The Fourth Wish

He had made four wishes the day after he was told the news. The first was to take his niece to Paris, the second to buy his mum a car, the third a pre-50th birthday party and the fourth a trip.

He was too frail for Paris, so he took his niece to ‘Pierre Victoire’ instead, dressed in a striped t-shirt and beret for the full regalia. They laughed and cried over moules and frites and his terrible French accent, nobody mentioning the elephant in the room. 

He picked a white Audi out for his mum and had it delivered on Mother’s Day with a bow on the roof. She sat at the wheel and cried happy/sad tears and drove everyone around the block in her house slippers with the windows down blasting out Patsy Cline. No one mentioned the elephant in the back seat. 

The third plan was to throw himself a 50th birthday, to compensate the one he wouldn’t be here for. He could sense the nervousness of the party, it was to be a garden party with his uncle’s garden decked out in fairy lights, rented gold chairs, gazebo, balloon wall and waiters. 

A whole pig was spit-roasting and never-ending canapés and fizz shuttled by.

All his nearest and dearest surrounded him, everyone in their finery and waterproof mascara. After a brief, restrained speech he announced a surprise as the first firework exploded; as the crowd, distracted, looked up, he slipped out of the door.

The taxi awaited and he felt in his pocket for the tickets to Switzerland, and the fourth wish.