Page 97 of The Spark

‘Do you want me to call your mum?’ she asked, at one point.

I shook my head. ‘She’s busy.’

‘With what?’

‘She’s in trouble with the police again. They caught her smashing Bev’s car up.’

‘Bloody Daniela,’ was all she said.

Over the course of that day, Lara would intermittently reach out and squeeze my hand or my calf, and ask if I wanted anything. But I didn’t need anything. Just to have her there, by my side, was enough.

Chapter 42.

Now

When I get to work on the Monday after Ash’s accident, word of what happened is all around the office.

I didn’t end up seeing him at the hospital that night. Ed and Juliet were there, understandably in much distress, and then Gabi started to wonder if maybe she should sound Ash out first about me seeing him, after he came out of theatre. I felt too embarrassed to face his parents anyway, so I decided to head home. It broke my heart to leave him there, but the last thing I wanted to do was stress him out, or cause a scene.

Parveen pulls me into a meeting room on the pretext of running through proposed amendments to some plans we’ve received for a former watermill. Her eyes are wide with concern. ‘Is Ash okay?’

‘I think so,’ I say blankly. ‘But I haven’t seen him.’

‘Rumour is he was absolutely off his tits, got into a fight and then just fell into the road. God, Neve – he might have been killed.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘Jemma at Crave told Ryan at Tunstalls, who told Lexie, who told Martin, who told me.’

‘Do you know who he was with?’ I’ve been wondering this, because I can’t imagine any of Ash’s gentle, unassuming friends standing by as he got into a state like that.

She shakes her head. ‘Nope. And no-one knows how the fight started.’

I swear softly, pressing the heels of my palms against my forehead, struggling to visualise Ash being aggressive towards anyone.

‘It was proper high drama, apparently. After the car hit him. People screaming and shouting and panicking. Sirens everywhere. Jemma said everyone thought he was dead.’ Parveen reaches over and gives my hand a squeeze. ‘I’m really sorry, Neve.’

‘Yeah,’ I say, my voice by now just an echo of itself. ‘Me too.’

I ring his buzzer on Wednesday night, after Gabi gives me the all-clear. The building is draped in a white-gold waterfall of Christmas lights. It makes my heart ache for the December we might have been sharing together.

I didn’t know what to bring. Flowers didn’t feel right. (Congratulations on living to tell the tale!) Grapes or chocolates seemed like something I’d take my nan. So I opted for a bottle of brandy. Medicinal, if nothing else – and it would at least give him something to swig from if he wanted to take the edge off seeing me again.

‘It’s me,’ I say, when he answers the buzzer.

A short silence, then, ‘Hello.’

‘Can I come up?’

He doesn’t reply, just buzzes me in.

When he opens the door, a tidal surge of feelings assaults me. He’s on crutches, with a black eye and a leg in plaster. I instantly want to grab him and bury my face against his shoulder, kiss him, tell him I still love him. But I know I can’t.

Instead, I swallow it all down and say, ‘How are you doing?’

‘Ah, okay. Mates are rallying round, and all that.’ He is unshaven, with unkempt hair and dark half-moons beneath his eyes. He’s wearing a crumpled T-shirt and cargo shorts, I assume because of the cast. He looks like he’s just been helicoptered away from a conflict zone.

‘I’m so sorry, Ash.’

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