The Spark - Jules Wake Page 0,5

wonderful as the spark between us was, having a girlfriend was a red line. I’d seen the bitterness seep into my mother’s soul when my dad left her for another woman, warping her spirit and stealing her positivity. The consequent fallout had caused cataclysmic changes in my life. Stepping on another woman’s toes was something I would never do.

‘Jess,’ he said urgently. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lead you on.’

‘You didn’t,’ I said gently, trying to smile.

‘This isn’t a line, but I’ve never met anyone I…’ he lifted his shoulders looking delightfully bemused, ‘I just clicked with.’ His eyes met mine, radiating sincerity and sorrow. ‘I’d like to be mates with you,’ his mouth pursed in a self-deprecating line, ‘but I think that would last about five minutes.’

‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘The thing is, I’ve been going out with Vic for four years. I’ve never looked at anyone else. Not once.’

‘And that’s good,’ I said brightly, feeling horribly jealous of her.

‘Can we stay in touch?’

All my instincts were telling me to say no, but the thought of him walking out of my life for ever was suddenly terrifying and I found myself saying yes.

Chapter Two

‘You’ve got a bit of bounce in your step this morning, girl,’ announced Holly, stirring her coffee for all she was worth, as though it might whip up a bit more energy for her. ‘Good weekend?’

‘Not bad. I’ve got food.’ I held up a bulging carrier bag.

‘Good old Aunty Lynn?’

‘The very same.’

‘Please say there’s some of her tabbouleh in there. Ooh and that pomegranate and feta salad. I love that.’

‘Might be,’ I said swerving the carrier bag away from her gimme-gimme grab and crossing the kitchen to unload a series of plastic takeaway cartons into one of the large communal fridges.

‘How was it here?’

One weekend a month we were on call in case there was an urgent need to offer refuge to someone. Weekends tended to be pressure points.

‘Quiet. No new residents. And I think the council have finally found a place for the Thorntons.’

‘Oh, that’s fantastic. When do you think they’ll be moving out?’

The refuge could house up to six families at a time, seven at a pinch. The Thorntons were our longest serving members of the household at the moment – Mum, three young boys and a baby. They desperately needed their own place. Most of the women that arrived – with little more than the clothes on their backs, their children clutching, if they were lucky, one prized toy – were given one bedroom, which for both practical and emotional reasons they shared with their children, although without exception the kids couldn’t be prised from their side. All five Thorntons had been sharing one bedroom for the last four weeks.

There was only one lounge area with a shared TV, which led to a lot of bickering among the children, and a communal kitchen which was set up so that the residents could help themselves to the basics we stocked in the fridge. They could cook for their own family unit or for others. No one family was ever the same; some loved to cook while others barely had the energy or the strength to think about food. Having food that someone else had prepared was always a treat and it was guaranteed that Aunty Lynn’s offerings would be a hit.

‘They’ll be moving out as soon as I can persuade the council to put a new carpet in the place. And I’ve spoken to the local charitable trust and they’ve agreed to provide curtains and bedding.’

‘Oh, my aunt’s neighbour has some spare bedding which she’s going to donate.’

We were the queens of begging, borrowing and stealing to keep our residents in home comforts.

With coffees in hand, we drifted through to the little admin office, a somewhat grand title for the cramped space with two desks facing each other. It was a good job we liked each other so much, as we pretty much lived in each other’s personal space. We were very different: Holly was pure Essex with dyed raven-black hair piled up into an ornate bun on her head with a French plait feeding into it. She wore tons of make-up and favoured bold, bright colours. The surface of her desk – well, I think under all that paper there was a surface – mirrored her personality, but at any given time, she knew where absolutely everything was. She was a demon for detail and never forgot a thing, which was jolly handy.