The Woman Who Got Her Spark Back

Prologue

Spasms of pain are zapping across Celia’s feet.

She is trying on shoes and they don’t have the ones she likes in her size.

Although she is actually a six, with no small degree of effort, she’s managed to cram her trotters into a five.

They’ll be fine , she tells herself as she hobbles around the shop.

They look great, which is what matters.

It’s not as if she’ll be walking far.

Mostly, she’ll be sitting down.

‘They look amazing on you,’ the sales assistant enthuses. ‘They’re a real statement shoe, but so comfy to wear.’

‘I love them,’ Celia announces as, within the shoes, tiny people seem to be stabbing at her insteps with knives.

‘Are they for something special?’

‘Yes, my oldest friend’s wedding.’

‘Oh, they’re perfect for that. So gorgeous and fun!’ As much fun as sticking your feet into a fire – but they are gorgeous, Celia decides. And for Amanda’s wedding she’ll need all the help she can get.

Although several years have passed since she’s seen her friend, Celia knows it’ll be an extravagant do, populated by glossy people from Amanda’s media world in London.

Currently, Celia’s world is centred around the houseplant hospital she runs from her Glasgow flat.

Nurturing drooping aspidistras and desiccated begonias back to full health: at forty-three, this is her comfort zone.

Not being an unpartnered guest at a glittering social event, as Geoff, Celia’s husband, has refused to go.

‘Oh, no, that’s not my thing,’ he announced.

‘What d’you mean, it’s not your thing?’ Celia asked in a panic.

He shrugged. ‘You’ll have a lot more fun on your own.’

Why do people do this? Pretend they’re doing you a favour by not going with you? ‘You have to come,’ she protested. ‘I won’t know anyone.’

‘You’ll know Amanda, won’t you?’

She blinked at him. ‘I think Amanda might be a bit busy being the bride , Geoff . C’mon, we can make a weekend of it. It’ll be fun?—’

‘Ugh, London . ’ He shuddered . ‘All those crowds. So expensive…’

Celia started to protest that they could simply stroll around, taking it all in.

That wouldn’t cost much, would it? And they could visit Kew Gardens with its incredible, rare plant collections, unrivalled anywhere in the world!

What she’d give to see those. She didn’t mention that Kew isn’t free to visit, although when she’d checked, she’d noted that entry was cheaper after 4p.m. If she literally galloped from the various gardens and glasshouses to the famous pagoda, would she manage to see it all?

These things matter to Geoff. Saving money, that is.

If Celia buys these shoes that are currently crushing her poor feet, she won’t admit how much they cost. They are glossy red with a Mary Jane-type strap and a chunky heel; a bit seventies, she thinks.

Her mum had a pair just like them, and Celia remembers pulling them on in her bedroom when she and Amanda were kids.

Celia loved those times: the two of them holed up in her bedroom with their favourite music blaring out from her tinny stereo.

Whenever they dressed up and danced together, she would almost be able to block out the racket from the party raging on downstairs.

At around eleven years old, Celia and Amanda had invented a game.

The ‘yes game’, they called it. Whenever one of them thought of something fun or a bit crazy to do, the other had to say yes.

They created elaborate costumes, devised dance routines and roamed their neighbourhood dressed up as eccentric characters.

Celia was naturally shy: ‘A little mouse,’ said Joyce, her mother, not entirely affectionately.

Yet somehow, being around her best friend brought her out of herself.

It was as if Amanda saw Celia differently to how the rest of the world seemed to view her.

As the perfect partner in what could only be a thrilling future for both of them.

‘Best friends forever,’ Amanda would always say.

How lucky I am, Celia had thought. Despite what was happening at home, she truly believed that. But then, at eighteen, Celia’s life veered off in a dramatically different direction – and there was no going back after that.

These days, there is barely any contact at all between Celia and Amanda. In fact, Celia was surprised to be invited to the wedding and had decided to decline, politely, until Geoff insisted that she went. ‘I’ll pay for your train fare and a hotel,’ he announced out of the blue.

‘Are you sure?’ Celia reeled in shock. This from the man who regards buying a sandwich as a crazed extravagance! How much do the ingredients cost, Celia? 15p?

‘It’ll be good for you,’ he insisted. ‘You seem like you need a break.’

Still, he refused to go with her, and for weeks Celia has been dreading it. Amanda is a TV presenter; her husband-to-be, an actor. What will she talk about to people from those worlds? The best position, light-wise, for an ailing yucca? How to rescue a crispy Boston fern?

Yet something about these beautiful red shoes whisks her back to being in her childhood bedroom, with the friend she loved so much – when, for that short time, as they danced in her room, it felt to Celia as if anything was possible.

And now, on this drizzly January afternoon, Celia tells herself that finding these shoes is a sign.

A sign that she can do this; that she can travel to London alone and chat to beautiful strangers and not feel upset that Geoff has refused to come.

‘So, the fives are okay for you?’ the sales assistant prompts her.

‘They’re a little bit tight,’ Celia concedes, her toes smashed agonisingly together, ‘but I’m sure they’ll stretch.’

‘Oh, they definitely will. Honestly, you look fabulous in them. They were made for you.’

They just need wearing in, Celia assures herself as she leaves the shop.

* * *

On the morning of Amanda’s wedding, Geoff comes to Glasgow Central Station to see her off. Having virtually shovelled her onto the 7.35 train, he waves briefly from the platform. But before it’s even started to pull away, he’s shot off like a whippet out of the trap.

Strange , Celia thinks. Where’s he off to in such a hurry?

Later that night, after the wedding, she steps into her bleak little hotel room, peels off her new shoes and stares down at her traumatised feet. Her left heel is blistered, her toes pink and swollen like angry little sausages. She wonders if they’ll ever recover.

What was the point of all that? she thinks as she tugs off the shift dress that clung uncomfortably to her stomach and hips. It was sweet of Amanda to invite her, but Celia suspects it was due to a sense of obligation – and nostalgia, perhaps. It’s been twenty-five years since they’ve felt close.

No, it was Geoff who’d desperately wanted Celia to go. Something about this seems a little off. She doesn’t quite know why she feels so uneasy – but there’s one thing Celia does know.

Shoes never ‘stretch’ in the way you’d want them to.

You can’t make them fit, just by loving them.

And you should always listen to your heart.