by Steve Harris
It would never happen, of course. It was a nice thought, and S’n’J could imagine it vividly and it was what ought to happen, but it was just a dream. Things like this didn’t happen in real life.
S’n’J finished her story the week after her plaster came off and she stashed it away in an envelope, and put it under her bed.
The miracle she really wanted happened a week later. Martin rang, drunk with jubilation. It took quite a while to get the story out of him, but the upshot of all his babbling was that his leg was going to be OK. He could feel his foot when they pricked it, he said, and he had told the last doctor who tried it that if he did it again he was going to need some serious orthodontic work to bridge his missing teeth.
S’n’J thought of her story, which had surely had nothing to do with it, and smiled.
A week after that, S’n’J and James came home from a shopping trip and found the answering machine light blinking.
They both stood and looked at it, guiltily.
James broke the silence. ‘Do you know who I think left us a message?’ he asked.
S’n’J shook her head.
‘I think it was Martin,’ he smiled, conspiratorially.
She looked at him, in open mouthed surprise. ‘You read it!’ she said, ‘You found my story under the bed and you read it and you didn’t even tell me!’
James grinned and nodded. ‘You didn’t even tell me you were writing it,’ he countered. ‘It was excellent, too. I told you you had talent.’
S’n’J took his hand and squeezed it, glancing from the flashing light to James’ smiling face and back again and not knowing whether she ought to feel flattered or embarrassed or excited about the message that might be waiting there for her. ‘It can’t be, can it?’ she asked. ‘It can’t have come true!’
James shrugged, grinning fit to burst.
‘We’ll be disappointed,’ S’n’J said.
James shook his head. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘Wind it back and see if we’ve got a bonfire to watch.’
Sarah-Jane Dresden crossed her fingers, rewound the tape and hit the play button.
Hoping.
