Page 36 of Dreams Come True at the Fairytale Museum

Once we reach the street where the teddy-wanting little boy and his pyromaniac brother live, I unfurl my scarf and settle it in a complicated tangle that goes over my head and covers my face from the nose down, and Warren watches me with an impressed look, and then bends down to let me do the same with his cape, giving us both a bit of protection from doorbell cameras and nosy neighbours.

We stop to identify the right house, and sneak along in the middle of the road like a pair of burglars, hoping to avoid detection.

‘Can I?’ Warren takes the teddy bear box from me when we reach the right place, and I look for somewhere to hide, but it’s an exposed house with a short path and no fencing or hedging.

My only option is a set of two wheelie bins on the pavement outside, surrounded by black bags of rubbish, but I’ll take it over being spotted and having to explain who we are and why posting a wish down a well has led to this.

‘Put it down, knock, and run,’ I whisper-shout at him. ‘We cannot get caught.’

It’s not my first rodeo at this, I hand-delivered a few wishes in the early days, but once the others got involved and someone suggested posting out wishes was a much more sensible solution, I haven’t done it since, and this is bringing back memories of good old days and reminding me of how special this is, and what a privilege it is to have such an insight into children’s hopes and dreams.

He nods and readjusts the red cape hiding most of his face, and I sneak over to the hiding place behind the bins and crouch down to stay out of sight, and watch as he creeps up the path on tiptoes, taking such comically wide strides that he may as well be wearing a black-and-white-striped top and an eye mask.

He silently puts the box on the doorstep, knocks loudly, and rushes back out of the garden and skids to a halt behind the bins.

I yank him down until he’s crouching next to me as a light comes on in the front hallway, and a woman wearing a dressing gown opens the door and looks down at the box on the step curiously, reads the label and then yells, ‘Jaden!’

Moments later, a little boy wearing Paddington pyjamas appears and the mum points to the box, and he kneels down and tears into it excitedly, and then lets out a squeal of delight as he pulls the teddy out and hugs it to his chest.

‘Where did that come from? Did you take my credit card and order that?’ his mum asks.

‘Noooo! It’s what I wanted! I wished for him!

’ It’s a big teddy, not much smaller than Jaden himself, and he pulls back and looks at the teddy and touches the cardboard tag around its neck like he can’t believe it’s real, and the porch light above catches the sight of happy tears glistening in his eyes.

‘Oh, you silly thing.’ The mum ruffles his hair and he buries his face in the bear’s brown fur.

He babbles something about the museum on a school trip to Ever After Street to his mum, but it’s muffled from how tightly he’s clinging to the bear, and I should be watching the little boy, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Warren, who’s got his lip held between his teeth and is absolutely mesmerised by the scene playing out on the doorstep in front of us.

‘Thank you, wishing well!’ Jaden calls out.

‘Wishing well, my foot. I’m going to check my bank statement,’ his mum mutters as she picks up the empty box and herds him back inside with his new bear.

When I glance at Warren again, his eyes are still on the doorway and they’re damp too.

I reach over and touch his hand. ‘You okay?’

He blinks fast and shakes his head, but it seems more like he doesn’t know what to say, even though he’s grinning from ear to ear too. ‘Greatest thing I’ve ever done in my life.’

He leans over to press a big ‘mwah’ to my cheek and it takes me by such surprise that I squeak and overbalance.

I grab at him to keep myself upright, and end up with both hands behind his neck, holding him in place against me, and once his arms have steadied me, and we’re both rebalanced and safely crouching, he touches his lips to my cheek again, and it’s nothing like the big ‘mwah’ it was just now.

This time it’s a soft, gentle kiss, with purpose behind it.

His nose rubs against my skin and he rests his forehead against my hair and pushes out a breath, so close I can feel his every blink, and it might feel vaguely romantic if we weren’t crouched behind overflowing wheelie bins and a pile of binbags.

He doesn’t move away until we’ve kept an eye on the windows for a few minutes to make sure no one’s looking out, and only when I’ve deemed it safe to move do we run past the house and dash up the street.

‘We actually brought someone to tears of joy.’ He still sounds awestruck as we stop to take our scarf and cape off and put them back to how they should be.

‘Jaden isn’t the only one it brought to happy tears.’

‘Oh, I’m an emotional wreck, you know that.’ He laughs a thick-sounding unstable laugh. ‘That was the best thing I’ve ever felt. I love that wishing well. I love that you do this. I love that you gave me a chance to do this. Thank you.’

‘Thank you for helping. It’s been a long time since I hand-delivered wishes. It makes a difference. Makes it feel more special. Reminds me of why I value the wishing well so much.’

He checks his phone again to make sure we’re on the right route to the next house, and then turns around and walks backwards.

‘Warren, don’t. You don’t need to—’

‘It’s easier, I promise. I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep stopping and looking over at me, and I don’t want to not-talk to you. It’s fine, you don’t have to worry.’

At a loss for what else to do, and feeling a need to hang on to what feels like an unspoken connection between us tonight, I reach out and take his hand. ‘At least I can try to keep you upright.’

He laughs loudly. ‘Yeah, this is not weird at all. Not least because if I did fall over, you’d never be able to hold me up, all it would achieve is pulling you down on top of me.’

‘Worse things have happened.’ I give him a smile, but I can still feel the imprint of his lips against my cheek, and I’m certain he realises that this is nothing more than an excuse to touch him, because being with him tonight is making me feel alive.

‘What’s your favourite ever wish?’ His fingers squeeze mine, even though my eyes are glued to the pavement, convinced he’s going to fall down an open manhole at any moment.

I give it some thought. ‘There was a kid who used seven pieces of paper to give a long and complicated breakdown of why school term times and school holiday times should be reversed so kids only have to go to school for six weeks in the summer, which to be fair, was such a brilliant and well-thought-out essay that he could’ve presented it in parliament and tried to get the government on board with his plan.

And there was one girl who said she wished she could live in the museum, and one who must’ve had a wish granted because the piece of paper just read, Thank you, wishing well! You’re the best! I love you!’

‘That’s really sweet.’

‘What would you have wished for as a kid?’ I give his fingers a squeeze because I haven’t let go of his hand yet, but I’m hyperaware that I’m edging around the wish he made on his first day here – the one he doesn’t know I read.

I can’t openly ask him why he doesn’t find any meaning in life, but the more I get to know him, the more obvious the answer is becoming.

‘Honestly?’

I nod.

‘I don’t know. I never believed in things like magic and wishes and fairytales.

If I wanted something, my parents tried to “instil a good work ethic” by making me earn it in one way or another – household chores or good marks at school or something.

Christmas and birthday gifts were always of the practical variety – never toys.

Everything was very sensible. I can’t imagine what the young me would have made of a supposedly magical wishing well or what I would possibly have asked of it.

I guess if I could go back now, I’d ask for a childhood where wishes and fairytales were commonplace and to grow up knowing what it felt like to believe in magic.

To feel like I feel right now, but thirty years ago. How’s that?’

I can barely speak around the lump in my throat. ‘The perfect answer. You are exactly why it’s so important that we get to do this.’

‘So kids don’t turn out like me?’

I know he’s winding me up, but I give him a scathing look anyway. ‘Exactly. Not that how you turned out is a bad thing, obviously.’

‘Ah, so you want more kids to grow up to be evil gerbils without souls?’

I blush at how harshly I judged him at first and his grin gets even wider because that’s exactly what he was aiming for.

‘Every child should get to experience hunting for fairies and looking for magical lands at the top of big trees, and believing in whimsy and daydreams and letting their imaginations run wild.’

He uses his grip on my hand to tug me closer and then turns and falls into step beside me, finally facing the right way again. He drops an arm around my shoulders and leans his head towards mine. ‘Agree. Very much agree.’

The closeness shuts out the chill in the breeze of the November night, and I’m quite disappointed when it’s only a few more minutes before we reach the street of the boy who wished for the cape, identify the right house, and re-do the knotted tangle of our face coverings again.