Page 79 of The Spark

Lara and I go for lunch at the waffle place on St Giles Street. I’m wolfing mine down because I’m on a tight deadline at work and don’t really have the time for long lunches. But I wanted to see her.

‘Aren’t you hungry?’ I ask her eventually, gently, because for the past ten minutes she’s mostly been pushing the food around her plate.

‘How are things with Ash?’

I can’t hold back any longer. ‘Is it this diet you’re on? Was it your idea?’

‘What? I’m not on a diet. What?’

I set down my fork and attempt to make eye contact. She avoids it. ‘Lara. That detox—’

‘I miss work,’ she says, the words falling from her mouth in a rush. ‘I miss London, and work, and my flat, and my dad, and my old life, and knowing—’ She breaks off, then shakes her head.

I lean forward, feeling stupid for thinking her lack of appetite was just about food. ‘Knowing what?’

She just shakes her head again.

‘Lar. Is it Felix?’

Seeming to recover slightly, she takes a sip of water. ‘Is what Felix?’

‘Is Felix why you’re feeling so—’

‘Felix is the love of my life.’ She looks me right in the eyes as she says this.

‘I know. But sometimes... that makes things harder, not easier.’

She considers this for a moment or two, then shakes her head for a third time. ‘Come on. Talk to me. How are things with Ash?’

I haven’t told her that Ash is talking to an estate agent today, enquiring about letting out the Old Yarn Mill, and calling the mortgage company to see if he can switch his loan. He’s doing all this... yet I still haven’t confessed my theory about what really happened on the night of his accident. I’ve been kicking it down the road for weeks, not wanting to derail us getting back together, or Amsterdam, or moving in. Every day it seems, there’s another reason to hold off.

But there’s no good reason not to fill Lara in.

I open my mouth to tell her everything; but I can sense from her demeanour that she has too much on her mind to hear it all right now. Though whether that’s because of Felix, or her mum, I’m not too sure.

So instead, I just tell her about our most recent nights out and what we’re watching on Netflix and his friends teaching me darts, for which – it turns out – I have an unexpected gift.

‘I know,’ I say, as Lara laughs. ‘Why couldn’t I be secretly talented at something really cool, like snowboarding, or poker, or being fluent in seven languages, or something? The landlady kept trying to get me to join their ladies’ league. She’s got my number. She WhatsApped me all the details.’

Lara shakes her head, trying to regain her composure. ‘Well, what’s wrong with that?’

‘My mum’s a member. And... last Christmas, they did a darts league calendar.’

Her mouth drops open a little. ‘Oh my God.’

‘Lots of strategically-placed dartboards,’ I say, my insides shrivelling at the memory.

‘I have to see this. Does she still have it?’

‘Obviously. Pride of place in the downstairs loo.’

‘Which month was she?’

‘February, May and August. Of course. Couldn’t get enough.’

We carry on laughing, which means I can leave all the more complicated stuff – the emotional heft of loving a man who only knows half the story – for another time.

Ash and I are in bed, delaying getting up because for the first time in months, the air is shot through with an autumnal chill. We’ve been laughing because we got in late last night, drunk on espresso martinis, and Ash made us cheese toasties, which we ate in bed. Only now that we’re sober have we realised the mattress is sprinkled with crumbs. Ash shook his head and said we were animals, but I didn’t care. It was the best cheese toastie I’d ever eaten, because he made it for me in a sweet late-night effort to mitigate my hangover.

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