Make A Wish

I had always hated snow. This was precisely the reason I had been so reluctant to move out here in the first place.

“But think of the opportunities! Not just for me dear, you could earn twice as much out there as you do now.” my wife reasoned. It always came down to money in the end. When we were engaged, she had badly wanted a diamond ring, but I could never have afforded it at the time, being only a vintage book seller. I knew she was disappointed, but she agreed to marry me anyway.

In the end, I agreed to the move and took a job as a copywriter for a large, Canadian marketing firm, and that was that.

“Happy wife, happy life, eh?” my friends had said at the farewell drinks.

We packed up our entire lives, except of course for the bulkier items that would have to be left behind. This included boxes and boxes of books. I still took more than was sensible with me in my suitcase. I had to have it weighed several times before they let it through at the airport and ended up giving away a collection of first-edition Enid Blytons to a Turkish man who took them gladly when I explained what they were worth.

We moved into an embarrassingly large house in a suburb of high local reputation, (a perk of the promotion my wife’s company had offered her).

The garden wasn’t just big, it was enormous! And every square yard of it was covered deep in snow.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” she said.

“Wonderful.” I gave the remark lip service only, thinking of having to maintain the thing.

“You will clear the path this afternoon won’t you darling?”

“of course.”

After lunch I emerged from the house covered head to toe in wool and wellies. Shovel in hand, I commenced my back breaking task as Abigail, our daughter, played happily in the snow.

About halfway down the path I felt a jolt in my shovel as it struck something solid. The bright, pink corner of something was sticking up through the snow. I carefully lifted it out and wiped the snow clean from its smooth, plastic surfaces to reveal a small, rectangular box with a lid on hinges and a little clasp at the front. On the lid the words ‘make a wish’ were written in a glittery script.

“Abby?” I called to her.

“Yes daddy?” she came panting, her cheeks rosy under her bobble hat.

“I found something!” I handed the box over to her and she took it with delight.

“Mummy?” she called, “I’m ready to come inside now!”

After our three-course, microwave dinner I that night, I sat in the downstairs study with a lemon and ginger tea and an Agatha Christie, while my wife removed bubble wrap from ornaments and framed family photos in the lounge. I heard the sound of Abigails feet thumping excitedly down the stairs before she burst into the study.

“Daddy, daddy!” she whispered, her small hands cupped together. “It came true!”

“What came true?” I asked.

“My wish from the wish box!” she said, “Look!”

She held out her hands and opened them and I leaped out of my chair.

“Where did you get that?” I said in horror.

“She’s mine daddy, the wish box gave her to me!”

Sniffing around on the open palms of Abigails hands was a brilliant white albino mouse.

“Her name is Maisie!”

At that moment my wife entered the room.

“Whose name is Maisie?” she asked and then let out a blood curdling scream as her eyes fixed on the latest addition to our household. “Where did that come from?”

“It was my wish!” said Abigail and then looked up at me.

“What on earth were you thinking? We haven’t discussed getting a pet!” My furious wife scolded, shooting daggers at me with her eyes. I had no response of course.

I stood speechless for an awkward moment, looking first into the enraged face of my beloved then to the sweet, innocent eyes of my daughter. At last, I sighed and shrugged my shoulders.

“Well, why shouldn’t she have a pet?” I argued. “It’ll be good for her, responsibility and all that, right?”

My wife shook her head, exasperated. “I just wish I’d been given a bit of warning first, that’s all.” she replied, cooling down a little.

Me too! I thought.

I volunteered to do bedtime with Abigail that night. Naturally I wanted to figure out exactly what had happened and where this mouse had actually come from.

 At my request, she brought out the pink, plastic box and began to explain how it worked.

“You have to wish for something small enough to fit inside the box.” she explained.

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“Because I wished for a puppy the first time, but that didn’t work…”

I nodded and picked up the box to examine it.

“Abby, can I try it please?” I said.

“Do you want a mouse too?” she asked, stroking little Maisie’s head.

“No, not a mouse,” I laughed, “Something more...” I thought hard for a moment, “I’ve got it!”

She nodded and held her breath as she waited for me to make my wish. I leaned close into the box and whispered.

“I wish for a first edition Whinnie the Pooh.” I jumped as I heard a fluttering sound coming from the box, the sort of noise that on old flicker book makes when you rapidly thumb the edges.

I slowly lifted the lid and was astonished at what I saw. A pristine, dark green cover with an embossed golden illustration of the little bear in the corner. I carefully lifted the front cover, my hand trembling, as I read the date at the bottom the first page: 1926.

“I told you it would work Daddy!” Abigail giggled beside me.

I sat for a moment aghast. I held the book in one hand and the box in the other.

“Listen, we must keep this box a secret, ok?” I said.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because…” I realised that I wasn’t exactly sure why, “Because the magic will only work if it’s a secret.” I lied, then kissed her goodnight as she placed little Maisie in the makeshift, shoebox house we had made for her.

I placed my prized possession on the little nightstand on my side of the bed and kissed my wife goodnight. I lay awake for hours, thinking of all the books I would wish for and rebuild my lost collection. Maybe I would open a bookstore here after all? It wouldn’t matter if it made no money, I could always just wish for piles of cash!

The next morning, I woke up late and tottered down the stairs, bleary eyed and wondering what could be microwaved for breakfast.

At the bottom I found Abigail just arriving back at the house, tramping wet clumps of snow onto the polished wooden floor.

“Where have you been?” I asked with concern.

“It’s a secret!” she said, giggling to herself and placing my shovel down on the floor. Yesterday’s events flashed through my mind.

“Where’s the box?” I asked, with even greater concern.

“I’ve buried it!” she proclaimed triumphantly.

“You’ve done what?” I tried to keep my voice down despite my temper.

“I buried it.” she repeated. “I wanted another little girl or boy to find it and have their wishes granted just like me!”

My instincts told me to march her by the hand and show me exactly where she had buried it. What about my books? What about my plans?

“Don’t worry though…” she continued, “I did make one last wish.”

She opened up her little gloved hand and something sparkled on her palm. As I beheld the object, my hot fury began to cool and suddenly I found myself feeling nothing but icy cold guilt. Given this opportunity, I had only thought of myself, my own lusts and desires.

“It’s for you to give to mummy!” she explained. “I got my little Maisie, you got your old Pooh book and this is for mummy!”

I took it and wiped the little particles of snow from it, holding it up to the light.

 There I held in my hand a beautiful, perfectly cut diamond ring, sparkling brilliantly in the light which radiated from the vast blanket of snow outside.