Page 35 of The Wish

‘ W hat am I going to do, Max?’

Alex studies Max’s face, hoping he can read an answer to his question, his dilemma. Max tilts his head to show he’s listening, and that he cares.

Sitting at his kitchen table, a cup of coffee half drunk, a piece of toast on a plate pushed away, Alex continues to stare at Max. He gets an answer when Max puts a front paw on his leg and whimpers softly.

‘I’m meant to go to her house today to get more videos and photos from her mum.

I’ve spent all weekend trying to work out how to do this for her, you know, buddy, make her wish come true.

But I can’t do it with what I’ve got, I need the studio and there’s no way Ian will let me use it for this project with no money coming in.

He wanted me to do this thing free of charge somehow, and I can tell he now thinks I’ve spent long enough.

I can feel him trying to work out how to call it off without annoying his daddy-in-law.

And then he’d like to get rid of me also. ’

Max continues to whimper.

‘Yeah, you’re right, you’re always right.

I’ve got to tell Ian it can’t be done then find a way to tell Jesse, and Kelly – and Luke and Ryan.

And Mandy and Sam. The dad will be delighted, so there’s a plus.

Oh God, what have I got myself into? I’ve given it a good go, haven’t I?

I won’t feel regret at not having finished it if I know I really tried? ’

A low growl from Max suggests this mightn’t be the solution, but he takes his paw away as if he knows it’s time for Alex to stand up and leave.

Sitting staring into space won’t make it any better.

He walks to the front door and waits for Alex to put his jacket on, grab his helmet and pat him goodbye.

Alex arrives late at the office. Again. He yanks off his helmet and pulls a hand through his hair, making it worse. Scuffed trainers. Crumpled shirt. He looks like he slept on a park bench.

‘There he is,’ Ian says, his voice unnaturally bright.

Alex stops. Ian is standing with a TV film crew – camera, boom mic, clipboard, all of it. A few colleagues peek over cubicle walls. No one’s pretending to work.

‘What is this?’ Alex says.

‘You’re late,’ Ian replies. ‘And you look like something the dog dragged in.’

‘Ian . . .’

‘Alex, meet the crew. They’re going to grab a quick shot of you at your desk before heading to the hospital to meet the girl.’

Alex blinks. The camera turns to face him.

He places his helmet and jacket on a colleague’s desk, then grabs Ian by the elbow and steers him towards the reception desk nearby. The receptionist takes one look and wisely vanishes.

‘Get rid of them,’ Alex snaps.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Ian hisses.

‘There’s no filming. No hospital visit. Get them out.’

‘I don’t care if you haven’t finished the wish—’

‘There is no wish. I can’t do it.’

Ian waves a hand dismissively. ‘Doesn’t matter. I want footage of the girl. You. A thank you moment. A nice slow pan to the TriOptics logo. You might want to wash your face first – you look like hell.’

‘She’s not there anymore,’ Alex says, voice flat. ‘She’s gone home. The treatment failed. She’s spending her last weeks in peace and privacy. I tried, Ian. But we’re not disturbing her now – not with a camera crew.’

Ian’s face flushes red. ‘All you had to do was build a simple game for a dying kid. I thought you had it in you.’

‘Her name is Jesse. And it’s not a game. It’s . . .’ He falters. ‘It’s something more.’

They push through the office door. The film crew is already packing up. Ian tries to salvage things, offering an interview, suggesting they might still get access. But it’s clear the crew heard everything. This is a no-go. They bail.

‘Alex! You’re fired!’ Ian shouts after they’ve left.

‘No, I’m not.’

‘You are! You’ve wasted weeks of company time moping around that hospital – what do you even have to show for it? Fuck all.’

Alex’s voice stays calm. ‘Only Frank can fire me.’

For once, Ian has no comeback, just a red face and shaking fists. ‘Get out of my sight!’

Alex watches him storm off, then returns to his cubicle. One by one, colleagues approach – quiet handshakes, pats on the back. A hug. Steve is waiting.

‘You OK, mate?’

‘I . . . don’t know.’

‘We heard everything. So, Jesse’s gone home. That means she’s better?’

‘No. It means the opposite.’ Alex slumps into his chair. ‘Shit, Steve. I’m supposed to be at her house right now.’

‘Then go,’ Steve says. ‘Forget Ian. What’s stopping you?’

‘There’s too much I don’t know. Too much I can’t fix.’

Steve gestures to the screens. ‘How much can you access from here?’

‘All of it. I’ve linked the home system.’

‘Then boot it up. Let’s see what we’ve got.’

Alex does. Videos, music, drawings – all flicker to life across his monitors. Sarah wanders over, eyes on the visuals.

‘Slow down. What exactly are you trying to do?’

‘I’ve been wrestling with this all week,’ Alex says. ‘The animations keep going out of sync. The conversations start OK, but after a minute they’re all talking to the walls.’

Sarah studies the screens. ‘What version of the cinematic manager are you using?’

‘Version 4. The only one Frank lets me use.’

She winces. ‘That was just a maze of bugs.’

She wheels Steve’s chair beside Alex, grabs his mouse, and starts clicking through menus.

‘Mmm,’ she mutters.

‘Mmm what?’

‘We rebuilt this entire workflow when we upgraded to version 5 of the renderer. Way cleaner.’

‘Too bad I’m not allowed to use version 5.’

‘You’re not. But I could backport the fix. Technically still version 4 just with a few, shall we say, tweaks.’

‘How long would that take?’

‘Dunno, maybe an hour to merge the code, another hour or two to run the automated system tests, shouldn’t break anything. We were pretty careful when we built it.’

‘You can do that?’

Sarah stands and returns Steve’s chair to his cubicle. ‘Yeah, easy, what source repository are you saving to?

Alex scrambles down one screen reading his reference documentation.

‘Ahh, vol 2 slash Alex slash Phoenix.’

‘Got it. Give me remote access to your machine.’

‘Just fixes only, OK? No product updates or Ian will have my neck.’

‘Can do. I mean, there may be some dependencies, but I’ll work through that. How long did you say you’d been having these problems?’

‘Since I started,’ Alex tells her, feeling like the most incompetent member of the team, not the wunderkind.

‘You’ve got some nice close shots of the lady who is just the social worker but nothing more, I see,’ Sarah says, walking back to her cubicle, winking at Steve.

‘Kelly,’ Alex blurts out. ‘Her name is Kelly.’

He grabs his jacket and helmet, just as Ian sticks his head around the door.

‘GET BACK TO BLOODY WORK!’

He’s met with half a dozen pairs of angry, cold eyes. No one moves. Flustered, he hastily retreats.

Kelly looks up from her desk at a gentle knock on her door. She smiles at Alex, expecting the usual silence and hurried departure.

‘How long have I got?’ he says.

‘For what?’ Kelly asks, concerned at his tone and his appearance. He’s always quite dishevelled, but today he looks as though he’s been in a fight.

‘Sorry, I mean how long does Jesse have?’

‘Alex . . .’

‘Just tell me.’

‘I can’t. You know that.’

‘No. You asked me to come here to make a wish come true for Jesse. Now I don’t want any of your confidentiality crap. Just tell me how long’s she got!’

Kelly stands behind her desk, weighing what she can say. Then, finally: ‘Three, maybe four weeks. Not long.’

Alex slumps against the wall, clutching his helmet. Kelly comes around the desk, reaching for his arm. He pulls away, too upset. ‘I’ve got to go,’ he says, and pushes past her, making his way down the corridor and beyond the receptionist. He stops at the lift. One sign stands out: 6 EAST .

Ignoring the lifts and the dozens of people waiting, he sees the door indicating the stairwell and runs to it. Level 1. Level 2. Level 3. He continues up, bursting through the door onto Level 6.

Slowing his breathing he walks through the automatic doors and to the nurses’ station. ‘Is Sandy available?’

‘Hi, Alex, she’s in her office. I’ll call her and see if she’s free.’

Moments later, he’s ushered inside.

‘Sit down, Alex, how can I help?’ Sandy asks him as he closes the door behind him.

‘I need to do something.’

‘If this is about Jesse, I can’t—’

‘How do I get tested? For bone marrow compatibility?’

‘You want to be tested?’

‘I have the right blood group. Just . . . tell me how.’

Sandy pauses and looks at him. He can see her making a decision. What have they got to lose?

‘OK. You need a mouth swab and a blood test.’

‘Yes, I know that, but how do I do that?’

Sandy regards Alex thoughtfully. Then, reaching into a drawer, she places a pad on her desk.

‘If you’re serious . . .’

‘I’m serious.’

‘OK. I can write a request, and you can take it down to pathology on the ground floor. I’ll have the result sent to me. Oh dear, this is highly unusual. I’m meant to do this for patients. You’re not a patient.’

‘I don’t want to get you into trouble.’

Sandy writes on the pad. Tearing the page out she hands it to Alex.

‘I’ve marked it urgent; I should get the results in a couple of hours. Give me your phone number and I’ll call you. That’s all I can do.’

‘Thank you, Sandy, thank you so much. Ground floor, huh?’

‘Pathology, plenty of signs.’

Alex takes the pathology form and hurries from the room, down the stairs to the ground floor, scanning the sign boards until he finds the Pathology Department. The wait is not long. No questions are asked. He thanks the technician and leaves the department.

Outside in the car park, he walks right past his bike. A car screeches to a stop as he steps into the road.

‘Hey, are you OK?’ a stranger asks.

Alex blinks, slowly coming back to himself. ‘Yeah. I’m good.’

He doubles back, finds his motorbike, and sits on it. Cradles his helmet before slamming it against the engine. Once. Twice. Three times.

A couple in a nearby car stare. He ignores them.

He slides on the helmet, starts the engine and drives away.