Page 69 of The Spark

‘He said a career in film and TV is too “unpredictable”.’ She shook her head. ‘Imagine jacking in your job because it’s not quite boring enough.’

At that, we both started laughing, and ordered in another round of drinks.

Lara and I went on holiday together once, when we were fourteen. Her aunt had gifted Corinne and Billy a week in a caravan in Devon, only the third chance they’d had to get away since Lara was born.

Jamie had already been on more holidays than I could count, to places like Florida, Switzerland, California. Chris had even bought a villa in Tuscany. There had recently been talk about sending Jamie to private school, too, but straight away Jamie had said he would refuse to go.

I was probably already in love with him by then, though we hadn’t yet kissed.

The sun blazed beautifully, untroubled by clouds, for the whole seven days we were in Devon. Being teenagers, Lara and I were in the mood for spending time together, alone, sunbathing and gossiping and not having our style cramped. Her rebellious phase was just kicking in, so we’d sneak cigarettes from Corinne’s handbag and little nips of wine from the bottle in the fridge.

One evening, Corinne sat down next to me outside the caravan while Lara was having a shower. It had been blisteringly hot for the past few days, and my pale skin was poached pink with sunburn. Corinne and Lara, on the other hand, had developed deep, beautiful tans.

Our caravan was next to a dense run of gorse bushes, and I’d been enjoying the coconutty scent of the yolk-yellow blossom, the freeing feeling of being out from under my mother’s feet. I was slightly dazzled by the peace and quiet, too. Life rarely felt calm back home, what with all Mum’s singing and crying and chucking stuff at hard surfaces. Here, there was only birdsong and the occasional crunch of car tyres against gravel, people chatting and laughing behind windbreaks.

Corinne sparked up a cigarette, passed it to me, and said, ‘You’re a good friend to Lar.’

‘She’s a good friend to me,’ I said, meekly taking the cigarette from Corinne like I hadn’t been nicking them from her bag all week.

She lit one for herself. I noticed her hair was greying around the sides and on the crown. Lara had told me she was in her late fifties – as old as my actual grandmother. Maybe that was why she was so kind. Because grandmothers were, weren’t they?

‘How are things with your mum?’ Corinne asked me.

‘Fine, thanks,’ I lied. It had been two years since Dad had left Mum for Bev. Mum was still prone to bursting into tears out of nowhere and prank-calling Bev after she’d had a few drinks. Last month, she’d turned up at parents’ evening with a hip flask.

Our mothers had only crossed paths a handful of times, since Mum was mortally averse to anything school-related like picnics or playdates or birthday parties. Maybe there was a mutual acknowledgement that they would have nothing in common. Or perhaps it was partly down to their age gap. Mum once said to me, ‘First baby after forty. You tell me what went wrong there.’

I remember thinking that wrong was an odd choice of word.

‘You know you can come to me about anything?’ Corinne said then. Her blue eyes were resting on me, crinkled at the corners. I wanted to squirm away and throw my arms around her all at once.

Maybe word had got round about the hip flask. ‘Okay,’ I said, stiffly.

‘You know, no parent is perfect, Neve.’

But I had never wanted a perfect parent. Just one who at least gave the impression she could be arsed, like Corinne.

I didn’t know Jamie’s mum very well at that point, but she too seemed loving and attentive and kind. There were always chocolate biscuits in her cupboard and cans of proper Coke in the fridge, and to my knowledge she’d never screamed at Jamie to do his own laundry, or been arrested, or propositioned his maths teacher.

‘Thank you,’ I told Corinne.

‘For what, sweetheart?’

‘Being there,’ was all I could think of to say, because it was true.

‘You’re lucky,’ I said to Lara later. ‘To have Corinne.’

We called her that sometimes, because Corinne had once told Lara she could if she wanted, even though Lara had scoffed at first. Like she’s a social worker.

‘Even though she’s ancient?’

I smiled. ‘Yeah.’

‘You know she makes sounds when she gets up now? Like, Oof. And her knees creak.’

I laughed softly. ‘Don’t be mean.’

‘And she’s all wrinkly, and so is Dad.’

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