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Sophie

‘Can I wait up for them?’ Wren asks, looking at Mrs B. ‘We could all watch the thunder and lightning together.’

‘No, they’ll be late back,’ she replies. ‘Everyone can catch up in the morning.’

I close my eyes briefly, praying we do, and pull on my coat.

‘Remember to ask Grandma for her secret stash of best chocolate ice cream.’ Adam winks at his mum. ‘It’s hidden at the bottom of the freezer.’

‘Ooh, chocolate ice cream!’

‘Love you.’ Adam kisses Wren on the top of her head.

‘Bye! I’m going to find the sprinkles and chocolate sauce.’

Wren darts away before I can tell her to give Adam a proper hug in case it’s their last. She needs to tell him she loves him and call him Daddy, but the kitchen door bangs shut.

Mrs B stands on tiptoes, kissing Adam’s cheek and then mine. ‘I won’t stay up. Have a lovely time, the two of you. See you both in the morning. Love you.’

‘’Til tomorrow!’ Adam declares brightly. ‘Love you too.’

I gulp, trying to force down my rising panic as he takes my hand and pulls me through the rain to the taxi.

Adam is FaceTiming Ollie, who’s in the pub.

Adam had protested, saying they never video call, but I claimed it would help pass the time in the car.

Ollie’s a good friend – he deserves to see Adam, in case it’s his last chance.

While they’re chatting, I FaceTime Flora, who’s out with Stefan.

This could also be a goodbye: my numbers may be destined to end tonight too.

I’ll do anything to save Adam, to give him more time with Wren.

‘Thanks for the mortgage advice, Sophs!’ Stefan butts in, raising a beer glass.

‘No problem. Good luck with your flat-hunting.’

He grins and passes the phone back to Flora, who is predictably blunt.

‘I hope you and SSD shag happily ever after. Bye, Numbers Girl!’

I blow kisses back. ‘Goodbye, Flora.’ I clear my throat. ‘Hope to see you soon. Love you!’

Adam raises an eyebrow as I hang up. ‘SSD?’

‘Sexy Single Dad.’

‘I should get that printed on a mug next week!’

I stare out of the steamed-up window, my chest pinching with pain.

By the time our cab arrives at the golf club twenty minutes later, the wind has picked up sharply.

Adam grabs the umbrella from the seat. ‘Are you ready?’

No!

Memories of our prom night here paralyse every muscle.

I want to tell the driver to take us straight back to Mrs B’s house, but Adam’s numbers could increase after seeing Tom and other familiar faces.

I have to give this a shot. I fumble with the seat belt, and Adam releases me, leaping out.

His umbrella blows inside out as he runs around the car and opens my door.

I hang on to his hand, flinching at the sight of the club’s flagpole on top of the building.

It’s being battered furiously by the gale; the stick could fly off, javelin-like.

‘Let’s make a run for it,’ Adam declares.

I hold my trailing skirt and we sprint for the door, avoiding the potential hazard.

Inside the lobby, we brush ourselves down.

While Adam takes our damp coats to the cloakroom, I study the chequerboard floor, remembering how Lily would only step on the black tiles when we arrived for prom, claiming the white ones were unlucky.

I glance across at Adam’s shoes, which bridge both colours. He returns, clutching pink tickets.

‘My raincoat’s number three and yours is thirteen, sorry. But at least it’s not Friday the thirteenth today!’

I rock on my heels. Adam is my thirteenth attempt to save someone, so this feels like a sign, but I’m not sure how to interpret it. Is this good luck or bad?

‘Are you sure you’re all right about doing this?’ he asks.

I nod, gazing at the sea of unfamiliar faces beneath the large, glittering chandelier. Nobody has a double digit, let alone a single one.

‘Let’s grab a drink and try to find people we recognise.’

After collecting our name badges, we head to the bar and knock back vodka shots with a few guys who were lower down our school.

We reminisce about our former teachers before old classmates appear.

We’re joined by a woman who used to be in Adam’s maths lessons, and a man he sat next to in physics.

Adam is enjoying himself, but the socialising isn’t affecting his number yet. It’s stuck on 1.

The music rises in volume and ‘Shut Up and Dance’ by Walk the Moon booms out.

‘Our song,’ Adam cries. ‘Come on! I have new moves.’

‘That sounds scary. I’m guessing I won’t be able to unsee this.’

Adam laughs and drags me on to the dance floor in the banqueting suite. The digital New Year clock is back but fixed on a different wall.

It’s counting down to midnight, like before.

Cold dread creeps across my skin as Adam shimmies wildly – a bizarre combination of Irish dancing steps, windmill arms and hip thrusts.

People nearby clap and cheer, forming a circle.

He pulls me into the centre. I try to savour the pressure of his hand on the small of my back, his breath on my neck and his warm, woody citrus scent.

Adam’s body presses against mine, and we mould together, becoming one.

Suddenly, he pulls away, twirling me around and around as the tempo picks up.

Nausea rises in my throat.

The whole world is spinning out of control.

I can’t stop it.