If You're Not the One by Jemma Forte

go on it, that is entirely your prerogative. And yet I’d bet good money that in five years’ time, if you got an email telling you that Ed Fisher wanted to find out what you were up to, and not only that, that he’d predicted what he thought you were up to, you’d be intrigued. Don’t try and tell me you wouldn’t have a look at that point.’
    This was a bit below the belt. Ed Fisher had been, up until five weeks ago, Karen’s boyfriend. Then he’d dumped her, cruelly, by text, telling her it was because he didn’t really fancy her and saw her more as a friend. She’d cried pretty much for a week.
    â€˜If that arsehole got in touch with me in five years’ time I’d be fucking livid,’ she yelled.
    Jennifer slugged back her drink nervously. ‘You two,’ she interjected. ‘Can we talk about something else for once?’
    â€˜Like what?’ said Tim sarcastically. ‘What do you want to enlighten us with, my angel?’
    Jennifer gulped and as she did so she became aware of a horrid metallic taste in her mouth. This was swiftlyfollowed by an ominous lurching sensation in her stomach. Horrified, she brought her hand up to her mouth.
    â€˜You OK?’ said Karen.
    â€˜Gonna puke,’ Jennifer just about managed, racing from the room as the cocktails she’d drunk earlier made an unscheduled reappearance.
    â€˜I am one hell of a lucky guy,’ said Tim.
    â€˜Yes you are actually,’ replied Karen loftily, though the sound of Jennifer puking violently into the kitchen sink wasn’t really helping her case.

PRESENT DAY
    â€˜What’s happening, Doctor?’ asked Max, the scraping sound of the plastic chair against the floor indicating he’d leapt to his feet the second the doctor had appeared through the door.
    â€˜Well, we’re encouraged that she’s made it through surgery. At one point we were extremely concerned about the build-up of blood around the skull but it appears to have eased off. Having said that, she’s not completely out of the woods yet, although her vital signs have stabilised.’
    A pause.
    â€˜Perhaps we should continue speaking in the corridor, Mr Wright.’
    Good, thought Jennifer. She needed quiet and wanted to be left alone. In sterile silence. Once more she felt herself slipping a little further back towards oblivion, only as she did so she was suddenly hooked violently back to reality again for the second time that day. As though a giant fisthad gripped her purposefully, purely so she could address a thought which had been loitering on the periphery of her consciousness, tapping her brain, desperate for her attention.
    Polly and Eadie
. As maternal instinct took over and penetrated everything, her daughters were flung into sharp reality. Her babies, her girls. The stab of emotion she encountered in that moment as she thought of them was gut wrenching, panic inducing. She didn’t know if they were OK and during this rare moment of lucidity she fully understood that she was powerless to find out. She couldn’t be like this. They needed her. What was happening? She felt like a prisoner in her own body, helpless, petrified. If Max was here, wherever ‘here’ was, then who was looking after them? Her mum? Karen? But as quickly as panic and fear welled up, it subsided again as confusion swamped her once more.
    She battled in vain to stay attached to the awareness of her daughters, but it proved too difficult. As quickly as their images had formed, they slipped away again, until within seconds she couldn’t remember anything. Instead, all that remained was the overriding sense that she was detached from whatever was happening, and that she was being encouraged to drift further and further from it. Perhaps she should? At first she’d been pleased to emerge from the fog but it was enticing her back again. And so she succumbed once more to the new murky world she