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Adam

‘Is it time to see the animals?’ Wren hops from one foot to the other at the zoo entrance. ‘I’m so excited I’m going to burst like a gigantic bubble. POP!’ She claps her hands, while I attempt to tie her hair into bunches.

‘Erm, not yet. Hold still for a minute... We need to wait for Sophie. She said to meet outside.’

Would kissing her feel the same? Would my knees weaken and my heart feel like it’s going to fly out of my chest?

‘Are there any pandas?’

‘Hmmm . . . what was that?’

‘You’re not listening! Will we see pandas?’

‘I think there’s a red one. Was it here when you came with your mum?’

‘No. I only remember giraffes and monkeys. I can’t wait to see a red panda! Is that why Sophie wants to come here?’

‘Perhaps . . . You’ll have to ask her!’

Wren was reeling off questions about the quilt and this trip last night.

I’ve no idea why Sophie suggested coming here, but I’m thrilled we’re having a day out.

We can get to know each other all over again .

. . well, try to fill in the gaps at least. I check my emails.

I sent my supervisor a photo of Sophie’s shape, but an out-of-office reply bounced back saying he’s on vacation.

I suck in my breath when I discover another reminder about the school fundraiser in three weeks’ time.

‘What is it?’ Wren asks sharply. ‘Is something wrong? Has Sophie cancelled?’

‘No, it’s nothing . . . Just work.’

‘You get red splodges on your face when you make things up. That’s how I know you’re lying.’

I sigh. Wren is unusually perceptive when it comes to identifying my faults.

‘Sorry. It’s an email about a party at my old school. I didn’t mention it because I’m not planning to go.’

‘Don’t you like parties?’ She dances around me, eyes sparkling. ‘I love them!’

‘I’m busy looking after you and have loads of work to do over Easter.’

‘I could come?’

‘Children won’t be allowed.’

‘Rude!’

I laugh as she pulls a face. I scroll through Instagram and Facebook, attempting to find old school friends who might be discussing the evening.

I’ve lost touch with my former maths and science classmates and rarely go on social media; if I’m sucked into that vortex, I’ll get even less done.

I click on an old Instagram notification and am hit by a blast from the past. Tom messaged me weeks ago!

I lost touch with him at Stanford, but he’s pasted a screenshot of the school invite along with a short message:

Hey mate. It’s been forever! I came across this on Facebook.

Let me know if you fancy meeting at the party?

I’m back in Kingsbridge, looking after my dad for a few months.

I’ve booked a ticket – apparently, loads of our old year group are going.

It should be quite the reunion! Would be great to see you again. Let me know. T.

Tom doesn’t mention Lily, Sophie, or anything about prom night. Should I say yes? God knows I need a night out. But it would mean cancelling Wren’s camp and staying at Mum’s over Easter. I rub my brow, debating.

‘I’m thirsty,’ Wren announces.

I dig into my rucksack, grateful for the diversion, and pull out her water bottle. She takes a few swigs. My fingers brush against something rigid when I put it back.

‘I forgot to say I brought something for you.’

‘Is it another present?’ she asks vaguely. ‘Can we go in the zoo?’

‘No, I didn’t buy it... and not yet.’ I pull out the framed picture of Wren and Carley with the giraffes that sits on her bedroom shelf. ‘I thought you might like this so you’re both here together.’

I’d remembered her joy at seeing Carley’s doodle but Wren’s eyes shine with tears.

I fear I’ve made a huge mistake and should have bought her a new soft toy instead, but the corners of her mouth curl into a big smile and she clutches the frame to her chest. She butts my arm gently with her head.

That’s one-sixth of a way towards a hug, and 2,000 per cent more affection than she usually shows. I call that a win! My heart swells.

‘She’s here!’ Wren cries, looking up.

Sophie pelts towards us, hair streaming behind her shoulders, the way it did in my dream. My heart quickens. She’s wearing a turquoise floral dress and a pink cardigan, identical colours to Wren’s outfits.

‘Sorry! Bernard rang and I missed the bus.’

‘It’s fine. We haven’t been here long, and I’ve been catching up on work emails.’

‘Adam gets red spots when he lies,’ Wren chips in. ‘He was invited to a party at his old school but doesn’t want to go.’

Sophie flinches. ‘I saw that email. I’ll be back in Modbury around then.’

Interesting .

Before I can ask Sophie about any potential plans, Wren shows her the picture of her mum.

‘That’s lovely.’ She produces her phone, pulling up an old photo. ‘This is my mum, Jude. She loved beach yoga.’

Wren stares at the pic of the petite woman balancing on one leg, and back at Sophie. ‘You both have the same colour hair but hers was shorter. And you have nicer eyes.’

‘Thank you. You and your mum look exactly the same.’

Wren’s face shines with happiness and she studies Jude’s yoga pose.

‘Erm, are you going, Sophie?’ I ask as we join the queue. ‘I mean, to the party? It’s Saturday the twelfth of April.’

I’m attempting to sound nonchalant, but my mind is racing. Anna’s on holiday over Easter so we could go back. But can I survive a week at Mum’s if Sophie says yes? Will the holiday camp refund my deposit?

‘Not a chance,’ she says, dashing my hopes.

Wren’s brow wrinkles. ‘Why not? You might get a party bag with sweets and cake.’

Sophie stares into the distance, her eyes misting up. ‘I’m not a fan of my old school.’

She’s probably remembering Lily and the crash, which was my reaction when I spotted the email. Should I mention Tom? Probably not... she cut ties with him too.

‘School wasn’t all bad,’ I point out. ‘I was happy... for a time. Very happy.’

It sounds like a cliché to say those were the most blissful years of my life but looking back now it’s 100 per cent true.

‘So was I.’ Sophie coughs, her tone changing. ‘But I doubt there’ll be cake, Wren. And I’ll be too busy. I need to empty my mum’s house before the completion date.’

‘You’re selling it?’

‘I accepted an offer yesterday from a property developer who wants a quick sale. It’ll go through in the next few weeks.’

‘Oh!’

I’m unable to keep the disappointment out of my voice. My ties to Sophie are loosening. Our childhood homes were five miles apart, a forty-five-minute bike ride or a fifteen-minute car trip. Once this quilt is finished, she could drift away from me forever.

‘It’s too expensive to keep on,’ she explains. ‘I need to rewire the whole house, sort out the damp and get a new roof, among other things. The buyer wants to gut it.’

‘Really? It looks in good condition to me... well, it did when I last saw it. Not that I know much about houses. Or yours in particular.’

I can’t admit to taking detours past her old childhood home whenever I’m back, longing to catch a glimpse of her. I always held out hope her mum’s house would help us reconnect. I never imagined a dry cleaners in Clifton Village would bring us together.

Wren gives a theatrical yawn. ‘Why are grown-ups so boring? I’d like to go to parties every single day. You two are party poppers.’

‘Do you mean party poopers?’ Sophie asks.

‘Party pooper poppers. Pop, pop, pop!’

‘Don’t encourage her,’ I say, groaning. ‘She might go pop!’

Wren titters quietly.

‘Can you give me a grand tour, Wren?’ Sophie asks as we approach the pay booths. ‘I’ve never visited this zoo.’

‘Okey-dokey.’

Sophie insists on buying her own ticket, despite my offer to pay for us all. I pick up a map for Wren, our designated leader, and slip the photo frame into her rucksack.

‘Ready to explore?’ Sophie stretches out her hand as we enter.

I manage to check myself in time and not fall into old habits by taking it. Wren’s fingers slot between hers, and she swings their hands happily.

‘I haven’t been here before either,’ I admit. ‘I keep meaning to bring Wren, but our weekends are usually busy with ballet and swimming lessons. We never seem to have time for anything else.’

‘There’s always time,’ Sophie says softly.