Page 5 of The Wish
For the first time today, Alex smiles. Max makes his sadness and anger evaporate. They engage in their homecoming ritual of pats and cuddles before Max brings him his favourite toy to throw down the small hallway. Once they’ve had a play, Alex changes into shorts, a T-shirt and runners. ‘It’s early to eat. How about we go for a walk before dinner?’ Max jumps up excitedly at the word ‘walk’ and Alex attaches a lead to his collar.
Stepping out of the house, Alex and Max set a steady pace to the park at the end of the street. There, he releases Max from his lead to run free. Leaning against a large oak tree, he watches Max as his mind wanders back to the conversation with Ian. A small part of him has always wanted to go it alone, to create his own business, do things his way, rather than TriOptics’. But his fear of losing the stability he’s worked so hard to create for himself means he’s too scared to become his own boss. One day, maybe.
Alex picks up his pace on the run home; he needs to be in his safe place, his comfort zone. Kicking his shoes off when he enters the kitchen, he fills Max’s bowl with dry food and carries it into the hall. Thinking of going to the hospital tomorrow has made him lose his appetite.
‘Come on, boy, you can eat in my room.’
Opening the door to his office, Alex flicks on a small lamp before putting Max’s bowl down beside one of his many dog beds. In the glow of dimmed light, Alex sits at a large desk and powers up the screen in front of him. One by one, the screens around him come alive, creating a kaleidoscope of colour. Code scrolls across the screens, alongside a host of animated figures, created with the help of artificial intelligence, that blur the line between the real and the imagined. He dreams of creating a way for everyday people to make a film of their lives at a quality beyond anything done today. A combination of homemade videos and what he is an expert at designing: 3D CGI. A way for families to leave recorded legacies of who they were and what they did. Family. The one thing denied him. The one thing he wishes no other child would grow up not knowing. A faint smile plays on his face as he reads the small text watermarked across each image: ‘Designed by Alex Daniels, patent pending’.
Having scoffed down his dinner, Max ignores his comfortable bed, picking up a small soft toy. Curling up at Alex’s feet, he tucks the toy under his chin and settles down for the evening.
CHAPTER 4
The floodlights of the car park disguise the setting sun. There are more vacant spaces to park in than earlier in the day.
In one car, Dean Morgan sits hunched, looking through the windscreen at the doors opening into the hospital. Dean is tall and rugged, his face lined with a worry that turns quickly to anger, making him look older than his forty years. His tanned skin, light brown hair and brown eyes have no doubt contributed to his stellar rise in the most prestigious law firm in the city. But he’s not doing so well right now. The change in his confident, personal approach to colleagues, clients and friends has generally been excused by his daughter’s illness – people are sympathetic – but they need to trust their lawyers and Dean is failing to meet expectations. He knows he should try harder but feels powerless to control the anger and pain that surge up in him almost constantly.
His hands grip the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white, his expression tight with rage. He watches a couple with two young children leave the building, a boy and a girl holding their parents’ hands, all smiles and giggles. Dean hits the steering wheel hard, emitting a primal grunt. Slowly, he gets his breathing under control before getting out of the car. With one more gesture of anger, he slams the door.
Inside the hospital, Dean glances at the bank of lifts, any one of which would take him to his daughter. Instead, he walks downa busy corridor, past the cafeteria where patients well enough to leave their room have gathered with their visitors. Further on, he sees the sign indicating his destination – a place he has been many times before. A place he’d rather avoid. The Social Work Department. A staff member greets him and accompanies him to a private office. Knocking and opening the door, she ushers Dean in, closing it gently behind him.
Looking up from behind the desk where she’s seated, Kelly greets him. ‘Dean, thank you for coming, I’m sorry to ask you and Mandy to meet me after hours but there is something we need to talk about.’
Kelly Vincent is in her late twenties. She has large round eyes of a piercing blue, which is usually the first thing people notice about her. Her hair is twisted into a messy bun at the back of her head, held in place with a large claw hairclip. It always comes loose as she talks – she’s an expressive speaker, waving her hands for added emphasis. She dresses simply, privileging comfort above all else, and wears minimal makeup. Dean likes Kelly and admires the work she does and has often told her how he could never do it. But he also would be happy if he never saw her again. She represents their last two years of living hell.
Dean kisses Mandy quickly on the cheek and collapses into the vacant chair beside his wife.
‘We’re here now, Kelly, what’s this about?’ he asks impatiently.
Kelly clears her throat and settles her clear blue eyes on Dean and Mandy. Dean dreads what he’s about to hear, and he tries to prepare himself as much as he can, balling his fist up so that his fingernails dig into his palm.
‘When you got Jesse’s blood results showing her leukaemia had returned, Jesse got in touch with me—’
‘What do you mean Jesse got in touch with you? Mandy, did you know about this?’
‘No, Dean, Jesse hasn’t mentioned anything to me about contacting Kelly.’ Mandy’s voice is calm and she speaks slowly.
This placatory tone infuriates Dean further. He shifts in his seat, unable to get comfortable.
‘Why don’t we listen to what Kelly has to say?’ Mandy whispers, reaching out to take Dean’s hand, a simple gesture she has always used to calm him. He allows her a fleeting touch before pulling his hand away.
‘OK, fine, but for the record, Kelly, I’m not happy about this. So, what did Jesse want kept from us?’
‘Jesse asked me to contact Inspire a Wish—’
‘What?’ Dean yells, jumping to his feet.
‘This was her idea, Dean. Please sit down and let’s talk about it. What did she ask for, Kelly?’ Mandy asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
‘What the hell does it matter what she asked for! We’re not there yet!’ Dean says, his hands clenched into fists.
‘We are,’ Mandy whispers to him. She attempts to take his hand again, but he pulls away. Dejected, she puts her hands in her lap, looking down.
‘No. No, we’re not, we can’t be,’ Dean says quietly, seeing the tears slowly rolling down his wife’s cheeks. Fire and water – they used to joke about it. He’d be all blazing thunder when upset, she’d be quieter, weeping, turning inward. But since Jesse was diagnosed, their differing responses to their daughter’s illness have driven a wedge between them, Dean’s anger getting so out of control to the point where Mandy told him that she could no longer live with him and his fury. He takes his seat again and sighs. Raising his eyes to Kelly’s, he says, ‘Can we forget all this?’
‘I’m sorry, Dean, I can’t. Jesse asked for it. It’s my job to make sure she gets her wish. Last time she was in, Jesse confided in me what she wanted, which gave me the time to research whereI could get the help she needs. I got in touch with Inspire a Wish then and they have already contacted a company who can help.’
Kelly sees on the Morgans’ faces the shock she was expecting to see, what she’s seen so many times before. The parents have not yet come to the place of acceptance that their child – her patient – has already arrived at. She sits with the silence, knowing that the next words will come from either Dean or Mandy, expecting it to be Dean.
