Page 7 of The Spark

The space is small and hot, and packed with bodies. Every surface is floodlight-bright. I feel a prickle of sweat against my back, the sensation of being assessed.

‘Very... visceral,’ I say, firmly. (This is my go-to adjective for describing abstract art. It usually buys me enough seconds to pivot topics, or failing that, segue to a respectable exit.)

‘Visceral,’ he repeats, nodding. Then, ‘For me, it’s all about the colour palette. The way it connects to both light and dark, you know?’

This is why I am allergic to art galleries. People expect articulate analysis. The truth is, I’d much rather be back at the office right now, working on that barn conversion.

‘Mmm,’ I say, nodding and wishing I’d at least found the time to read the catalogue before I clocked off earlier.

Ash dips his head towards mine. ‘Just joking. I know zero about art.’

I laugh with relief, take in his bright, steady eyes, his firm jaw. The trace of laughter lines. The faintest hint of mischief in his smile.

He sips his wine. ‘So, if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing here? If you’re such an art-phobe, I mean.’

‘It’s not like that. It’s just that I feel quite... neutral about most of it.’

‘Everyone has at least one artist that does it for them.’

I feel his eyes on me. He’s right, of course – there is one artist who does it for me. Whose paintings make me feel close to Jamie again somehow. Who always has. ‘Well,’ I concede, ‘I guess... Edward Hopper. There’s this one painting of his—’

‘Nighthawks,’ he says, without missing a beat.

I stare at him. My breath is a storm cloud suspended in my throat.

‘I actually have that painting in my apartment. Well, a print of it, obviously.’

‘Me too. I have one at home.’

As I take him in again, inhaling the Tom Ford, a woman wearing a tweed suit that might be Chanel approaches us. I know her via Kelley; she’s a property developer and director of a local arts charity. ‘Hello, Neve,’ she says warmly, air-kissing me. ‘How are you, my darling? Can I be terribly rude and borrow you for a moment? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.’

I glance at Ash and smile apologetically. ‘Excuse me.’

‘Of course,’ he says, and then I am swept away.

After Kelley’s contact introduces me to her friend, I start working the room, making introductions of my own. KLI is high-profile locally, and I know virtually everyone here, even if only indirectly.

Occasionally, I sense Ash watching me. I haven’t fully recovered from our interaction earlier, or managed to work out why it didn’t quite make sense.

An hour or so later, he catches me by the door.

‘I’ve got to go now, but... this is me.’ He hands me a business card.

Despite my faint unease, I smile. ‘You want to... continue our discussion about art?’

He laughs, softly. ‘Yeah. Exactly that.’

I catch his eye. ‘It was nice to meet you.’

‘Likewise.’

Chapter 5.

Then

The three of us moved into a two-bedroomed terraced house on Edinburgh Road. Jamie and I had the biggest room, agreeing to pay an extra twenty-five quid a week for the pleasure.

Technically, both Lara and I could have continued to live at home – mine was less than half a mile down the road, and Lara’s family was just five miles door to door. But neither of us were keen. We wanted to at least pretend we’d flown the nest. Lara’s parents were sweet, but her recent rebellious phase was proof that she was ready to go. She needed to be free.

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