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‘Harry and Maddy live in Sydney and have high-powered jobs. They can’t drop everything and travel across the world.

The doctors say I might have another six to eight months, so I have time for one final trip to Australia.

I’ll probably book flights to see them in July, during the kids’ school holidays, as long as I’m well enough.

I don’t want to end up a burden in my final weeks. ’

‘But what if you don’t have that long?’ I blurt out.

Walter’s bushy white eyebrows knot together. ‘You mean if I die sooner? Well, my dear, then I’m completely screwed! But I will be reunited with Hellie earlier than expected in some kind of afterlife, hopefully with a beach and great waves.’

I grip the side of the bench. ‘If you could find out exactly when you’re going to die, would you really want to know?’

‘Can you look into a crystal ball and tell me?’ he says, chuckling.

‘What if I could? Would you want me to give you a precise date?’

He frowns hard. ‘In all seriousness, yes. I would like to know for certain.’

Only those closest to me – Flora and Bernard – know I’m good at maths, but I would never admit the full extent of my abilities to them or anyone else.

However, Walter knows he is living on borrowed time and already understands the pain of losing a loved one.

I take a deep breath and describe the car crash and how I suffered a skull fracture and serious brain injury as a teenager, which required emergency surgery.

‘When I woke up, I wasn’t the same person. I knew the exact angle of the monitors in relation to my bed, the precise gap in the curtain and the height of the ceiling. Everything had a number.’

‘That’s quite the gift,’ he gasps.

‘It’s a curse! The nurses, doctors, patients, everyone had a number.

My consultant claimed I was seeing floaters due to the injury and my vision would improve, but it didn’t.

People’s numbers were always there but getting lower and lower.

’ I lick my dry lips. ‘Eventually, I worked out they were counting down to their deaths.’

Walter lapses into silence. His shoulders rise and fall with his natural breathing rhythm.

‘I’m sorry for everything you went through, the grief you’ve suffered,’ he says eventually.

‘It’s not over. I saw Adam, my old boyfriend from school, yesterday and—’

I bend over, my head in my hands. I’ve revealed my biggest secret, and Walter hasn’t got up, horrified, and stalked off. Should I go all the way and explain everything ? I want to confide in someone.

‘There, there, dear. Take your time.’ He waits a couple of minutes until I regain my composure and sit up.

‘Adam has a small number?’ he asks.

‘Horribly so. It’s only double digits.’

‘And you still have feelings for him?’

‘I’m not sure they ever went away,’ I say truthfully.

‘Then you must make the most of this time with him.’

‘But I can’t!’ I shuffle to face him, speaking rapidly. ‘I can’t stop what’s going to happen. I’ve repeatedly tried to prevent people’s deaths. Nothing works . Something always goes wrong.’

Walter lifts his face to the sun again. ‘Who said anything about intervening? I’m suggesting you savour those tiny joys, the small moments that will create happy memories for the two of you.’

‘Even when I know he’s going to die?’

He looks at me. ‘We’re all dying – some of us sooner than others. But you have a unique gift, Sophie. You can help him make the most of his life in the short time he has left. You can’t stop death, but you can prevent him from wasting a single minute or having regrets before he passes.’

‘I’ve never thought of it like that.’ I bite my lip hard.

Walter pats my hand. ‘I can’t advise if you should tell Adam how long he has – that is up to you.

But you can give him a “good life” in his remaining days.

Cherish these moments with him and make sure he hasn’t left a phone call unanswered, or a loved one ignored.

Whether he realises it or not, you can give him the chance to say goodbye to the people who matter most and create new memories for them.

They will have the opportunity to tell him he is much loved.

It can be a “good death”, if there is such a thing. ’

I brush a fresh tear from my cheek, thinking about Adam’s apparently strained relationships with Wren and his mum.

‘I should go.’ Walter leans on his walking stick, levering himself up. ‘Adam needs your help. I believe you need to spend these last few days with him.’

‘You’re very wise.’

He tips his hat. ‘What do you expect when Chico is named after Einstein’s dog?’

I smile, my gaze wandering to his ripped lapel. ‘I meant what I said – drop by the shop anytime and I’ll repair that for free.’

‘I will. Shall we exchange numbers, in case you want more pearls of wisdom? Or updates about Chico and his garden gnome nemeses?’

I gladly tap mine into his phone.

‘Thank you.’ He pauses. ‘The truth is, Sophie, I’m not scared of death, but I am terrified of dying alone in my flat, with just Chico for company. I want to know my number.’

‘I’m sorry, Walter, but you only have 16 days.’

His eyes widen with shock, and he sways before lifting his chin and readjusting his hat.

‘In that case, none of us should dawdle, my dear. You, me and Adam have some living to do!’