Page 93 of The Spark

‘Like you did with Dad, you mean?’ A cheap shot, yes, but she does set them up for me.

‘Well, quite. I don’t think you should aspire to be me, darling.’

I resist agreeing too hard. ‘You can’t exactly talk about appreciating people for who they are. Ralph’s been around for longer than you were even with Dad, and you don’t appreciate him, not one bit.’

A smile teases the corner of her lips. ‘You’re suggesting I get together with Ralph?’

Her amused expression strikes a match inside me. ‘What – you’re too good for a man who’s been nothing but loyal to you?’

‘A cynic might suggest you’re deflecting the issue here, Neve.’

I sigh and get to my feet. ‘I’m going.’

‘No, hang on. Which one – sequins, or satin?’

I’d love to say neither. But the fact is, if Mum only knows one thing – which might conceivably be the case – it’s how to make the most of her figure. ‘They both look good.’

‘Neve. Do you want to know the trick to life and love?’ she says, as I’m turning to leave.

The urge to laugh is solid. My mother is the most emotionally chaotic person I’ve ever met. ‘Enlighten me.’

She pauses dramatically. ‘The trick is to work out who actually deserves your devotion. You can give your heart and soul to whoever you want, but very few people will actually be worthy of it.’

I roll my eyes. I can’t help it.

‘It’s time to let Jamie go, darling.’

I swallow. ‘I told you. You don’t know anything about it.’

Chapter 40.

Forty-eight hours later, in the middle of the night, my phone rings.

It’s a number I don’t recognise. I stare at the screen for a couple of seconds, then answer it. I am praying it’s Ash – that he’s out somewhere and has run out of charge and got all nostalgic and borrowed a phone to call me and say he cannot, in fact, possibly conceive of a life without me. ‘Hello?’

The buzz of static. Then a female voice says, ‘Neve?’

‘Yes?’ My heart is in my throat.

‘It’s Gabi. Ash’s sister. Listen, I didn’t know whether to call you, but...’

I hold my breath.

‘...there’s been an accident. Ash has been run over. We’re at the N&N.’

I can hardly speak. ‘Is he—’

‘In theatre. Will you come?’

Tears spring to my eyes. ‘Oh my God, Gabi. What happened? Is he going to be okay?’

‘I’ll tell you everything when you get here. Just... I think he’d want you here, Neve.’

Earlier this evening, I was at a wine bar with friends, being morose into a bottle of merlot. I definitely can’t drive, but if a cab doesn’t come quick enough, I’ll run to the hospital.

‘I’m on my way,’ I yell into my phone, as I jump out of bed and into a pair of tracksuit bottoms. ‘I’m on my way.’

Fragments of what follow remind me of the night Jamie died. Getting the call. Starting to shake, losing my ability to think as my mind became a wind tunnel of fear. I had to get a cab that night too, and I remember almost heaving as I breathed in the pungency of the driver’s air freshener. He tried to make conversation, but I only felt capable of throwing out the odd syllable here and there. Eventually he gave up. At the hospital, I stuffed a handful of notes into his palm – I had no idea how many – then ran into the foyer, looking wildly around for someone who might be able to tell me Jamie was okay. But then I spotted his parents. Their faces were stark and haunted. And that was the agonising moment I knew. I’d never experienced pain so vicious, so cataclysmic before, and I instinctively wanted to run from it, because I knew I would not be able to endure it. I can still remember the way it felt, to realise I couldn’t escape the fact that Jamie would never return. That grief like I’d never known was coming for me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

---