Page 60 of The Spark

‘Okay. I’m going to say something now, and I want you to promise you won’t flip out.’

The floor tiles feel cold as concrete against my bare feet. ‘He reminds you of Jamie.’

She exhales. ‘Is that why you like him?’

Absent-mindedly, I slot my phone between my ear and my shoulder. Then I shake out a cloth, spray disinfectant onto it, run it across the surface of the worktop. ‘No... I mean, maybe that was what drew me to him at first, but...’ I trail off. I want to tell her the truth. About what I really suspect happened that night. But she’ll think I’m crazy. Won’t she? Or has a part of her mind started to make the same impossible connections, too?

‘They are... incredibly alike. It’s kind of weird,’ she says, but then nothing further. And I can tell there is so much more she is holding back from saying, because we still haven’t talked about what happened when Jamie died.

But she knows how raw it still is for me. How hot and toxic it remains, all these years later.

‘There’s something I have to tell you,’ I say, rubbing at the worktop in an attempt to bring up a shine.

She waits.

‘It’s about Ash.’

‘Go on.’

Above my head, the floorboards creak. ‘Actually, you know... I can’t do this over the phone. Let’s meet next week.’

‘Okay.’ A moment passes. ‘Neve?’

‘Yes?’

‘What do you think of Felix?’

I release a breath. ‘I like him.’ This much, on a base level at least, is true.

‘But?’

‘Who said there’s a but?’

‘If there wasn’t a but you’d have said, I love him, Lar, he’s perfect for you.’

I smile into the phone. I appreciate her attempt to pretend we’re ten years in the past, enjoying the kind of late-night gossip we used to live for.

I think about how intensely Felix kept looking at her, earlier. The way she kept squeezing his hand, and what it might have meant. Is he controlling? In need of constant placation? And if so, how the hell is he the right guy for the Lara I used to know – or, come to that, anyone?

‘He’s... I don’t know.’ I sigh. ‘Maybe you’re just very different to how you were when I last knew you.’

‘Stop being cryptic. I actually want to know what you think.’

But how is what I think relevant, really? I have a vague, nagging sense that perhaps he’s overprotective. That he might have crazy ideas about health and diets (not least that a stir-fry is the devil’s work). But these are merely impressions. Hunches. He’s pleasant enough. Cordial and perfectly charming. And the reality is, until a couple of months ago, Lara and I were estranged. I’d need to spend hours, days, weeks with both of them before I could arrive at any kind of fair conclusion about how well-suited they are for each other.

‘Why?’ I ask softly, in response to her question, blinking into reflected lamplight. I rinse the cloth, fold it over the tap, straighten its rumpled edges.

‘Because it’s important to me. Because you’re my oldest friend.’

Was.

‘And I know we still need to talk about what went on with Jamie, and everything... but what you think will always matter to me, Neve.’

I exhale. ‘Let’s talk next week.’

‘Okay. Neve?’

‘Lar.’

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