The Spark - Jules Wake Page 0,45
Potter creature letting go in mid-air.
‘Do you think she’ll stop now?’ I asked, my imagination taking off with the magical imagery and presenting me with a vision of Victoria dressed as Maleficent, complete with the black horns. OK, that was a bit over the top; she wasn’t evil, but I did feel that with her Facebook antics, she’d cast an unpleasant shadow over things. At the same time, her viciousness had given me emotional licence to carry on seeing Sam. She wasn’t a victim anymore and for some reason it made me feel a lot easier about our blossoming relationship. Making the first strike absolved her of innocence. In that moment, I wondered if my mum had ever struck back at Dad. I remembered her despair and the awful time after he’d gone when she’d virtually stopped functioning, to the complete bewilderment of eight-year-old me.
‘She’d better,’ said Sam darkly. ‘I’m not going to let her come between us, Jess.’ As far as it was possible for one so blond, his face darkened, suddenly fierce and determined, like a knight in shining armour gripping his sword. (I really do need to stop with the Harry Potter DVD binges.)
And yeah, shoot me, I did the swoony thing, but it’s rather nice for a change for someone to want to fight for me. Sam’s quiet, determined declaration, sealed with a solemn kiss, made me feel that perhaps the two of us could be invincible.
Chapter Fourteen
‘More Prosecco?’ asked Uncle Richard, not even waiting for an answer as he topped up my glass.
It had been yet another balmy day and I was taking full advantage of my aunt and uncle’s back garden to top up my tan, lying next to Shelley who was scrolling through her phone. The endless cloud-free days and soaring temperatures of the last few weeks had brought an almost festive atmosphere and a lightness of spirit to people. Even at work, smiles were readier and the assorted children played in the big garden, straying further from their mothers’ sides than usual. The new little boy, Jake, now had a few freckles dotted across his bruised, haunted face and although his mother, Cathy, hovered in the doorway of the French doors by the patio, her tense face relaxed at the sight of him playing football with two other children. In the last week, I’d found a school place for him, but she was delaying his start. I wasn’t sure which of them couldn’t bear to be parted from the other. Letting him out into the garden had been a huge step forward and I was happy to give the long, sunny days all the credit.
‘What time’s lover boy picking you up?’ asked Shelley, breaking into my thoughts.
‘Not until the game’s over,’ I replied, checking the time on my phone. ‘He reckoned about eight.’
‘I don’t think I could stand being a cricket widow. It was bad enough when I went out with that bloke Dave that played golf every weekend.’
‘I see plenty of Sam during the week.’
‘I bet you do,’ said Shelley, grinning. ‘Your legs have got a definite touch of the bandy about them. And I’m guessing there’s a whole lot of him to see. He’s got one hot bod.’
‘Parents. Right here.’ Uncle Richard clamped one hand over his ear. Aunty Lynn laughed.
‘Is it all going well, dear? He’s such a lovely young man.’
Hmm. I wondered how lovely she’d think he was if she had any idea how down and dirty he could get. Unable to help my slutty self, I squirmed on the sun lounger. Last night’s champagne and chocolate-strawberry combo in celebration of our three-week anniversary had definitely got a bit fruity – quite literally. Who knew you could do so much with a strawberry? Sex with Sam was a constant uninhibited revelation. I’d never laughed so much or moaned quite so shamelessly. Not that we spent all of our time in bed.
‘I saw that, Miss Lively Loins,’ said Shelley.
I ignored her and turned to meet my aunt’s hopeful gaze. ‘He’s lovely,’ I said simply, because he was.
The amazing sex was a bonus, a big fat awesome bonus, but being with Sam was all the things that being with the right person was supposed to be. I couldn’t put it into words without sounding ridiculously cheesy, the sense of completeness I felt when I was with him. We did mundane things. We did silly things. We did couple things. He’d bring his marking home, and yes, it felt like he