The Spark - Jules Wake Page 0,1
away from the experiences of the people I worked with but it gave me hope that there could be a better way of life for them one day.
‘Jess, Jess!’ hollered my uncle in greeting from his spot behind the breakfast bar where he was doing battle with a Prosecco bottle, carefully easing out the cork. In his excitement, he let go of the cork, which promptly shot out with the pop of a gunshot and effervescent liquid foamed out of the neck of the bottle, which he waggled in his hand. ‘Quick, lovely, grab yourself a glass. Don’t want it going to waste. This is the good stuff. At least eight quid from Tesco.’ He waved the bottle at me enthusiastically which wasn’t doing the wastage any good at all.
Luckily, my darling rellies, unlike their daughter Shelley with her spontaneous unreliability, are totally by-the-book, stick-in-the-mud reliable (except they’re so not stick-in-the-mud personality-wise), and the flutes were exactly where they always were when they threw a party, just like the large plastic trug filled with ice and water and lager bottles, which I neatly sidestepped as I grabbed a glass and rushed to rescue Uncle Richard.
‘Well held, that girl.’ He filled my glass up. ‘How are you? Do you remember Fiona? Fiona, you’ve met Jess, my niece, right? Sorry, love, you know your cousin’s buggered off. Shame.’ He turned to Fiona who lived next door and whom I had met a gazillion times. ‘Of course, Jess is our favourite daughter. The daughter we wish we’d had instead of Shelley.’
Fiona laughed. ‘I’m not sure you’re allowed to say things like that.’
‘You don’t live with Shelley,’ said Richard darkly.
‘Hi, Uncle Rich,’ I said, giving him a quick hug, holding out my Prosecco glass so it wouldn’t spill as he gave me an effusive hug back. ‘And yeah, I should be favourite daughter. She’s bloody rubbish.’ I grinned at him as Aunty Lynn bustled up. ‘Dumping me for some bloke she met five minutes ago.’
Shelley was incapable of being without a man, whereas I was a bit – no, make that a lot pickier. It might have had something to do with my job.
‘Jess.’ My aunt gave me a big hug and then stood back with that typical, maternal cock of her head. ‘Are you eating properly? I can feel ribs.’
I laughed. ‘You said that last time I came, and that was after Christmas day when you force-fed me a ton of turkey and made me take the rest of the Christmas cake home.’
‘I probably did. You’re so lucky.’ She prodded her own contented-with-life rolls around her middle. ‘It would be lovely to get rid of these. I should join you on your parkruns.’ She pulled such a mournful face that both Fiona and I burst out laughing.
Richard put his arm around her. ‘Don’t you dare. I love you just the way you are.’
She brightened, patting his face. ‘I’ve trained you well. It’s only taken me thirty years.’ Suddenly she straightened as if remembering something. ‘Now Jess, why don’t you go outside. It’s far too nice to be inside.’
Given that the glorious weather was one of the principle reasons for coming, I did as I was told, although most people did when Aunty Lynn was around.
I spotted him the minute I stepped out onto the patio. Well, you couldn’t really miss him. He was the only other person my age. OK, and he just happened to be big, golden and … just downright gorgeous. He had one foot propped on the small wall edging the patio and he was leaning forward on his knee, lifting a beer bottle to his lips as the sun glinted off the blond hairs on his arms, which were tanned and muscled in all the right places. He had almost white-blond hair, tied back before exploding in a bundle of scruffy curls, and matching eyebrows that made him look like a Thunderbirds puppet. He wore baggy shorts which came down to his knees and were so scruffy they made mine look as though they’d been tailored by Alexander McQueen, the most hideous brown sandals (think: a pair of dead turtles) that were so middle-agedly awful that they were almost trendy, and one of those wife-beater vests in white (although, to cut him a bit of slack, it was very clean) that revealed plenty of bare golden skin (highlighted by design? I wondered) and a well-defined body (definitely highlighted by design). Oh dear, someone fancied himself.
I took first, second and