Page 27 of The Love of Our Lives

All the same, I immediately turn and rush back into the building, my stomach twisting and nausea rising as I go.

Back in the flat twenty minutes later, I’ve turned out every bit of paper again, searched through every drawer, looking for anything at all with the name Stella on it. Because that was definitely my heart donor’s name, not Emily.

It absolutely wasn’t Emily.

I’ve double-checked the passport and driver’s licence, even her birth certificate, just in case Stella might be a middle name.

But it’s Isabella. I’ve gone back through everything I can recall from the letter too, because I’m pretty sure the name element is the only thing not stacking up now – Stella was thirty when she died, the same age as Emily now.

She went to the best university, and from those pictures I found, I think Emily went to Oxford; had an argument with her mother and moved up north.

Individually, all the pieces are fine, but put together like this in my head, it does not feel fine at all. It feels very much like I’m living my heart donor’s life.

But how would that even be possible?

How would any of it be possible? another voice says.

But at the end of the day, no matter how many coincidences are happening here (because that’s what they must be), the name factor still stands. The two are totally different, and I have to look at facts here. So, everything is fine.

Isn’t it?

With shaking hands, I eventually wrap the orange socks, before heading across to Adam’s.

Glancing over the banister to the flats below, I’m briefly distracted by the thought of William – but after one cake drop, two unanswered Christmas cards and three unanswered knocks, I’ve finally concluded he has absolutely no interest in speaking to me.

I know it must seem odd to William, this total stranger trying to befriend him like I am, but there’s just something about his situation that I can’t leave alone: the way I can see from the door that his TV is blaring into an empty room all day long, and how his mantelpiece is absolutely choc-a-bloc with pictures of what must have been his wife.

A wife who died a long time ago from the looks of it.

Outside Adam’s, I smile at my rainbow-coloured welly boots sitting beside his green ones, and I take a deep breath. Everything is fine.

Letting myself in, I find Sven and Charlie already setting up and I’m amazed at the effort they’ve gone too – Adam’s whole flat is now decked out in ropes of ivy and sprigs of holly.

All the candle-holders from the roof have been brought down too, and with every single one safely lit up, it’s like Charlie and Sven have created some sort of Christmas wonderland.

‘Oh, there you are!’ she gushes, and I immediately smile back, despite how hard my heart is still pounding.

And as I hug Charlie, hold the sparkling form of her, the panicked thoughts start to ease slightly.

She’s almost dressed like a tree herself, or perhaps an elf, in a glittery green dress, red tights and a Santa hat.

‘So glad we could do this together,’ I say.

‘Me too,’ she grins.

‘How are you getting on, Em?’ Sven says, coming over and hugging me.

Just as Adam bounds through from the kitchen, a potato clasped in each hand, I hear a knock on the door behind us.

We all look between each other, confused.

‘Who can that be?’ Sven says.

‘The ghost of Christmas past?’ Adam tries and I roll my eyes at him fondly.

Turning to open it, I find myself smiling widely at the pale-blue eyes and bushy eyebrows – William. And as I reach in to hug him, my heart overflows with warmth.

‘So, what you’re saying is, you snuck on to a war ship?’ Adam is saying, almost leaning into his Swedish yule log.

‘Exactly right,’ William says, and takes a small sip of his red wine. His eyes are shining with the night and his cheeks are slightly flushed from the sheer amount of food.

All around us are remnants of the most terrific meal, a true smorgasbord of delights – pickled herring and Christmas ham, pork sausage and a delicious egg and anchovy mix called Gubbrora. There is wort-flavoured rye bread and potatoes and, just in case William showed up, an obligatory turkey crown.

But much to everyone’s surprise, William didn’t bat an eye at the slightly stranger offering on the table; told us his wife was half Swedish and had a particular fondness for pickled eggs. Ate them all through pregnancy, apparently.

‘And on that note,’ Sven says suddenly, as everyone looks across to him, ‘we have a bit of an announcement this evening.’

A trickle of excitement goes through me, as I realise what’s coming. Because I’ve had this exact conversation before. I’m sure of it. And just as my heart rate goes up again, Sven says, ‘We’re pregnant.’

‘Oh my god,’ Adam says, getting up and rushing around to hug them both. ‘Guys, this is amazing.’

I do the same, but as Charlie pulls me into another big embrace, I know I’ve experienced this whole scene before, more than just faint memories and words falling from my mouth – I’ve felt it, experienced it and lived it.

I just don’t know why this feeling is getting so much stronger.

‘Congratulations,’ I whisper in her ear. My heart is thumping hard in my chest right now, but I have to keep calm.

‘We’re only about four weeks along,’ Sven says, as we all take our seats again, ‘and I know that’s really too early to tell people, but you guys are like family to us, so . . .’

I feel so bloody happy for them but internally I’m starting to freak out.

I think about the letter again, all those individual pieces I was putting together about my heart donor and Emily – the fact her memories are getting stronger.

Oh god . But it could just be my eggnog-addled mind making me panic. I’m overthinking it, surely.

Because I can’t lose all of this.

I won’t lose all of this.

‘You must be really excited,’ I say to Charlie with a smile now, determined to enjoy this evening and stop worrying. Just let go.

‘Will you dance to due date?’ Adam asks.

‘Absolutely.’ Charlie grins.

It’s so wonderfully Charlie, and it’s not like dancing is bad for pregnancy, I don’t think, but I can’t help feeling a little worried too – they’ve had so many issues, after all. I suspect if it were me in the situation, I’d probably do very little; be panicked the whole time, if I’m honest.

‘And then the plan is to do some travelling after,’ she continues.

‘Wow, that’s awesome,’ I say.

I think back to how different it was for Jess after. I can’t count the number of times she wheeled them around the same neighbourhood loop to get them to sleep. Her life became very small during that time, come to think of it. But despite that, I know she loved it.

‘Oh tosh,’ William says out of nowhere, and everyone turns to look at him. He’s frowning suddenly, his big bushy eyebrows downcast, and it’s jarring. He’s just been so agreeable this evening, lit up almost.

‘Dancing till due date, travelling the world with a baby. . . don’t you know all the things that can go wrong?’ he snaps.

‘We wouldn’t go right after the birth, of course,’ Sven says to him gently, ‘but maybe after a while, if everything is going OK.’

When William says nothing, just looks down at his plate, I want to reach out to him, find out what’s wrong. But before I can say anything, there’s another knock at the door.