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Sophie

I cling to Adam, fighting back my own tears.

The fact he has no idea he may not live long enough to return to teaching in Bristol, let alone move to America, is breaking my heart.

But how can I tell him he can’t pursue his dream?

That it’s not even remotely within reach because his life is almost over?

‘I have my own confession to make.’ I straighten up and meet his gaze. ‘I need to tell you something about Walter’s party.’

His brow wrinkles. ‘Hmmm?’

‘You wanted to know what it was all about – why his family flew in from Australia for a big bash that wasn’t his birthday.’

‘I thought it was odd, but Walter’s eccentric.’

‘He’s dying,’ I say gently. ‘Walter has terminal prostate cancer. He doesn’t have long – a few weeks tops. That’s why it was important everyone was there, spending time with him while they could.’

‘What? No!’

‘Walter wanted to say goodbye in his own way, without a big fuss. He hates speeches and didn’t want it to become morbid or teary. He wanted to laugh, sing and dance with his friends and family and for everyone to have a great day, surfing and bodyboarding.’

‘I’m sorry. That’s awful!’

‘Walter would say it’s the exact opposite – he’s had the chance to prepare because he knows it’s imminent. He’s having a whale of a time with Harry, Maddy and his grandchildren. He’s saying and doing the things he needs to before—’

My eyes mist up and I force myself to go on.

‘Walter’s preparing his family and making sure everyone’s ready before he dies.’

The finality of the word tastes heavy and bitter on my tongue.

‘I wish I’d had longer to get to know him,’ Adam says slowly. ‘Wren too. She adores him and Chico. She wants a grandfather, as well as a dog.’

‘If you had spent more time together, Walter would have told you to savour the tiny joys, and the small moments – sewing and laughing with Wren, giving your mum one of your “famous” hugs, holding my hand as we walk down the street.’

‘That makes sense... the everyday things we all take for granted.’ He touches my arm. ‘Why are you telling me this now? Has Walter deteriorated?’

‘No, he has enough energy for day trips. But his diagnosis has made me think about the bigger picture.’ I take a deep breath. ‘What if this week is all either of us gets, and it’s our only chance to be happy before it’s all over?’

‘I know being here brings back bad memories, but nothing will happen, I promise!’

‘You don’t know that – I could step off the kerb on the high street and be killed by a van in the next five minutes or knock myself out and drown while surfing this week.’

‘Aagh! Don’t say things like that. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

‘Doesn’t it? We both need to focus on what’s important.’ I grasp his hands. ‘As Walter’s time runs out, do you think he’s worrying about what he did or didn’t do in his career? Or is he thinking about his family, the people he loves?’

I gulp, battling my rising emotion. ‘What I’m trying to say, Adam, is if this was your last week, the board’s verdict on Monday wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

It’s too late for me to mend my relationship with my mum, but it’s not for you.

Repairing your connection with Wren and your mum would make a huge difference.

We all have to live for now and make every moment matter. ’

He takes me in his arms and kisses me.

‘There! I’m doing exactly that. Seizing the day before it’s too late. I promise I’m not going to put off happiness. I want it to start from now... all of us happy from this exact minute going forward and not at some vague point in the future.’

I kiss him back.

I’m hoping with all my heart he does finally understand.

After coffee and croissants in a café tucked away in one of the side streets, Adam kisses me goodbye and runs home.

Returning to an empty house, full of memories of this morning’s lovemaking, is too painful, so I browse in the charity shop and find a gorgeous emerald silk vintage evening dress.

It’s too big but it’ll be easy to take in at the seams. I pick up a couple of men’s cotton shirts that could be useful for other quilts when I’ve finished Wren’s.

The thought sends a sudden chill down my spine.

Have I started the chain reaction that will save Adam’s life? Or will Wren be forced to use my creation as a comforter after his death?

Stepping out of the door, I spot a man with a blond ponytail and goatee on the opposite side of the street.

He looks strangely familiar. Wait – is that Tom?

I duck back inside as he looks this way, my heart pounding furiously.

His face has filled out since we were teenagers, and he has a small paunch, but I’m sure it’s him. Thank God he didn’t see me.

I pretend to study the 103 dusty, torn paperbacks at the rear of the shop before re-emerging.

Sticking on my sunglasses, I keep my head down and walk swiftly along the street, half jogging up the hill as soon as I turn the corner.

Back home, I fetch a glass of water from the kitchen before heading upstairs.

As I reach the landing, someone raps at the front door.

I freeze for a couple of seconds, then pad into Mum’s room.

I stare down from the shuttered window, darting away when the man squints up. Tom again! Did he follow me here?

But I realise he didn’t need to – he knows where I live. He was always dropping by with Lily. The letterbox rattles. I leave it another half an hour before returning downstairs. A scrappy handwritten note has landed on the mat.

Hi Sophie,

Adam said you’re back and may go to the school party. I hope you do! It would be great to catch up with you both. Do you fancy a coffee before then so the two of us can chat in private? I’ve left my phone number and Dad’s address on the back (in case you’ve forgotten).

BTW I bumped into Lily’s mum a few weeks ago and she was asking about you – she’d love to see you while you’re back if you have time to pop in. Me too.

Your old friend, Tom

Tom sounds friendly and there’s no trace of malice in his words. I re-read them, attempting to recognise a similar turn of phrase from the emails. There’s nothing. He might not have sent them. He may genuinely want to swap stories, avoiding mentioning prom night.

But if that’s the case, why would he want to talk to me alone? What does Tom really want?

I screw the note into a ball in my fist. Over the last decade, I’ve learned to pay attention to coincidences.

Tom has got back in touch and will be at the fundraiser on Saturday, when Adam’s days are destined to end – unless I can change his countdown.

I have the terrible feeling that what is doomed to happen could be linked to the three of us finally being reunited.