Page 32 of The Wish

He’s standing now, at the doorway, watching Amy and Jesse playing one last video game together, as roommates.

Both girls are going home today, and Amy’s side of the room has been packed up, suitcases neatly stacked along one wall.

Even with their backs to him, the difference between the two girls is striking – Amy is sitting upright, the red-gold fuzz on her head shining like a halo, dressed in a red hoodie and jeans.

She looks slender but strong, especially in comparison to Jesse who is slumped, leaning on her friend, her neck looking too delicate to hold up her head.

He walks away, giving the girls a moment, giving himself a moment too, because the contrast is too great and too unfair.

He gets a coffee from the machine, welcoming its bitter, acrid taste.

Amy’s parents walk past him, holding hands.

They have an air of bright hope about them, of relief.

The danger is over, for now at least, and they’re bringing home a daughter who may be weak now but who will get better, who will go back to school, find a job, fall in love.

A daughter who has many years in front of her.

Dean experiences an envy so vicious it feels like hate, which then makes him feel even worse.

He knows he should be happy that at least one teenage girl gets to live.

They enter the girls’ room. It’s time, he imagines them saying, it’s time to say your goodbyes .

He waits, watching them, unseen. Amy’s mum reappears, pulling along a suitcase and has her arm around her daughter’s shoulders.

Amy is wiping away tears, her mother kisses the top of her head.

Amy’s dad catches Dean’s eye. His smile leaves his face, and he nods – there is nothing to say, no words to make it better, and he follows his family out of the ward.

Dean finishes his coffee and takes a few seconds to compose himself. He knocks on the door frame, and Jesse, who’s now leaning back against the pillows on her bed, looks up at him and smiles, her eyes very large and dark. ‘Hey, Dad.’

‘Hey,’ he says gently, and sits on the edge of the bed. ‘Whaddya reckon? Shall we break you out of this joint?’

She laughs, then coughs, which forces her up off the pillows and takes some time to subside. He rubs her back, feeling panic rise up in him. ‘Do you want me to call a nurse?’

‘I’m OK, I’m OK,’ she says, giving him a shaky smile. ‘Is Mum coming?’

‘Of course, love.’ Dean reaches for her hand, which, bird-like, squeezes his. ‘She’s on her way. I’m just early, that’s all.’

‘Amy’s going to come and visit, is that all right?’

‘Of course,’ he says.

‘Oh, before we go.’ She takes her tablet from her bedside table and plugs in her earphones, giving one bud to him and placing the other in her ear. ‘It’s the new Mumford and Sons album.’

This is more his taste than hers, but he’d listen to Lady Gaga if Jesse wanted to. He leans back on the bed next to Jesse, her hand in his, listening together in their private ritual.

He’s not asleep but nor is he fully conscious when he feels a soft hand on his wrist and hears a whispered, ‘Dean?’

He opens his eyes. It’s Mandy, staring down at him, her eyes so much like Jesse’s. She smiles. ‘Lost in music?’

‘Something like that.’ He smiles back and takes the ear bud out. ‘Where’s Sam?’

‘Back home. Judith’s looking after him. I thought that was best, given the circumstances . . .’ She leans round to look at Jesse. ‘Are you ready, darling? Thought I might take you round to everyone to say goodbye. Are you up for that?’ Then, more gently, to Dean, ‘Can you pack up her stuff?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ he says quietly. He’s filled with an immense sense of gratitude – Mandy knows him so well, knows how difficult this is for him. She’s giving him the space he needs.

They carefully help Jesse into a wheelchair and then Dean starts packing up. He takes all Jesse’s belongings from the cupboard then moves to her pinboard. He stares at the photos, posters, his son’s drawings, his wife’s poems. He doesn’t hear Sandy approach until she is standing beside him.

‘I’m glad I caught you,’ she says quietly. ‘Have you got a minute?’

‘Sure, not long though, I want to catch up with Mandy and Jesse.’

‘And get out of this room no doubt.’

‘It’s nothing personal. I hate this place, I hate what it stands for, what it means every time we come here.’

‘I know. Some days I hate it too.’

‘Please don’t get me wrong,’ Dean says, turning to face Sandy. ‘You and the staff here are the most extraordinary people I’ve ever met. You put the people I work with, both my colleagues and clients, to shame.’

‘Thank you.’ There’s a slightly awkward silence. Dean wonders what Sandy is about to say next. Finally, she says, ‘I’m glad we’ve got a chance to chat. I know this past week or two have been extremely tough on you.’

Dean nods, unable to speak.

‘It’s tough because there is no rulebook.

I’ve seen so many families and so many different outcomes and each one is unique, because every family is unique, every child.

’ She speaks kindly, but firmly. ‘And from each family, I’ve learnt something new.

But one thing is very clear: it’s important for Jesse to feel in control of this next stage of her illness, and it’s also important for Mandy, Sam and you.

All I ask is that you listen to your daughter, be guided by her and her wishes. You might regret it if you don’t.’

‘I think I know what’s best for my daughter.’

‘OK. I just ask you reflect on what I’ve said. Bye, Dean. It’s been a privilege to look after your daughter,’ Sandy tells him, turning and walking from the room.

Dean returns to removing the posters and photos one by one, placing them delicately on top of the clothes and toiletries.

Removing one photo, he pauses, studying it.

It shows Jesse running towards the tape being held by two adults on a cross-country run, hair streaming behind her, arms raised in victory.

With a shaking hand he places it in the case with the others.