Page 77 of The Spark

‘I saw Jamie . . . punching a wall earlier.’

I blinked. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Just that. I saw him... punching a wall. Or, not punching. Sort of pounding, with his hand. I don’t think he broke anything. But he looked... pretty angry.’

A beat. ‘My Jamie?’

‘Yeah. In the corridor, in the main building. He was on the phone to someone called Heather. He kept saying her name, over and over. Well, sort of shouting.’

I felt my joy turn cold. The bubble burst.

Heather. The girl who had called him at the start of term. Who he said was his mentor.

‘Who is she?’ Lara said.

‘I don’t know. I mean, I do. Sort of. I’ve not met her. He worked with her.’

‘In London? Last summer?’

I nodded.

There was a long silence, during which I could feel Lara’s eyes tracking my face. ‘Neve. Do you think—’

‘Never. He wouldn’t.’

‘Okay.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means, okay.’ She held up her hands. ‘For what it’s worth, I actually don’t think he would either.’

Though I was clearly in the dark about something, I felt a flicker of reassurance to know that Lara didn’t think I was being naive.

‘I wouldn’t have said anything if I thought... I assumed you’d know what the argument was about.’

I just shrugged then, because it was clear to us both that I didn’t.

‘You’ve got to talk to him about the baby.’

‘I know.’

‘Don’t be scared.’

‘I’m not.’

But of course, I was. It was impossible to know which pin to pull first: an argument with another girl, so impassioned it had had Jamie thumping the nearest wall? Or the fact I was carrying our baby?

In the end, Jamie made the decision for me. We walked into the city that night, to catch a film he’d been wanting to see, and he flinched slightly when I grabbed his hand. I wondered if it was the result of his fist having met brickwork earlier that day.

The evening sky was making its lazy, lilac shift into night-time. A rich weight of blossom, mown grass and gathering dew clung to the air. I thought of the budding new life in my womb, how apt that it was springtime. The timing already felt poetic.

‘Lara heard you arguing earlier, on your phone,’ I said, as we walked. I kept my voice light, free of accusation. ‘With Heather.’

I’d thought maybe he’d freeze or clam up, start stammering. But instead, he said, ‘Oh God. Did she hear that?’ He seemed embarrassed, but not afraid. Not like someone hiding a secret.

‘I think half the building heard it.’

He shook his head, as if in frustration. ‘Heather... called, out of the blue. She said she’d sent my CV up to HR at A&L. They’ve offered me another internship, starting next month.’

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