Page 70 of The Spark

‘Stop it.’

Lara lay back and sighed. ‘I am never getting old.’

‘I don’t actually think that’s your decision.’

‘Yeah, it is. First sign of a wrinkle, Botox me up. And we should probably stop smoking.’

I quite liked the idea of eternal youth. Life just seemed to get more complicated the older you got.

I held out my pinky. ‘We should make a pact, then. We’re never getting old. Swear?’

She took it and grinned. ‘Swear.’

It kind of became our refrain, after that. For years afterwards, right up until the day we stopped speaking altogether, we would periodically agree: we were never getting old.

Chapter 30.

Now

Over the next week or so, Ash fails to respond to my messages, or answer my calls. He hasn’t gone as far as to block me, but every time I ring him, I imagine he’s probably getting close. My brain bumper-cars between emotions – guilt, frustration, desperation. I drift off frequently at work, raking over what happened, wondering if we can come back from it, whether he’ll end it for good. If he hasn’t already. I fail to sleep, busying myself with chores into the early hours, because I know if I get into bed, all I’ll think about is the fact that he’s not in it with me.

I consider calling Lara for advice. But something stops me. The thought, perhaps, that I rejected her for nearly a decade, and wasn’t even there when her dad died. My feelings for her still lie somewhere in the baffling no-man’s land between guilt and resentment.

Eventually, Ash responds, telling me work’s been crazy and he just needs some time. Not long after that – a full fortnight on from when I last saw him – he arrives at the office for a meeting with Parveen. I know they’ve been due to review and check the lighting and electrical layouts for Millbrook, and I’ve been restless and fidgety for most of the day, waiting for the clock to hit three p.m.

Parveen knows something’s happened, but I’ve told her it’s complicated, that I’m not ready to talk about it – though I have made it clear the fault lies with me. So, other than bringing me endless cups of tea and telling me she’s here if I want to chat, she hasn’t pressed me on it. I’d love to confide in her – but I really respect Parveen, and have no immediate desire to confess something that might make her feel the opposite way about me.

When I finally see him, it feels as though someone’s hot-wired all my limbs. Forty agonising minutes later, I try to catch his eye as he walks out, but he keeps his gaze trained firmly towards the door, and because I’m on the phone to a client, I can’t run after him. As I watch him go, I hear my voice waver. Fortunately, my client only takes this to mean I’m getting highly emotional about her Venetian plaster walls.

Seeing him has confirmed what I already knew, deep down – that I’m not ready for this to end. I want to save this. I want to save us. Even though the situation seems so complicated. In the compass of my heart, I know he is true north.

I message him again.

I don’t want this to end

I love you

Please let me make this right

I am fully prepared for the double-tick of doom, made all the more torturous by a lack of response. But to my surprise, this time, the typing dots spring to life.

Don’t want it to either

My heart soars.

Just needed some time

Sorry. Wasn’t trying to make you feel worse.

Can I see you?

We meet after work in an underground bar. Outside, it’s a sultry evening, the air bloated with heat. Inside, it is packed. We order cocktails, find space to squeeze onto two stools in a shadowy corner. I wish more than anything I could turn back time to when we were last in here and Ash had his hand on my leg, his lips to my ear.

‘Talk to me,’ I whisper, as we sit, borrowing Lara’s favourite phrase. Even though I am nervous, the relief I feel to be finally given a chance to explain myself is immense.

But his usually warm eyes look cool and grave. His face is wearied in a way that suggests a run of sleepless nights, though whether that’s down to me or work pressures, I have no idea.

‘I feel like an idiot, Neve.’

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