hackney standard lamp I bought her two Christmases ago, which still has a functioning bulb.

‘Mum.’ I crouch down beside her, making the floorboards creak. Ash remains standing at a respectful distance behind me, in the doorway. I catch the scent of strong perfume and alcohol, but nothing resembling the contents of her stomach, thank goodness. ‘Are you okay?’

Her eyes flutter open. Her hair is twisted into a giant topknot that’s been lacquered into submission by what must have been an entire can of hairspray. She still smells slightly flammable. ‘Neve?’

‘What happened?’

‘Oh,’ she says, eyes drifting closed again. ‘Load of fuss about nothing.’

‘The taxi driver said you couldn’t remember your address.’

‘I told him . . . Senior moment . . . No need for all the . . .’

Most of her make-up has migrated to the folds of her face. Her teeth are patched dark red in places, and for a moment I think it’s congealed blood, before I realise it’s lipstick.

I glance at Ash and shrug, lightly. He responds with a supportive smile.

‘Mum, how much have you had to drink?’

‘No idea.’

‘We need to get you to bed.’

She opens her eyes again, then looks over in Ash’s direction and smiles. ‘Hello, Jamie.’

My stomach drops off a cliff. ‘Mum, that’s not—’

‘What’s Jamie doing here?’

‘No, Mum, it’s... This is Ash. He’s...’ I glance back at him, and he gives me another reassuring smile. A just say what you’ve got to say smile. ‘He’s a friend.’

‘Nice to meet you, Daniela,’ he says softly, patiently.

‘Are you my taxi driver?’

‘No, Ash is my friend. He’s an architect, Mum.’

‘Jamie’s an architect.’

I feel a flare of panic. Maybe bringing Ash here was a stupid idea. I remember how weird Mum used to be towards Jamie. How awkward the room felt whenever they were in it together.

‘Would you like a drink of water?’ Ash says. Without waiting for a response, he disappears into the hallway, and I hear him making his way to the back of the house. My panic recedes a little.

‘First time Jamie’s ever been helpful,’ Mum slurs, shooting me an enormous, exaggerated wink, the supposed inference of which I don’t even begin to get.

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