The Spark - Jules Wake Page 0,10

bump. I knew Bel must have been shooting vicious behave-yourself looks at her while I’d been daydreaming.

All my Facebook spying had revealed was that Victoria wasn’t the sort of person I’d be friends with in a million years. And why was I even thinking like that? She was Sam’s sort of girl.

‘I mean, it’s not like…’ Shelley was off and, much as I loved my cousin, dear Shels could pontificate on the tragedy that all her friends had snaffled the best blokes and there were none left. Not single ones anyway.

When she finally came to the end of her diatribe and lurched away to the toilet, taking Bel with her, I picked up my phone and took an illicit shufty at Facebook, knowing I really shouldn’t. Sam had posted a picture of himself, looking particularly handsome in cricket clothes. Who knew? Even with the funny pads on his legs and leaning one-handed on his bat, the sight of him set a few butterflies fluttering low in my stomach. Above the picture the caption read, ‘Another century today – looks like I’ll be getting a jug in.’

Below it was a range of comments and of course I couldn’t resist taking a tiny peek into Sam’s world. His friends.

‘Make it two, you tight git,’ commented Mike, his circular photo revealing a big, dark, handsome man with his arm slung around a blonde woman.

‘About bloody time,’ commented Drew.

‘Lightweight. Only the one century.’

‘That cover drive is getting dull, old man.’

‘Hogging the crease again, Sam.’

I had absolutely no idea what any of that meant – not that it mattered. I sighed.

And then, unable to help myself, I scrolled through more comments until I came to the one I was really looking for.

Victoria had posted. ‘My batting hero. Love you so much.’

The butterflies turned to rocks. I resisted looking at her latest vlog; it probably had shots of Sam in action and her in the perfect outfit cheering him on.

I switched my phone off and tucked it into my back pocket. I needed to unfollow him and stop with the stalking.

Chapter Four

‘Is that another new top you’re wearing?’ asked my mother as she returned to the lounge carrying the large tea-tray. I stood up to offer to take it, even though I knew she’d decline. Just like she declined every Sunday and I kept offering. It was one of the mother-daughter dance-steps it seemed we had to go through each weekend. Don’t get me wrong, I do love my mum, but she’s what’s known as ‘a difficult woman’.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Do you like it?’ I spread my arms out to show off the sleeves with their cute cut-outs over the shoulder and upper arm which exposed a glimpse of tanned skin, which I was mightily proud of. ‘I got it in H&M, in the sale.’

‘And it’ll probably last five minutes. I wouldn’t stand too near a gas fire; you’ll probably go up in flames in that cheap material.’

She smoothed down her beige wool skirt to make the point. It was a pencil skirt that she’d had so long, it was about to come back into fashion.

‘I know, but it was so pretty I couldn’t resist,’ I said with a smile at her. She still managed to look elegant in whatever she wore, in a straight-laced, buttoned-up sort of way.

‘Well, as long as you’ve not spent your whole pay packet. Mortgage payments come first. Although they’d be a lot smaller if you’d been sensible and bought here instead of that place.’

‘Don’t worry, Mum. I’m—’

‘I’m not worried,’ she snapped, quick to deny any sort of emotional involvement in my life. ‘But don’t expect me to bail you out if you run into difficulty. I don’t know why you had to live over there.’

She did know, and I refused to feel guilty about living within walking distance of my aunt, uncle and cousin instead of her.

‘That’s not going to happen,’ I reassured her with a smile. ‘I’m careful with money. You taught me well.’ The latter was said with calm, resigned equanimity. Debt was Satan’s temptation and spending money was evil – I’d received that message with bells on it.

‘Hmph. How’s your cousin?’ My mum’s question was asked with an added sniff. ‘More tea?’

She didn’t really approve of Shelley but we’d clearly run out of conversation, so this was her fall-back option. Jeepers, I’d been there less than half an hour.

‘She’s good,’ I said, lifting my teacup and saucer towards the outstretched teapot, giving the clock behind my mother’s