Page 64 of The Spark

Our gazes collide. He smiles. ‘Tonight right now. Two months ago today, what we were doing?’

I frown, feigning bemusement. ‘Were we... discussing where you got your wine glasses?’ I’m just teasing, of course. I know exactly what we were doing. Listening to London Grammar, kissing for the very first time.

‘Nope.’ He leans over, putting his lips to mine. And tonight, his kiss feels different. Long and lingering, tender like a message. A love song. ‘Neve, I need to tell you something,’ he whispers, but then the air grows suddenly cool and dark, as if a cloud has just swallowed the sun.

We peel apart and look up. A short, stout woman in a striped halter-neck swimming costume is standing over us.

‘Excuse me. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but are you the man who got struck by lightning?’

Perhaps reflexively, we all glance at Ash’s torso. He can hardly deny it – the scars are on show for anyone to look at, if they’re nosy enough.

Ash looks back up at her. ‘Er, yep. That’s me.’

She grins like she’s won a bet. ‘Would you mind if I took a selfie?’ She waggles her phone at us.

Why? I want to say. He had a horrific accident and nearly died. He’s not a celebrity. I mean, I think his scars are kind of beautiful, but that doesn’t mean I’m excited by what happened to him. This woman is probably the same class of ghoul who’d stop to video a road traffic accident rather than dial 999.

She passes me her phone. ‘Would you mind?’

Ash slips me an apologetic expression and shrugs.

‘You’re not allowed to take photos here,’ I tell her, gesturing to the bright red notice fixed to the railings behind us.

‘Oh, quickly,’ she pleads. ‘While the lifeguard’s looking the other way.’

I glance again at Ash, who mouths, ‘It’s fine,’ which I suspect is code for Just do it to get rid of her. So, reluctantly, I check the lifeguard’s head is turned before snapping a picture of the woman with her arm around Ash. She’s grinning widely, all teeth and no inhibitions.

We watch as she walks back to her friends, shows them the photo on the screen, gestures back over towards Ash. We are both sitting upright now, relaxation suddenly a distant memory. I notice Ash has arranged his towel over the patch of skin where his scars are.

‘How can people be so insensitive? That was awful.’

‘Ah, it’s okay. I blame the papers, really. They made such a big deal about it at the time.’

‘But to be so crass like that—’

‘Well, people are, aren’t they? Everything’s currency these days. Even other people’s trauma.’

I admire him for being so polite. Feeling oddly close to tears, I decide to try to change the subject, take our minds off it. ‘So,’ I say gently, ‘you said you had something to tell me?’

He hesitates, glancing back over to the woman. The group of people surrounding her seems to have grown. People are glancing towards us. A man’s even shading his eyes against the sun to get a better look.

‘Yeah,’ he says, ‘but I’d prefer to do it without an audience. Shall we get out of here?’

Back at Ash’s apartment, the last of the furniture and fittings I helped him order have arrived. So I delay my shower in favour of spending a satisfying hour or so making everything look beautiful, while Ash stays in the kitchen, cooking a pad thai.

‘You were so nice to that woman, earlier,’ I say, once we’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, bowls of noodles in our laps, surrounded by bubble wrap and cardboard and paper guarantees. I’m just about done unboxing and arranging a standard lamp. ‘Not sure I’d have been that calm.’

‘Wasn’t really worth picking a fight over.’

‘People are so entitled these days. Do you think this is how celebrities feel?’

‘Yeah, except I don’t get any of the perks of being a celebrity, do I? I’m just half known for something a bit shit.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

‘It’s fine, really. Anyway, you being there made the whole thing infinitely more bearable.’

Setting down my empty bowl, I plug in the lamp. It springs to life. ‘Ta-da.’

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