The Spark
‘Jess!’
Sam appeared
‘Hi.’ I stood up. He smiled at me, his eyes dancing as they met mine, mischief and warmth brimming in them, and like magic, the dragging frustration of my day and the wearying feeling of guilt vanished.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he walked right up to me and put his arms around me, his hands resting in the small of my back. He kissed me full on the lips, putting a marker in the sand straightaway. No messing about, but also no assumptions. No tongues and no lingering snog. It was a kiss that stated his intent, but he hadn’t carried it through. It was an offer, but it gave me a choice. It was honest and straightforward. A man after my own heart.
‘Hi,’ he said, his voice husky and raspy. ‘I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.’
My heart banged in my chest and I must have looked like a right dorky idiot because all I could do was gaze breathlessly up at him like some dozy heroine in a black and white film. Luckily, I don’t think he noticed or cared because he was grinning like an idiot back at me.
‘Me too,’ I admitted.
‘Want a drink?’ he asked.
I watched shamelessly as he walked back into the pub. He looked good in smart-casual gear, but I preferred him in shorts and a T-shirt. Like this, he looked slightly constrained and buttoned-up. It was a uniform – appropriate, but not really him.
When he came back with two Cokes, as soon as he sat down beside me, he ripped off his tie, a bland grey knitted affair that looked as if it belonged to a geography teacher circa 1950, and stuffed it in his pocket, undid a couple of buttons on his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves.
‘Better?’ I teased.
‘Tie day. I bloody hate them. Had to meet some parents. The head likes us to look professional.’ He shook his head as he took a long swallow.
With the avid attention of a lovesick puppy I stared at his Adam’s apple and felt my hormones flicker like a light bulb in a bad horror film.
‘You look lovely and cool and sort of floaty in that dress.’ He grinned. ‘I wonder what the head would say if I turned up in one. So much cooler than trousers.’
We slipped into a seamless and quite deep conversation about stereotypes, gender, sexism and #MeToo. It wasn’t all serious; we laughed and joked as well.
Before I knew it, I’d drunk excessive amounts of Coke but had not wanted to waste a minute with him in order to get up to pee, so now my bladder was nearly the size of a Swiss ball.
‘Don’t make me laugh,’ I said, getting to my feet. ‘I really need to go to the loo.’
I hobbled inside and took a look at my face in the mirror. It was wreathed in a ridiculously broad smile. Nothing had been said about what today’s meeting meant and I hadn’t acknowledged that I knew he’d split up with his girlfriend. I was assuming he must know that I knew. But it wasn’t as if there were any kind of elephant in the room. We hadn’t spoken about anything personal, but it didn’t feel contrived or deliberate, as if we were avoiding the subject; instead, we were so busy enjoying each other’s company and had so much to say that we’d gone with the flow.
Giving myself a quick look in the mirror, my face flushed and my eyes brighter than normal, I shook my head. ‘You’ve got it bad, girl.’
As I walked back to the table, I saw Sam frowning down at his phone, one hand playing with a block of blue and red plastic, but as I drew nearer he looked up, his face brightening with a smile. He put the phone face-down on the table. I glanced at his other hand.
‘What’s with the Lego?’
There was a wistful quality to his smile as he held it up, separating the two bricks.
‘It was on the floor as I left work and I just shoved it in my pocket but there’s something about Lego that’s very satisfying.’ He snapped the two pieces together. ‘The pieces always fit together perfectly, never wonky or misaligned. They’re perfect together.’ His face was serious as he suddenly glanced up and held my gaze. ‘That’s how I felt when I first met you. We clicked.’ His pause was filled with sudden shyness and a faint blush on his cheek and he fiddled with the two blocks again, pulling them apart. My heart melted just a little. I knew exactly what he meant; he couldn’t have said it any better.
‘Sorry, that sounds a bit … cheesy,’ he apologised, putting the pieces down on the table.
I couldn’t help myself. I laid a hand on his. ‘No, it doesn’t. I know exactly what you mean, but saying it out loud to anyone else would sound…’ I lifted my shoulders. He’d expressed that instant sense of rightness I’d felt in the garden talking to him.
‘Crazy?’ He lifted those golden eyebrows, the lines around his eyes crinkling with sunshine and warmth.
‘But it’s not crazy,’ I said, squeezing his hand before picking up the blue plastic block. ‘It’s Lego.’ I palmed it and put it into my bag and he followed suit, putting the red piece in his pocket, both of us smiling idiotically at each other, oblivious to the rest of the world.
‘Do you want another drink?’ he asked.
I pulled a face. I really didn’t but I didn’t want the evening to end.
‘Not just yet,’ I said, pleased that I’d come up with the perfect compromise.
Right answer. His hand stilled.
‘So … what happened with your girlfriend?’ There, it was out, and I didn’t feel the least bit pushy about it.
With a wry face he tugged at the cuff of his shirt. ‘We broke up about a month ago.’
‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I just wanted to clear things up. Let you know that I knew you’d split up. I wouldn’t want you thinking I’m the sort of girl that goes after another girl’s bloke.’
‘I never thought that for a minute,’ he said quickly.
I saw his Adam’s apple dip furiously as he toyed again with the cotton fabric. ‘The thing is, Jess, I … I couldn’t stop thinking about you. That first time I met you … well, it…’ He gave me a candid look. ‘It bloody terrified me.’
‘Oh,’ I said, deflating inside. Not exactly what I wanted to hear. Fancied you straightaway would have been nice. Thought we clicked, nicer still. Terrified made it sound as if I were some praying mantis-type who would chase him and gobble him up. It sounded too much like being the other woman.
He smiled, and then he only went and cupped my face with his hand. Cupped my face with his hand! Talk about romantic, tender and sweet. The gesture, totally natural and unexpected, set off a small explosion inside me.
‘Hey.’
The gentle half-smile almost made me cry.
Then he dropped his hands to fiddle with the cuff of his shirt again. ‘Terrified because I knew I wanted to be with you. It smashed through everything I thought I was sure about in my life. I’d been going out with Vic for four years. We were perfectly happy. At least I thought I was. There was nothing wrong … but then, well, I tried to put you out of my mind. Told myself I’d imagined it. That it was … I dunno, just instant attraction.’ He swallowed hard, his fingers still playing with his cuff.
‘But when I saw you at the parkrun, it was the same. No, it wasn’t; it was worse, because I knew it wasn’t fleeting. And I knew you felt the same way.’ His eyes bored into me. There was no trace of arrogance there, just an honest statement of fact. I nodded.
‘I did and, yeah, honestly, it scared me too. I had no business feeling anything for you. You had a girlfriend. You were completely out of bounds.’
Relief and understanding flashed across his face.
‘I didn’t know what to do. I sent you that Facebook request. I wanted to stay in touch but … I didn’t want to do anything … sleazy. I loved Victoria. Four years is a long time … but the way…’ his eyes met mine, slightly haunted and definitely guilt-ridden, ‘…the way I felt about you … eclipsed that. Suddenly I just knew I didn’t love her … enough anymore. I could have kept going but it felt like lying. As if I were being unfaithful to her because I had feelings for someone else.’
The warmth of his hand enveloped mine where it lay on the table, like an anchor, as if reminding us both that this wasn’t some crazy fantasy and that we weren’t being blown off course by a tissue of myths and half-truths.
‘I kept hoping it might wear off. That I could stop thinking about you. I hoped I’d imagined it all, but my feelings for you were like a tick burrowing. I did my best to ignore them. Pretended I’d imagined how lovely you were. I told myself you couldn’t possibly be as nice as I remembered.’
I closed my eyes. There was such anguish on his face, it almost hurt.
‘That doesn’t sound very nice, does it?’ he asked.
‘Actually, it is. You were doing the honourable thing. The right thing by Victoria.’
‘But it didn’t wear off and when I saw you at Lynn and Richard’s again, I … I felt sick because I knew I was never going to get you out of my head. I knew I had to see you, but I couldn’t until I finished with Victoria.’
I winced, guilt biting as my stomach clenched. So he had finished with her for me. I was the other woman. The weird mix of euphoria and nausea roared back. I felt like I was in the middle of a see-saw, balanced in between joy and pain.
‘Then I wanted to wait because I didn’t want you to be blamed for the break-up. I didn’t want anything to…’ He broke off with a mirthless laugh. ‘Shit. This sounds so fucking cheesy. I didn’t want anything to taint us.’
Then my heart wanted to burst. I’m Miss Practical; pink-hearts-and-red-roses romance is not my bag at all. I’ve seen too much of the reality of romance dressed up in fear, lies and loathing, but Sam’s heartfelt words hit home like slugger punches. I knew he was being totally honest and for a minute I allowed myself to feel the glee, happiness and sheer joy. We were so on the same page, but he was right; it was freakishly terrifying.
I turned my hand over under his and opened my fingers so he could lace his through mine.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘If it’s any consolation, from the minute we met, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. And I promise, I tried really hard not to. Women have enough trouble with men without having other women shit on them as well.’
‘I left it as long as I could.’ He squeezed my fingers. ‘I’ve been shitting myself that you might hook up with someone else.’
With a laugh, I shook my head. ‘I’m what’s known as very picky.’
‘So, Jessica Harper, will you go out with me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can I take you out to dinner on Friday?’
‘Next Friday?’
‘No! Tomorrow, Friday.’ He grinned. ‘I didn’t want to sound too needy.’
I nudged him with my shoulder. ‘You idiot.’
He slung an arm around my shoulder. ‘Who’re you calling an idiot? I’ll have you know my kids treat me with respect at school. They call me Mr Idiot.’
Chapter Eight
‘So what’re you going to wear?’ asked Shelley, lolling across my bed, waving a glass of Prosecco towards my wardrobe. As soon as she heard I had a date with Sam, she’d hotfooted it over to my flat and insisted we crack open a bottle to celebrate the fact that I was a hair’s breadth away from getting a shag and all your dried-up inner workings might get lubricated. Her words, not mine.
‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me before,’ she moaned, taking a sip of fizz at the most awkward angle.
‘If you spill that on my sheets, you can change them. I don’t want Sam thinking I’ve wet the bed.’ As soon as I said the words, I coloured bright red. Talk about the unconscious coming to the fore.
‘Planning on bringing him back tonight, are we?’ asked Shelley, immediately homing in on my slip of the tongue.
‘No. Definitely not. Not at all.’ I looked at the fresh duvet cover and undersheet which had been slipped on ten minutes before Shelley had arrived. I was not going to sleep with Sam. Not on a first date. I never did that sort of thing.
‘Oooh, Jess is all flustered,’ she teased. ‘Aw, look at you, all pink and cute.’
‘Just shut up,’ I said, fighting a smile. ‘You’re such a bad influence.’
‘Hardly, you’re the goodest girl I know. Have you ever slept with anyone on a first date? Had a one-night stand?’ She held up her hand before I could even shake my head. ‘I rest my case. But I can tell you really like him. He’s pretty phwoar. Bet he looks good naked.’
‘Objectification, Shells.’
‘Oh puhlease, girl. The man is sex on a stick. My hormones get in a tizz when I see him.’
‘Your hormones are like over-anxious puppies. They get excited when they see anyone.’
‘True,’ sighed Shelley, not the least bit offended. ‘What can I say? I’m the friendly type. I’m a people person. And this has all happened very fast. Spill, babes. Spill. What happened? And how come you kept so quiet about it?’
‘Because there was nothing to tell until about seven o’clock last night. Now, what do you reckon? This dress?’ I held up a silk dress that I’d only managed to wear once or twice. I’d bought it for a wedding a couple of years before and not had many occasions to drag it out again despite absolutely loving it. If I didn’t work in a place where the women were lucky to have any clothes, let alone nice things, and had left all their favourite things behind, I would have been tempted to wear it for work just to get some use out of it.
Shelley rolled her eyes. ‘I hate you. It’s plain, plain, plain and you’ll look flaming gorgeous in it. What size do they call that? Barbie?’
I ignored her and stripped off my towel. ‘Oh God, I might need another shower before I go out.’ I sniffed under my arms and Shelley tossed me the can of deodorant from my dressing table.
‘It is sooooo hot,’ she moaned flopping back on the pillows of my bed, making herself comfortable as I pulled on a strapless bra and my best knickers.
‘Uh, shag me knickers. She’s going in.’
‘No, they’re not,’ I said perhaps a wee bit defensively. ‘They’re bus knickers.’
‘Babe, no one is getting run over tonight. So where’s Doctor Lurve taking you?’
‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-nine and three-quarters, give or take a couple of days.’ She grinned at me and lifted her Prosecco glass before taking a hefty, satisfied gulp.
I ignored her and pulled the dress over my head, loving the swish of the peacock-blue silk as it slithered into place.
‘Yup, I really do hate you.’
I wrinkled my nose at her and smoothed the fabric over my hips, giving myself a quick glance in the mirror.
‘And no, your frigging arse does not look big in that.’
‘Neither do my boobs,’ I pointed out, glancing at her magnificent cleavage displayed to full advantage in a fuchsia-pink playsuit, the fabric around her boobs only just containing the girls.
She patted them complacently. ‘If you’ve got it, flaunt it. Which is why you, pencil-stick-thin lady in the bias-cut number, look sensational.’ She jumped up, her Prosecco shifting dangerously in her glass. ‘You, cous, look flipping gorgeous. He’s one lucky man and don’t let him forget it.’ She patted my cheek. ‘Make him work for it, babe. You’re far too nice to people. Although, give him brownie points for taking you to Olivio. It’s well nice there.’
It was a smart restaurant over in the next town and she’d offered to give me a lift.
‘I’m impressed. Good choice. You don’t want to go out with a cheapskate no matter how manly or gorgeous he is. Sex doesn’t put any meat on your bones.’
I ignored the latter comment. ‘I’m not expecting him to pay for me. He’s a teacher.’ The restaurant was known for its relaxed, casual ambience and decidedly tasty food, which wasn’t super expensive – but we weren’t talking a quick Prezzo pizza either.
‘You are so low maintenance.’ She took a step back and pretended to study me. ‘Are you sure you’re related to me?’
I laughed. ‘The jury’s been out on that one for decades.’
‘If a man takes me out for dinner, I expect him to dig deep.’
‘And I prefer to pay my share. That way there’s no expectation of any other sort of payment.’
‘Again, are you related to me?’
‘Shell, I’m not buying it. You’re not that shallow. And you don’t shag on a first date.’
She winked at me. ‘Not always.’
‘Sure you want me to drop you here?’ asked Shelley with an exaggerated raise of her eyebrows as I directed her to the car park.
‘Absolutely positive,’ I said, gathering up my handbag from the footwell of her dinky Fiat 500.
‘You spoil all my fun,’ she said with a wicked grin, whipping the car into the smallest of spaces and ramming on the brakes, almost sending me through the windscreen.
‘Yes,’ I replied with a quick glance at my watch. I had ten minutes to walk to the restaurant, which was deliberate planning. ‘You’re not coming with me.’ My repressive tone didn’t have any effect. She grinned and I rolled my eyes. She would have waited with me like some kind of overbearing dad until Sam showed up.
‘How are you getting home? Want me to pick you up later?’
‘Sam said he’d give me a lift home,’ I said, brushing an imaginary speck of fluff from the silk of my dress.
‘And will you be inviting him in for coffee?’ She shimmied her shoulders and lowered her voice.
‘No!’ I nudged her with my shoulder in protest at her pitiful attempt at being sultry and suggestive. ‘Well, I might, but it will only be for coffee.’ I opened the door, the heat of the afternoon hitting me as I started to slide out. It had been another scorching day with the temperatures soaring into the 30s.
‘Have fun.’ Once again, like a pair of naughty caterpillars, her eyebrows waggled. ‘And make sure you text me all the deets as soon as you’re home … unless of course he’s with you.’
Ignoring her, I shut the car door, but I grinned as I walked away. Inside my stomach, a dozen drunken butterflies were lurching about, making me feel wayward and giddy … and that anything could happen.
Maybe my senses were finely tuned to him or maybe I recognised his gait, but from the other end of the street I spotted him walking along ahead of me in the same direction and yeah, I almost stumbled. My hormones had some sort of early warning system and at the mere sight of him, my heart rate took off at a runaway gallop and my skin flushed with a rush of pleasure. In navy chinos and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his tanned forearms, he looked yum. And no, I was not looking at his bum … well, not especially. It was the first time I’d seen his hair loose, and although I’d didn’t normally do men with long hair, the thick blond curls just added to the overall heart-socking package.
My pace slowed and for a moment I watched him, aware of the most ridiculous primitive urge to storm over, grab him and kiss the living daylights out of him. There was also a small matter of wanting to push my fingers through all that glorious hair. Yeah, my hormones had taken me hostage and were making crazy-girl demands. I needed to get a grip on them and on myself.
With a little involuntary sigh, I watched him for a few seconds more. OK, ogled might be more correct. I took in the long legs which my memory helpfully reminded me were nicely muscular and tanned. His phone was clamped to his ear and he was talking. He slowed and stopped, his head bobbing slightly. Even while admiring his perfect form, I could tell something wasn’t right. He put a hand on his hip, then raised it to swap the phone to his other ear. It looked like a lengthy conversation. He started walking again. We were getting nearer to the restaurant. A few more paces and then he stopped again, waving his free hand in an expressive move that spoke of frustration and agitation. Then he stopped dead and as he turned so that I could see his profile, he threw his head back and looked upwards. It needed no lip-reading expert to discern the words ‘God give me strength.’ Whether he said them or just mouthed them I wasn’t entirely sure, but it didn’t take any kind of Poirot powers of deduction or little grey cells to figure out that he wasn’t a happy camper.
I hesitated, loath to intrude while the selfish bit of me wanted to wade in, for him to stop the conversation. Today sizzled with so much promise and had been so long awaited. Pretty much since the first time I’d met Sam, he’d been there on the periphery of my thoughts. All day, anticipation had bubbled and fizzed, each hour marking another step closer towards basking in the fierce attraction between us.
He was now stationary and his hand movement was agitated, jabbing up and down in the air, so I took my time, giving the nearest shop windows a really thorough inspection. Five minutes later, I had price-checked every single holiday that the local travel agent were offering – I could fly to Malta for seven nights and stay in a four-star hotel for £599 from either Luton or Birmingham – and decided that the shoe-repair shop’s less than inspiring display of shoe laces, insoles and polish didn’t warrant any further interest but he was still on the phone, although he had now crossed the road and was outside the restaurant pacing up and down.
It was seven-thirty now. I glanced at my watch again, feeling uncomfortable. I could see Sam’s face more clearly. Pain tinged the frustration. It was a conversation he really didn’t want to be having and there was a sense of exaggerated patience in his words.
Every last butterfly in my stomach dropped dead mid-flight. This felt private but if he looked up now he would see me, so I couldn’t retreat. I had to keep moving forward although I made my steps as small and slow as possible.
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