Page 31 of The Wish

A lex wakes early the next morning. Often on a Saturday he goes to the office to work in the quiet.

Today he’s decided not to, he needs to think without the influence of a thousand images crossing multiple screens in front of him.

He needs to clear his head of all images other than those he will need to create Jesse’s wish.

In particular, he needs to work out how much of the end product will be special effects and how much will be live footage.

He will need to find a way to talk to his colleague Charlie, TriOptics’ environmental artist, to bring to the soundstage the props needed to complement the filming.

Knowing he will be receiving many photos and videos from Mandy when he visits on Monday, he wants to concentrate on the visuals he has taken, the drawings and poems given to him by Luke and Ryan and listen to the songs on the list Amy gave him.

Pacing around his small kitchen with a cup of cold coffee – a prop in his hands, yet to be tasted – he looks at Max, who watches him from the doorway.

‘OK, boy, fresh air! We both need fresh air.’

Seeing Alex put his running shoes on, Max excitedly pulls his lead from a nearby hook, taking it to Alex.

Outside, Max watches as Alex goes through a routine of stretches. Recognising the last deep knee bends before he’s ready to leave the property, Max positions himself at the pavement, poised for action.

Together, they gently jog past neighbouring homes, the normal Saturday activity of children in varying sporting uniforms being bundled into cars, hearing the ritual calls of parents: ‘Have you got your water bottle? What about your cap?’ What he would have given to have had an adult to remind him of such things, an adult who supported him to pursue and practise the many sports he’d loved and walked away from as a boy.

As he was moved so often from home to home, he couldn’t stay on the teams, or be consistent with training, and he’d eventually given up.

A boy sprays a garden hose across the pavement, laughing.

It’s hot so Max and Alex accept the mist gracefully.

They pass a couple pushing a pram, their hands resting over each other’s on the handle.

Max slows, trying to sneak a peek inside.

He loves babies. But Alex tugs gently on the lead, and they keep going.

In a nearby street, Alex hears cheers. He follows the sound to the local athletics track.

Through the fence he sees children sprinting, launching themselves into sand pits, leaping at high-jump bars.

Inside the inner field, javelins arc through the air under the wary eyes of supervising adults. Alex pauses, watching.

He shifts along the fence, eyes on a group of girls rounding the bend.

He judges their age to be eleven, maybe twelve – not much younger than Jesse.

He smiles as they cross the finish line and wrap their arms around each other, no competition in sight, only joy.

‘Wasn’t like that in my day,’ Alex says, ruffling his dog’s head.

Is that the difference between girls and boys?

From his experience, there was only one winner.

The rest? Losers. He remembers his only real rival in middle distance – a boy who sometimes muttered ‘good race’ or ‘you deserved it’ when Alex won.

But mostly, he ran alone. No one in the stands.

No team sport. Just him, the track, and the stopwatch.

A private way to win or lose, with no one to blame but himself.

He doesn’t see the young mother approach with her two children in club uniforms until she’s right beside him.

‘Are you looking for someone?’ she asks. Startled, Alex blinks. ‘What?’

‘Are you looking for someone?’ she repeats. There might be a hint of suspicion in her eyes. Alex suddenly feels self-conscious. Does it look weird? A single man watching a group of teenage girls?

‘I just . . . I know someone,’ he stammers. ‘She’s not here. But she’s a runner. I was thinking of her, that’s all.’

The mother seems to relax at his explanation. ‘She’s an athlete?’

‘Was,’ he says. ‘She’s sick. Very sick. She asked me to help with something and – I don’t know if I can.’

‘That’s hard. But trust your instincts. Be bold. Be brave. Do whatever you can, and you won’t have regrets.’

‘No regrets, huh?’

‘It’s something I tell my kids. When they come last in a race, I say they still beat everyone who didn’t show up to compete.’

Alex looks at the boy and girl beside her. He wonders if they know how lucky they are.

‘Oh – sorry,’ she says, and laughs. ‘I talk too much. My husband says I could make friends with the devil.’

‘No,’ Alex replies, sincere. ‘You’ve given me something to think about.’

‘What’s your dog’s name?’ the boy asks.

Max is sprawled on his back, paws in the air, basking in belly rubs from both children.

‘Max. His name’s Max. We should be going.’

‘You and Max have a good day,’ the mother says.

‘You too,’ he replies, smiling now. ‘Good luck, you two. Have a great meet.’

Back home, Alex sits surrounded by glowing monitors. He layers music over the footage he and Steve captured. First, a track from Jesse’s playlist. He watches. Listens. It’s wrong. Another track. Still wrong. Again.

He drags visuals across screens, chasing timing, tone. It’s still not working. Frustrated, he slams keys and Sam’s drawings scatter to the floor. Max stays on his bed, looking worried, sensing the tension in the room.

Alex drops his head into his hands. Lifts it again and looks at Max.

The dog perks up, tail thumping once.

‘I can’t do this, Max, I’m not sure I have the knowledge or gear to pull this off. I’m not Marvel Studios.’ He rakes his fingers through his hair. ‘Help me out, buddy. Am I doing enough? If this falls apart – if we run out of time – will I be able to say I did everything I could?’

He accidentally knocks a keyboard to the floor. One screen goes black.

‘Damn it!’ he yells.

Max gets up, walks over, and rests his head on Alex’s lap, reassuringly.