Page 46

Sophie

I’m walking barefoot along an empty beach, the strong wind whipping rain into my face. Giant waves toss sheets of foam on to the shore. I zip up my anorak, but it doesn’t keep out the damp chill. A crack of lightning reveals seagulls circling vulture-like in the damson sky.

They dance about, tormenting me. I sprint away, my numb feet sinking into the cold, wet sand, but the figures give chase.

I feel their presence whistling by my ears; they’re not far behind. There’s nowhere to hide.

In the distance, I spot a man and a child holding hands. It’s Adam and Wren. I yell at them to run away, but they don’t recognise the danger. They draw closer.

The numbers shuffle into place.

12, 4, 2025.

The date of Adam’s looming death.

I scream louder, but the gale drowns out my cries. The numbers suddenly dive-bomb, separating Adam from Wren.

I can’t reach him.

Thunder rumbles ominously.

Bang, bang, bang.

‘Adam!’

I sit up in bed, panting, and stare at the bare white walls, generic Ikea furniture and reclaimed floorboards.

Where am I? It takes a few seconds to remember this is Mum’s old bedroom, but it’s been stripped of her vibrant orange, pink and electric-blue throws and rugs from India.

I roll over, ignoring the raps at the front door.

I worked on the quilt until 3.30 a.m. and slept fitfully, disturbed by nightmares about Adam.

Rain pelts against the window; it’s not worth getting up for a walk yet. The knocking grows louder.

Dammit!

The neighbours will complain. I climb out of bed and look for the dressing gown I made from a remnant of teal silk. I’m wearing Adam’s old blue T-shirt, and it barely skims my bottom. Ripping my robe from the wardrobe, I run downstairs while fastening the belt.

Bang, bang, bang.

‘I’m coming!’

I throw open the front door.

‘Adam!’

Wet hair is plastered to his forehead. His damp T-shirt highlights his sculpted torso, and his shorts cling to his muscular thighs. My stomach flutters. I tighten the belt on my dressing gown, acutely aware I’m almost naked.

So is he .

That thought doesn’t help. I focus on his number: 8. It’s still counting down, which is disappointing, but he’s only been with his mum since yesterday. I can’t expect miracles. His family needs longer to bond.

‘Aren’t we meeting this afternoon?’ I rearrange my curls, making sure my scar isn’t visible.

‘Sorry. I went for a run to clear my head and ended up in the village... muscle memory must have kicked in. I couldn’t leave without coming here.’

I smile, remembering the times he turned up to support me during our A levels.

He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. They’re watery, but not just from the rain.

‘Is everything okay?’ I ask, stepping closer.

‘Not really. I’m a walking – well, running disaster. I’ve upset Wren and Mum and I’ve only been back less than twenty-four hours.’

Before I can ask what’s happened, he splutters: ‘But seeing you... even for a few seconds, well, it makes me feel better, makes me want to do better. I’ll be all right now, thank you.’

He flashes a wan smile and turns to leave.

‘Don’t go,’ I urge. ‘Why don’t you come in? You can dry off and have a drink of water. We can talk.’

‘I should get back and make up with them... I’m not sure where to start.’

‘You’ll work it out. You’re not a disaster, Adam, far from it.’

He shakes his head, absent-mindedly rubbing the tattoo on his wrist. ‘I ruin everything good in my life.’

I reach out and take his hand. He startles and looks down as I gently trace my fingers over the symbol. He shivers beneath my touch, making my heart skip a beat.

‘When did you get this done?’ I ask quietly.

‘That first Christmas without you,’ he replies. ‘I came home from Stanford and you didn’t want to see me. But I hadn’t stopped believing we’d get together. I thought it would happen at some point.’

‘Because time is like a Mobius strip,’ I murmur. ‘It doesn’t matter how long it takes, we’ll eventually find our way back to each other.’

He nods. I’m still holding his wrist.

‘It’s been almost ten years, Sophie,’ he says croakily. ‘I never gave up hope, not for a minute.’

My heart beats faster. I hadn’t dared to hope over the years, couldn’t torture myself by holding out the possibility of an us . Now I know his number, I definitely shouldn’t let myself give in.

But I can’t hold back my feelings anymore.

I lift his hand to my mouth and kiss around the shape of the Mobius strip. I feel his pulse quicken beneath my lips. Gazing into his eyes, the longing echoes mine. The space between us disappears as an invisible thread pulls us closer.

Time seems to stand still.

All that matters is this moment.

My arms are around his neck, my lips pressing against his.

A moan escapes from his throat as we kiss slowly at first, and then with growing intensity.

He lifts me up, and we’re inside the house, slamming the door shut and kissing hungrily against it.

The jut of his hip bones pushes into mine as he kicks off his trainers.

I moan with pleasure as he undoes my robe, his hands curving under my bottom.

The silk slides into a puddle at our feet.

Our bodies fall into old patterns, eager to create new ones.

My hands thread through his hair before cupping his buttocks, pulling him into me.

His lips trail down my neck and collarbone while his hands move higher, on to my breasts, teasing my nipples into hard peaks.

I gasp at the hotness of his breath on my skin, the rush of desire through my thighs.

‘This looks familiar.’ He looks down at his old T-shirt before helping it over my head and dropping it on the floor.

‘I’m a terrible kleptomaniac, sorry.’

We’re both laughing as I pull off his top. I remember his teenage body, but Adam the man is exciting and new. My fingers slowly run over the contours of his chest and trace the defined lines of his abdomen.

He shudders. ‘I want you, Sophie.’

I tug at his shorts as we sink to the floor. We’re kissing passionately in between fits of giggles. I don’t care about the coldness of the tiles beneath my back, the absurdity of what we’re doing, only aware of the hotness of his breath on my skin and the desire swirling in my stomach.

‘I want you too, but we don’t have a condom,’ I say, panting. ‘We should wait.’

His chest rises and falls rapidly. ‘I’m done waiting. And we don’t need one for what I have in mind.’

He pushes my legs apart, and his mouth lowers, leaving a scattering of soft kisses as he slides down my body, taking his time before finally reaching my inner thighs.

I arch my back, an unquenchable fire building inside me at every touch, every flicker of his tongue.

The world outside the door fades away.

Pleasure cascades over me in giant, unstoppable waves.

We eventually make it upstairs to the bedroom, lying in each other’s arms, our legs tangled together.

Adam kisses the top of my head, wrapping a lock of hair around his finger.

I keep my eyes shut, savouring the security of this moment.

The real world outside this room is a scary, dangerous place.

I can’t control it. I’m sure as hell not ready for it.

‘I guess we should probably discuss what happens next,’ Adam says, breaking the silence.

My eyelids fly open. I have to face facts.

Adam will die a week today unless I change his countdown.

‘You carry on with your run?’ I say, attempting to sound light-hearted. ‘You need to do another 5K.’

‘Of course! Break’s over.’ He sits up and pretends to look for his damp running gear, before flopping down next to me.

‘I mean it, Sophie. We’ve wasted enough time. I want to make every second count with you.’

‘How can I forget? You did downstairs.’

This conversation mustn’t turn into something more intense. How can we discuss beginning a serious relationship when it could end within days? I must create distance between us, so he devotes all his energy to getting closer to Wren and his mum. That’s what could save him, not my feelings .

He stares at the ceiling, frowning. ‘Seriously, though. I think we should... Something’s come up with work and it means...’

‘No work talk in bed, please.’

‘Fine, but without sounding needy... How do you feel about us ?’

‘In what way?’ I ask, playing for time.

‘Aagh!’ He runs a hand through his hair. ‘You’re forcing me to spell it out. Is this... well, a one-off for you? Or shall we try to make a go of it?’

I want to shout ‘yes’ to his last question at the top of my voice, but the word sticks in my throat.

‘You don’t want to?’ He looks down, his eyes brimming with disappointment.

‘It’s not that, I promise.’ I lace my fingers between his. ‘This is sudden, and it’s caught me by surprise. I haven’t had a chance to catch my breath, let alone think about anything long-term.’

‘True. But I’m asking you now. Is there any possibility, however remote, of “us” going forward?’

I shiver, trying to focus, as he runs his fingers lightly across my stomach.

‘You have so much on with work and fixing things with Wren and your mum. If I’m being honest, I’m not sure where I fit into all that.’

He opens his mouth to protest but I continue talking. ‘Let’s take things one day at a time and see what happens this week. Agreed?’

Adam nuzzles my neck. ‘100 per cent. But for the record, I remember you fit perfectly.’

Picturing us having sex isn’t helping my willpower, especially since we’ve discovered one of the last guests left an unopened box of condoms in the bedside drawer. Adam’s already reaching for the packet and tearing it open.

I hate myself, but I don’t argue that we should wait.

He kisses me deeply, rolling on top. ‘We can go as slow or as fast as you want, Sophie. It’s up to you.’

I sink into his touch and all my good intentions are washed away.