Page 31

Sophie

‘How many rocks are by that giraffe?’ Wren asks, pointing into the enclosure.

‘How many leaves are in that tree?’

‘How many—?’

‘I think that’s probably enough mental arithmetic tests for one day,’ Adam says, interrupting her rapid-fire questions.

‘Why don’t I get a picture of the two of you?’ I ask, shielding my eyes from the bright sunlight.

‘Not another one!’ Wren groans. ‘I want to see the zebras.’

‘This won’t take long,’ I insist. ‘Move a bit closer together so I can get the giraffe in the pic. Three, two, one!’

I hold up my phone, attempting to take a snap, but Wren’s studying her map.

‘Both of you need to look at me and smile.’

They manage to synchronise their gazes and look happy for a microsecond as I take the photo. It feels hypocritical ordering them to look cheerful when I’m feeling the exact opposite, but Wren will need these memories to look back on.

‘What about a selfie of the three of us?’ Adam suggests.

‘Yes!’ Wren whoops. ‘Then we need to see the red panda again and Bear Wood.’

‘Are you sure, Adam?’

‘100 per cent,’ he says, taking my phone.

I feel the heat of his body against mine as we move in for the photo.

My stomach drops as I inhale his scent – citrus aftershave mixed with soap and his own muskiness.

This is the first photo we’ve taken together in almost ten years, and it could be among the last. We’re unlikely to return here before his death.

We probably won’t ever stand this close again.

I want to pull him into my arms for a hug and beg him to be careful. To live.

‘Even bigger smiles,’ Adam orders. ‘Smile, Sophie!’

It’s hard to cling on to the joy in these small moments, as Walter suggested, when everything is collapsing around me.

Bernard rang as I was leaving my flat to chat through his retirement plans.

The shop will close permanently at the end of August, and he’ll shut it temporarily over the Easter holidays to give me time to get everything sorted in Modbury.

I’m dreading finally sorting through Mum’s old belongings.

To cap it all, I received another nasty email last night.

I’ve blocked the sender – presumably Trevor – who claims I’m a phoney for making memory quilts.

‘This is great!’ Adam examines the photo he’s taken. ‘Can you forward it?’

He passes my phone back and I ping it over, stepping aside to put distance between us. Wren skips further down the path as my phone vibrates. Dread washes over me as I open the email. It’s a third message sent via the website, but using a different address.

You can’t get rid of me! I won’t let you forget. I will Never forgive you. I hope your memory quilt business fails. You don’t deserve success. You don’t deserve to be happy!

My hand trembles. Blocking Trevor doesn’t work.

Should I reply? I could explain that I am being punished for my past mistakes.

Getting close to Adam, while knowing I’m going to lose him imminently, is pure torture.

But that could wind him up more. He may visit the shop.

I tuck the phone into the bottom of my rucksack, vowing not to check it while we’re here.

‘Everything all right?’ Adam asks, glancing at me.

I don’t want to worry him in his final weeks or ruin today by talking about my tormentor and financial worries.

‘Bernard’s retiring over the summer so I’ll need to find a new job.’ I pause, judging my words carefully. ‘And a customer’s unhappy with my repair. I couldn’t do better but he’s angry.’

‘I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘Rewind time?!’

‘I wish! You’ll find another position... you’re brilliant at sewing. And I’m sure if you talk through what you did, your customer will understand. Confronting things head on is the best policy, or so I’m regularly told by my head of department.’

‘Says the man who puts off absolutely everything,’ I retort.

‘Aagh!’ He runs a hand through his hair. ‘You’re right. The king of procrastination shouldn’t be lecturing anyone.’

‘Sorry,’ I say, touching his arm. ‘I didn’t mean to take my problems out on you.’ I try to focus on enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face, as well as Adam’s company. ‘Being here makes everything feel better.’

‘Ditto! I’m glad you suggested coming. It was a surprise... but a good one.’

‘It helps with the commission,’ I say hastily. ‘I’ll use Carley’s pink T-shirt in the quilt, but I can machine-embroider an animal that Wren likes today, or we might find something in the gift shop to stitch on. That way, the three of you are incorporated into the design.’

‘It’s a great idea!’ Adam replies. ‘I think our project’s helping Wren already... yesterday was the first time she’s talked about coming here with Carley.’

Wren turns around, checking we’re still with her before running up to the cheetahs’ enclosure.

‘Why is that?’

He frowns. ‘You mean not wanting to talk about their day trips?’

‘No!’ I hesitate. ‘I hate to pry, but you didn’t come here with them, and you didn’t seem to recognise Carley’s clothes, or the memories Wren talked about yesterday.’

Adam shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

‘That’s because I don’t remember much about her,’ he admits. ‘Carley and I only dated briefly at Stanford. We met towards the end of my freshman year. We were both lonely and wanted... well, comfort, I guess.’

Heat rises in my neck and face. Was he haunted by that summer, like me?

‘We were together less than a month when we split, amicably. Carley was in her senior year, so she came straight back to the UK when she graduated.’

I’ve already done the sums; Adam had another two years of his degree course to complete after Wren’s birth.

‘It must have been hard keeping up a relationship with your daughter while you were over there,’ I murmur.

‘I had no idea Wren existed! Carley told me I was a dad when she was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer in July 2023. I left Stanford without finishing my PhD and met Wren for the first time two months later. By then, I’d started my PGCE here in Bristol.’

‘Wow! Your head must have been spinning.’

Mine certainly is, as I try to piece all this together.

‘It was strangely clear,’ he says. ‘I knew I had to become a teacher so I could look after Wren if, when... Carley and I were hopeful she could beat the disease, but we needed a plan.’

‘And that’s when you started to get to know Wren? During your teacher training?’

‘We didn’t meet regularly,’ he says stiltedly.

‘Carley thought it best if I was eased into her life gradually. We both thought she had more time . . . a few more years... Anyway, it’s been the two of us for the last seven months.

’ He exhales heavily. ‘Some days it feels much longer, and other times it’s like Carley died yesterday and I’m getting to know Wren from scratch. ’

I’m reeling from his revelation but manage to keep pace with him. I’d assumed he and Carley had been together since Stanford, right up until her death.

‘If it’s any consolation, I think it’s pretty amazing how selfless you’ve been – what you’ve given up for Wren.’

I can’t help comparing his reaction at becoming a parent to my mum, who abandoned me eight months after my head injury.

‘I’m her dad,’ he replies, shrugging. ‘Even if I’m not a very good one!’

‘Of course you are. You’re doing a great job.’

‘Am I? I’m not so sure. You should see my dismal calendar skills.’

‘I can imagine. I’ve heard it’s the number one reason why people flunk Dad School.’

A smile flits across his face.

‘But seriously, you’re spending time with Wren today, aren’t you?’

‘Thanks to you! I would never have got round to arranging this. I’d have come up with reasons why it wasn’t possible.’

‘Maybe you should start saying yes to things, and see where that leads you?’

‘Yes, Sophie.’

‘You see? All your problems are solved.’

He laughs. ‘You do make things better, like a superhero. You were the same when we were teenagers. I’d be stressing out, and you’d make me happy to be me , as if that was somehow enough.

You made me feel...’ He stops walking, his words tumbling out.

‘I know you don’t want to talk about that night, but I have to say this.

.. I hurt you, Sophie, and I’m sorry. I’ve regretted the way I treated you ever since.

If I could turn back time and change things, I would. ’

I clench my fists, digging my nails into my palms.

‘We both made mistakes. We’ve moved on – to here!’ I clear my throat, gesturing to the enclosures. ‘A few months ago, neither of us could have predicted we’d be counting giraffes and rocks in a zoo.’

I’m trying to lighten the mood; I’ll crack if he digs deeper into old, buried feelings.

‘I need to say the things I didn’t that summer,’ he says in a low, husky voice. ‘I always wanted to tell you...’

‘Cheetahs!’ Wren races back over to us. ‘Come see them!’

‘In a minute—’ Adam begins.

But Wren tugs at my hand, pulling us apart.

After touring the 50-acre site, we end up in the café. I’m wondering what Adam wanted to say, but it’s probably best he didn’t finish his sentence. Heartfelt words would have finished me off after I counted so many numbers, and not just in the animal enclosures.

Adam touched my waist twice, my arm 3 times and smiled 23 times.

I disguise my emotions by closing my eyes and taking a large forkful of carrot cake.

‘What’s the verdict?’ Adam asks.

‘It needs more cinnamon, but the frosting is pretty good,’ I say, blinking. ‘I’d give it a six-and-a-half out of ten.’

‘Ditto. I was thinking the exact same number!’

Our gaze meets and the bustling noise in the café seems to fade into the background.

A smile plays on his lips, and there’s a familiar tugging sensation in my chest. Warmth swirls around my stomach.

I must ignore these doomed feelings if I’m going to get through the next few weeks. I grab my phone and flick through.

‘What do you think of this pic?’ I pull up one of Adam and Wren laughing close to the red panda. I managed to catch them off guard; they look relaxed and happy.

‘It’s okay,’ Wren says non-committally. ‘Can I see the giraffes?’

I scroll back and push my phone across the table before picking up a paper bag.

‘Talking of giraffes, I bought this in the gift shop.’ I show her an animal hand puppet with distinctive dark brown patches and a creamy tan coat. ‘We could use the material in the quilt, along with your mum’s T-shirt? It’ll remind you of the giraffes today and on your earlier visit.’

Wren nods her head vigorously. ‘I like that idea.’

‘This is what I’ve done so far.’

I open my rucksack and retrieve the panels I stitched last night, using pink, yellow and green strips.

‘I’ll embroider the red panda there,’ I say, pointing to a square. ‘And the giraffe coat could go here. What do you think?’

‘I love it!’ Wren reaches out and touches the material.

She and Adam rub their hands with excitement.

‘It looks tricky and a lot of work,’ he remarks.

This is a good time to bring up my plan to guarantee he spends more quality time with Wren. Normally, I’d only expect customers to pick out the fabrics and designs, but I need them both to become heavily involved in its construction.

‘Would you both like to help me make the quilt?’

‘Ooh, yes!’ Wren looks hopefully at Adam before scrunching her forehead. ‘But I’m not sure I’ll remember how to sew. We only had one lesson at school.’

‘Hmmm... and I probably wouldn’t be much help,’ Adam admits. ‘I only know how to do basic mending, like reattaching buttons.’

‘I can teach you both. That way, you could quilt after school.’

Wren’s expression brightens again. ‘Can we?’

‘But there’s your hand... and my dissertation...’ Adam’s voice trails off as he notices the excitement drain from her face. ‘Your stitches are coming out on Tuesday, and I can make time. I guess we could learn together? If you’d like that?’

Wren nods enthusiastically. ‘But you have to promise to sew, not just look at me doing it.’

‘I promise! 100 per cent stitching, not watching.’

Adam grins at her and she beams back.

‘When’s our first lesson?’ he asks.

‘I was hoping you’d say that.’ I grab my sewing kit from the bottom of my rucksack. ‘I’ll show you both a simple back stitch while you finish your drinks. This won’t take long, and then we can go back to the giraffes.’

‘ And the red panda,’ Wren stresses.

Adam laughs. ‘You’re not wasting any time, are you, Sophie?’

‘Not a single second,’ I reply firmly.