Page 67

Sophie

My patchwork quilt drapes over the coffin in a joyous burst of colour.

I cried when I stitched it, permanently uniting the materials and memories from his family and friends who miss him.

All our love and shared histories have slotted into place.

Orange, turquoise, light blue and green cottons and cerulean linens unite with yellow satin, shocking-pink tulle, brown plaid and purple organza to pay a dazzling final tribute to an incredible man.

My vision improves further, and I recognise familiar figures in the closest rows: Wren is being comforted by Mrs B, Tom and her nanny, Anna.

Flora’s here with Stefan and Libby – they’re planning to start a family soon.

Bernard has come for moral support, along with Ollie and the rest of Adam’s teacher-training friends.

I rub the stone of my engagement ring to give me the strength to carry on. I only recently got it back from the jeweller’s after having it sized down.

‘I’m incredibly touched and grateful to be allowed to say a few words about such an incredible man who left us all too soon,’ I begin. ‘He touched my life and changed it forever. He didn’t want to let go and fought to stay with his loved ones for as long as possible.’

I blink back the moistness from my eyes, smoothing the skirt of my sea-foam-green silk dress.

‘Thanks to him, I’ll remember to savour the tiny joys and small moments: the rainbow colours that everyone’s dressed in today, the scent from these beautiful flowers, the opportunity to meet more of his friends, and the chance to tell the people closest to me that I love them.

Someone here calls me the Numbers Girl because I’m good at maths, but I can’t calculate the amount of love in the air.

It’s impossible to put a figure on.’ I bow my head, blowing a kiss at the coffin.

‘Thank you for sharing a small part of your life with me and opening my eyes to all the joy in mine. We all love and miss you. Goodbye.’

Somehow, I manage to return to my seat without breaking down.

Anna and Tom shuffle along and I squeeze past Adam’s mum to sit next to Wren.

A middle-aged man approaches the microphone for the final reading: ‘The Chariot’ by Emily Dickinson .

Wren lets out a small sob. Mrs B takes one hand and I hold the other.

‘I’m here for you, Wren, like I promised. Your grandma is too.’

Mrs B – I don’t think I’ll ever get used to calling her Jen – flashes a small, sad smile over her head.

She thought Wren was too young to come to the service.

We were both worried she’d be traumatised all over again after seeing the lightning strike down Adam, but Wren insisted she had to say goodbye.

She helped me stitch three of the panels for the memory quilt.

We wanted today’s send-off to be perfect.

‘Let’s get some fresh air,’ Mrs B suggests, as Wren’s cries grow louder.

We’ve already agreed to slip out before the curtains close around the coffin; the finality of the act would be too upsetting. Mrs B shuffles out of her seat and we tiptoe to the back, opening the door.

Sunlight dazzles as we step outside. I hold my hand up to my face, momentarily blinded as my vision swims. My left eye is virtually back to normal, but I don’t know if the sight in the right will improve; I’ve been referred to an ophthalmologist for further retina tests.

Wren suddenly breaks free and runs down the path towards a fuzzy shape.

‘Wait for us!’ Mrs B cries.

I steady myself against the side of the building, waiting for my pupils to become accustomed to the bright light.

The greyish-black blob transforms into a person with a walking stick, holding the lead of a scruffy white dog. Wren throws her arms around the man’s waist.

‘Careful, Wren,’ Mrs B calls. ‘You’ll knock your dad over!’

‘I’m stronger than you think,’ Adam says, smiling.

He kisses the top of Wren’s head. She hugs him before erupting into giggles as he tickles her. Chico barks loudly and runs around them in circles.

‘Stop it, Daddy!’ Wren cries.

‘I’m chasing away your tears. Walter wouldn’t want you to be sad. He asked for everyone to celebrate his life today, not mourn him.’

‘I know!’ Wren replies. ‘People told jokes and laughed. Sophie gave a speech that everyone liked, but it made me cry.’

Adam lifts his gaze and our eyes lock. A grin breaks out across his face.

My heart flutters and my stomach lurches, the way my body always reacts when he looks at me.

His heart stopped on the beach and again in ICU, but the doctors managed to resuscitate him for a second time.

He came out of his coma three days later.

Our lucky number is definitely 3!

Adam is rebuilding his balance and mobility with the help of regular physiotherapy.

He’s determined to walk unaided soon and return to teaching.

He volunteered to take a few circuits outside the chapel during the service – Chico was terrified of the clay ornaments Walter’s grandchildren had placed by the coffin and wouldn’t stop barking.

I see his number clearer as I walk closer: 0.

It remains stuck on this single digit; it hasn’t moved during the weeks of his recovery.

I kiss him on the lips before petting Chico.

Walter drew up a list of last wishes, which included us adopting his dog and giving him a happy home.

Other final requests were me giving a short speech, for none of the readings to ‘drone on forever or pretend he was a saint’, and for everyone to promise to live their lives more, not less.

Afterwards, each guest must bring loved ones and friends for another huge party at The Wave.

‘How was it?’ Adam asks.

‘Sad but happy,’ I reply. ‘Wherever Walter is, I’m sure he’ll be reunited with Hellie, and they’ll surf a big wave together.’

‘I think so too,’ Mrs B says, smiling.

She’s offered to babysit tomorrow while we go out for dinner for the first time since the accident.

She’s visiting regularly and is excited for our winter wedding in Modbury at Christmas.

Tom and Ollie will be best men and Flora will finally get her wish to be my bridesmaid, along with Wren, who is desperate for snow even before we honeymoon in Iceland.

Chico yaps and pulls on the lead, almost making Adam lose his balance. Mrs B takes the leash from him.

‘Why don’t we have another quick walk before we drive over to the party, Wren?’

‘Okey-dokey, Grandma.’

I wrap my arms around Adam as they walk away.

In my peripheral vision, I catch flashes of vivid hues as mourners stream out of the chapel.

Tom’s wearing bright orange. He waves at us, and chats to Bernard, who’s dusted off his favourite cherry-coloured suit.

Ollie, Stefan, Flora and Libby follow behind in shades of citrus yellow, shocking pink and lime.

Last to leave are Walter’s family, Harry and Maddy, and their children, Matilda, James and Luke, who are all dressed in cobalt blue.

‘How’s your wrist?’ Adam asks, nodding at the cuff of my jade-green cardigan.

I peel back the bandage and peep at my Mobius strip tattoo.

‘Still a bit sore, but it’s healing,’ I reply.

‘Ditto!’

He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses the ink.

I’ll never know how many years, months, days, hours or minutes we have left.

The final tally will always be a mystery, but every extra second we’re together is a gift.

Thanks to Walter, I’ll savour these small moments we almost lost: Adam’s smile as he holds his wrist against mine to make our tattoos meet and become one, the warmth of our skin touching, the sun kissing our foreheads and our eyes lighting up with love for each other.

I’m planning to make the most of everything, including taking over Bernard’s dry cleaners.

I’ve used money from the sale of Mum’s house to put down a deposit on the rent.

I’m turning the premises into a quilting and dressmaking shop and already have orders.

Stefan wants a memory quilt for his nan and Joan’s granddaughter, Nadia, has commissioned a patchwork bedspread for her brother, Mikey.

I’m in regular touch with Nadia, as well as Lily’s parents, Betty and Roger. They’re all coming to our wedding.

Most of all, I’m looking forward to spending time with my new family.

I see 9,078 shimmering leaves in the old oak tree we’re standing beneath, and endless fresh possibilities stretching ahead.

I’ll create new, surprising sequences and patterns, with Adam, Wren, his mum and Chico.

Adam’s fingers slip between mine and we follow Walter’s family and friends to the car park.

‘A new café’s opened in the countryside close to Bristol, which apparently sells the best carrot cake in the whole world,’ he says. ‘It’s off the beaten track... How do you fancy a taxi ride into the unknown tomorrow to try to find it with Wren?’

‘The unknown sounds amazing,’ I tell him, smiling. ‘I can’t wait.’