With Heather Morris’ new book, The Wish, she moves from historical fiction to contemporary fiction. It’s a moving story of resilience, hope, and love against unimaginable odds.
Read on for an extract …
ABOUT THE BOOK
Teenager Jesse loves her friends, her little brother and her parents – even when they’re both arguing, which they seem to do all the time these days.
And she also loves playing interactive computer games, from her hospital bed in the children’s cancer ward.
So, when Jesse is offered the chance to have her greatest wish fulfilled, she immediately knows what she wants: a digital 3D recreation of her life – something to be there for her friends and family to watch and relive … perhaps without her.
There is only person with the technical skills and creativity to make this happen: the highly talented but reclusive Alex, a visionary 3D CGI video/games designer. Unlike Jesse, Alex doesn’t love a lot of things. To be honest, he’s not really sure he knows how to. He’s in his late twenties, but his troubled past has left him wary of forming any kind of emotional relationship.
But when he enters Jesse’s world, his journey towards connection begins. A beautiful and unexpected friendship blossoms between the desperately ill teenager and the isolated young man, changing both their lives – and those of the people around them – forever.
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CHAPTER 1
‘Hi, waves, how are you today? Having a rough one?
Me too.’
The question is shouted into the wind and the ocean answers, slapping a wave against a rocky outcrop on the beach where fifteen-year-old Jesse sits, dangling her legs above the water. It’s late summer, but despite the heat, she wears a long-sleeved T-shirt and shorts, far too big for her, belted tightly around her narrow waist. A large floppy hat in bright neon pink protects her face and neck from the sun. She’s very slender and tall, with big brown eyes in a pale face. A gentle spray reaches her knees and she smiles as she watches the water merge back into the body of the ocean.
‘You know why I’m here today, don’t you? Why we need to talk?’
Another wave crashes into the rock and this time the water sends a salty mist right up to her waist.
‘Thank you. So here goes: when Mum went to get Sammy from his friend’s place yesterday, I called Kelly, my social worker. She’s been there for me ever since it all started – well, you know how long she’s been in my life. We had a talk a couple of weeks ago and I told her what I wanted, if the time came. So yesterday I asked her to make it happen.’
The next wave slams into the rock, throwing seawater all over her. She laughs and wipes her face. ‘Don’t be like that, you knew this was coming.’
When the next wave reaches the bottom of the rock, it breaks in two, swooshing up around the girl, as if trying to embrace her.
‘Thank you. But it’s going to be fine and, more importantly, my family is going to be fine. But now it’s time for me to make sure my wish comes true.’
‘Jesse! Come on, honey, it’s time to go.’
Jesse doesn’t turn around at hearing her name called. She knows it’s fanciful to be talking to the waves but she’s always felt an affinity with the sea, especially when she sits on this particular spot, looking out at her favourite view in all the world. The spray of an incoming wave hits her in the face, drenching her. She squeezes water from her shorts and in doing so recognises how slack they are around her legs. These legs that had grown too long a few years back for her to continue her passion for gymnastics, and her feet turned into two lefts as she’d continued ballet classes. Wriggling her toes, she smiles. ‘But you never slowed me down, did you?’ she laughs to herself. Athletics had become her thing, once she’d accepted that she’d never be a prima ballerina. Had things been different, she would have been competing in the under-16s this year, and who knows where she would have gone on to from there?
A gust of wind whips around, lifting her now-soggy floppy hat from her head, but she catches it before it flies away. She rubs her hand over her scalp, enjoying the feeling of the downy regrowth. She’d been delighted to discover it was growing back the colour it had been when she was younger, a soft strawberry-blond, the envy of her friends. When she’d hit puberty, it had turned a mousy brown and she and her mum had expected it to regrow the same.
‘Jesse, please, we have to go.’
Jesse sighs, and her smile dissolves. Her mother Mandy is standing below her, beckoning for her to come down. Jesse looks at her mum and her heart aches. Since she was little, everyone said there was no denying that they were mother and daughter. She laughed every time she heard this. To Jesse, her mother is the most beautiful woman in the world, and she does not see that same beauty in her- self. A few feet away from her mum, her eight-year-old brother, Sam, plays in the sand. He has the same strawberry- blond hair, bleached lighter by the sun. He, too, seems to be ignoring their mum, filling a bucket with sand only to plonk it haphazardly down, with no interest in creating anything resembling the elaborate castles the two of them have made in the past. Jesse has always felt connected to Sam – a typical protective older sister – and she hates how what’s happening to her is affecting his childhood, denying him the puppy he craves, the vacations and outings they once had. She scrambles down the rocks to her mother and hugs her.
‘Come on, Sam!’ Mandy calls to her son.
Sam acts like he didn’t hear her and continues pushing sand into piles.
‘Sam!’ Mandy calls out louder.
‘I’ll get him, Mum. You go on, we’ll be right behind you,’ Jesse tells her mother.
Mandy looks at her daughter, shaking her head. ‘I knew you’d be drenched; there’s a change of clothes inside the back door.’
Jesse kneels in the sand beside her brother. Gently, she lifts Sam’s chin. At first, he resists but then he gives in. Looking into his eyes, Jesse sees how worried he is. She knows that he wants to delay the inevitable, to stay here on the beach that he loves so much, in the hope that perhaps if they don’t face it, it will all go away. She knows how he’s feeling because she once felt exactly the same way.
‘We’ve got to go, Sam,’ Jesse whispers. ‘I’m not ready,’ Sam bites back.
‘I know, I know. I’m not either. But we still have to go.’
Taking his hand, Jesse pulls Sam to his feet and reluctantly he allows her to lead him away from their sanctuary: the beach, the water, the shells, the driftwood that he loves to collect, the smell of the sea. A place of peace. ‘Why can’t I live here?’ she remembers him asking their mother when Jesse first became sick.
They make their way to the gate that separates their property from the beach. As they pass through, Mandy hands them each a towel. Using the outside tap, they rinse their feet and dry them off before putting on the sandals their mother hands them. They walk slowly up the path that connects the beach to their rear deck with its hammock, empty now but once Jesse’s favourite spot to read, nap or gaze at the waves beyond. Another thing to leave behind. She follows her mother inside their modest home. There is no comforting smell of dinner cooking or freshly baked cookies cooling down on the bench for Sam to snatch. The table is bare, no places are laid. When Mandy and Sam return home later, Jesse knows that dinner will be taken from the freezer and reheated in the microwave, or it might have to be a sandwich if it’s close to Sam’s bedtime.
‘Get changed, honey, everything else is in the car, we will wait for you there,’ their mum says as Sam follows her through the house to the car waiting in the driveway.
Within minutes Jesse joins them outside. Before she gets in the car, she looks back at her home. Her eyes wander up to the window of the bedroom where she has spent more time than a girl her age should.
‘I’ll be back,’ she whispers. She’s not sure if it’s a promise to the house or to herself.
Her eyes wander up to the window of the bedroom where she has spent more time than a girl her age should.
The dreamcatcher hanging inside the window flutters back at her. She must have left the fan on in her bedroom. She considers telling her mum and going inside to turn it off, but she knows Mandy will go into her room after Sam is asleep anyway. She will sit on Jesse’s bed, cuddle one of the soft toys and weep. Just thinking about how this will unfold, knowing there is nothing she can do to make things easier for her mum, causes Jesse to slump against the car. The heat from the car panel sears through her thin clothes and she jumps back. Head down, she takes her place in the front passenger seat.
In the back seat, Sam folds his arms defiantly and stares out the window as Mandy drives out of their quiet street and onto the main beach road, homes and apartments on one side, the grassed foreshore leading to the beach on the other. Outside of the car, bathed in the warm, golden light of early evening, people are going about their normal lives. Couples walk hand in hand, parents chase small children into the shallow waves, dogs run after sticks or balls thrown for them.
Something catches Jesse’s eye, and she pushes her hat further back on her head to see better. With that gesture, a memory comes back to her. Her father had bought her this hat six months ago, after she had left her favourite one in the hotel room during their last holiday, despite having been reminded not to leave it behind. Jesse had seen the perfect replacement in a shop, and dragged her tall middle-aged dad in with her, where he’d stood out like a sore thumb amongst all the pastels and neon-coloured clothes. ‘What do you reckon?’ he had asked the assistant, putting the hat on and modelling it for them before plonking it on Jesse’s head with a wink. She remembers the smile on his face; she knew she was forgiven. Always.
My last holiday, she thinks for a moment. Was that my last ever holiday? Then, she remembers what it was that had made her push her hat back to get a better look. A brightly coloured hot air balloon hanging low over the water. It is so close that Jesse can see the people inside the basket. They are laughing and hugging each other. She waves to them; they don’t wave back – they can’t see her.
‘I could never go in one of those,’ Mandy says, glancing away from the road to see what her daughter is looking at.
‘I’d love to. To be flying free like a bird, it must be wonderful. What do you think, Sam?’ Jesse asks.
Not even a grunt comes from the back seat. Jesse and her mother exchange a glance, sadness returning to their faces.
‘We’re here,’ Mandy whispers.
Having found a parking spot, Mandy gets the suitcase out of the boot while Jesse opens the rear door and holds her hand out to Sam. He ignores it. Gently she reaches in and undoes his seat belt before coaxing him out of the car. Hand in hand, they follow Mandy into the building. They take the lift, grateful for the stops to their floor that discharge the other passengers. As the doors open and they step out, all three pause and look at the sign in front of them.
Paediatric Oncology Ward, 6 East
CHAPTER 2
The doors automatically open, inviting them to take the steps that will lead them to the place that has become
Jesse’s second home.
‘Deep breath,’ Mandy says, squeezing Jesse’s hand.
Jesse, in turn, squeezes Sam’s, though he doesn’t respond, instead gazes sullenly at his sandals.
Before they have taken two steps inside the ward, the warm greetings of staff, other patients and their family members bring genuine smiles to Mandy’s and Jesse’s faces. Nobody wants to be here, but everyone is trying to put on as brave a face as they can. The walls are painted in bright, vibrant colours, and light streams in through the windows. The three of them make their way down the corridor, past a mural of an underwater scene, where friendly fish, sharks, octopuses and dolphins wave hello. Mandy and Sam stop at the nurses’ station to sign Jesse into hospital as she continues to her usual room. She pauses for a moment in the doorway, watching a girl her own age, cross-legged on a hospital bed, engrossed in her Switch.
‘Taking you a while,’ Jesse says, and grins as the girl looks up.
‘Jesse!’ The console is thrown down on the bed just as Jesse lands on it. The two girls hug and laugh. Amy is four months older but Jesse half a foot taller. Amy’s Scottish heritage is reflected in her pale complexion dotted with freckles, and her striking green eyes complement what there is of her fiery red hair. Amy flicks Jesse’s hat off, revealing her tufts of hair, too short to style. The girls rub each other’s downy head playfully.
The two beds are close together, next to each is a bedside locker-cum-table that holds the few precious possessions the girls bring with them, with a water jug and glass on top. Two chairs near each bed are the only other furniture in the room. Either side of the beds, the walls are covered in large pinboards. Photos, posters, letters, dried flowers and drawings separated by creative borders provide a wonderful splash of colour in an otherwise drab room.
‘Oh Jesse, why are you back here?’ Amy says lovingly. ‘You’re the last person I wanted to share a room with – if you know what I mean.’
‘I missed you. I wanted to be with you, and if this is the only place we can be together, then here I will be. OK?’
‘You’re such a liar, but I’ve missed you too. I mean, Ryan and Luke are OK, but they can be such a pain.’
‘Mum told me they’re back too. Well, let’s make the most of it: the dream team are back together, and everyone better beware.’
The girls laugh, and hug again.
‘Do they know I’m back?’ Jesse asks.
‘Yeah, they came in a while ago to annoy me and saw the pictures. Your dad was here earlier today.’
Jesse looks over at the bed she knows is waiting for her. The opposite wall is covered in family photos, her poster of Taylor Swift, along with her other favourite singer, Harry Styles. Her father has been in and put it all back up for her. She smiles. The fact that her favourite possessions and memories are packed into a small case, ready to be taken from her home to a room in a hospital, and that this has long been considered normal, is a joke she and Amy share. ‘Doesn’t every teenager have such a case packed and ready, aren’t they all waiting for the day they’ll return to the children’s ward?’
‘I see you still think Harry is hot,’ Amy says jokingly. ‘I mean, look at him, and he has the best voice.’
‘For a guy, I guess. Did you hear Chappell Roan might do another tour?’
‘Might. That would be amazing!’
Amy sees Mandy and Sam cautiously enter the room. ‘Hey, Mrs Morgan,’ she calls out. ‘Hi, Sammy, are you OK?’
‘Hello, Amy, how are you doing?’ Mandy asks.
‘Great!’ Amy replies before glancing guiltily at Jesse. ‘I mean, you know, OK I guess, Mrs Morgan.’
Sam hasn’t responded to Amy’s greeting and is still gazing at his feet. Jesse quickly looks from her mother to Sam, then grabs the video game Amy had thrown on the bed.
‘What’re you playing?’
Before Amy can answer, Jesse switches the game on. ‘This is kids’ stuff, come on, I’ll beat your arse.’
‘Jesse. Language,’ Mandy says automatically. ‘Sorry, Mum.’
‘Bring it on,’ Amy yells as she knocks the console from Jesse’s hands, ending the game Jesse started. ‘My turn.’
Mandy places the suitcase on Jesse’s bed and begins emptying its contents into the drawers nearby, placing the most recent family photo on top of the bedside table. Sam curls up on Jesse’s bed.
‘When will Dad be here?’ he says sullenly.
‘He’ll be here soon, he had to go to work,’ Mandy tells her son, ruffling his hair.
‘He always has to go to work,’ Sam snaps back. He snuggles down on the bed, watching the girls playing, his eyes slowly softening and lighting up as they laugh and jostle one another.
CHAPTER 3
‘Inspire a Wish.’ A hand slaps Alex Daniels on the shoulder with phoney bonhomie.
Alex is hunched over his console at his workstation, screens surrounding him. On each screen are panes of code, animated sequences competing with timelines running at the bottom. To the side are panels of reference documentation and system notes, all needing to be considered, added or deleted. To the untrained eye, what Alex is working on would be incomprehensible. In this windowless room, Alex sits every day with several other men and women, each engaged in the quest to bring a virtual world onto the screens and into the headsets and homes of families across the world.
Alex chooses to ignore the words of his boss and shakes the hand from his shoulder, continuing to stare at his screen. He will turn 30 next birthday but looks much younger. He doesn’t know where he got his six-foot-two frame from but he knows it wasn’t from his mother: in the handful of photos he has of the two of them together, she appears as a petite woman, slight of frame. Judging by the photos, he did inherit his olive complexion and unruly dark hair from her.
His wavy hair refuses to be groomed and generally stands on end after a day at his desk, as it is now. Alex’s vague memories of his mum calling him her Alexander the Great suggests to him that he has a strong link with Greece. Other than that, his origins are a mystery, just like the father he never knew.
‘Inspire a Wish, Alex, did you hear me?’
‘I wish you would go back into your office and let me get on with what you pay me to do. Inspirational enough for you?’
Ian Williams, the son-in-law of the owner of TriOptic Studios, your basic nepo-baby, swivels Alex’s chair around and leans down, his face too close.
‘The organisation, stupid. Inspire a Wish, you know? They help sick kids get a trip to Disneyland or meet their favourite footballer, whatever it is that will brighten their day. That’s what I’m talking about.’
‘OK? But I’m not sure what you’re after and I’d better get back to it.’ Alex swivels his chair firmly back around. With his mouse, he moves an animated sequence into a live character playing the same game, watching as the timeline stretches on one screen, decreases on the other.
Looking around Alex’s workspace, Ian whistles, playing to the others in the room, all of whom are listening intently while pretending not to and continuing to stare at their screens.
‘To be honest, Alex, it doesn’t surprise me that you don’t know about such a worthy institution. Look at you, all wrapped up in yourself. No photos, nothing personal … You really are a loner, aren’t you? Either that or you have a dark secret …’
Losing his concentration, Alex looks around at his colleagues’ workspaces. He’s been introduced, via photo, to all their partners and children, he’s responded appropriately when one of them has proudly shown off the artwork his four- year-old produced at nursery: ‘Yeah, for sure another Picasso there, Steve, should put him in art classes.’ He contributed generously to the wedding present bought for Sarah when she married Claire a couple of months ago. Alex has no such occasions to mark. He doesn’t think people would appreciate buying a gift for his dog – his only companion at home.
Ian knows this – he’s needling Alex by pointing it out to the whole team. Alex clenches his fists, his jaw. But he’s not going to give Ian the satisfaction of knowing how much he’s affected him. Alex breathes deeply, centring himself, before inching his chair forwards as far as he can to put some space between him and his overbearing boss. He could stand and face him eye to eye – in fact, he’d be looking down on Ian’s bald head. But he’s feeling a bit more generous today, so he makes do with reclaiming some personal space by extending his long legs, causing Ian to take a step back and stumble slightly. He might be the boss, but everyone knows it’s only because he married Frank’s daughter.
‘Ian, what do you want? I’m right in the middle of combining the animated sequences with the live action in the final cut of Stingrays Rule the Ocean.’
‘I’ve got a really important job for you. A bit of enthusiasm and appreciation wouldn’t hurt.’
‘Ian, I told you I’m busy.’
‘That’s not the attitude, Alex. Regardless of what I ask you to do I expect “Thank you, Ian, how can I help? Tell me more”.’
‘OK. Thank you, Ian, how can I help? Tell me more.’
Ian clearly chooses not to notice the sarcasm. ‘I need you to go to the Children’s Hospital tomorrow at three. You’ll meet a social worker there named, um, um … what’s her name?’
‘I don’t know, Ian, how could I?’
‘Kelly, that’s it. Kelly something or other. I’m sure it doesn’t matter, there can only be one social worker named Kelly. Anyway, she’s got a kid there, a young girl, who wants her own video experience to be customised for her family. Apparently, she’s really sick.’
‘Whoa, wait up a minute, what are you talking about?’ ‘You need to listen, enough joking around. Frank, the man who pays your wages – ’
‘And yours,’ Alex throws in.
Alex’s words make Ian pause for a second. He hates being reminded that he’s the boss’s son-in-law, and Alex knows it. ‘Frank got a call from a pal of his who knows the head
of the local Inspire a Wish Foundation, asking us to help this kid out with a one-off video experience. Well, as you can imagine, Frank sees the chance for some positive PR for a change, instead of all this whining about how we’re poisoning the minds of children. I got the word from Frank: make it happen and put your best designer on it. And Frank, not to mention my lovely wife, Cheryl, won’t be pleased if we let him down.’
‘Ah ha. So obviously you’re asking your best designer.
Alex’s words make Ian pause for a second. He hates being reminded that he’s the boss’s son-in-law, and Alex knows it.
The one with the biggest workload. Ask Steve, he’s got kids, he’ll be better at this.’
On the other side of the wall that divides their cubicles, Steve instinctively hunches down to make himself invisible. Alex registers this and sighs. It was worth a try.
‘Sadly, you and I, as well as every other designer here, know you’re the only one with full knowledge of 3D CGI. Frank wants the best; Frank asked for you. I told him that you would grumble every step of the way, but he wouldn’t listen. Case closed as far as he’s concerned. Three o’clock tomorrow. The Children’s Hospital. Social worker. I told you her name.’
‘And if I don’t do it?’
‘If you were bothered to look up occasionally from your millennial bubble, you’ll see that business has been tough lately – mess up an opportunity for good PR like this and you’re putting all your colleagues’ jobs at risk. But yours would probably be the first to go.’
Alex and Ian lock eyes for a moment. Alex breaks contact and looks around the room. One by one his colleagues silently nod at him before looking away. No pressure, mate, they’re all thinking. Take this one for the team. Everyone knows TriOptics needs a lucky break right now.
‘Three o’clock tomorrow,’ Ian repeats. ‘Don’t be late,’ he throws at Alex as he walks away.
Steve gets up slowly and walks around to Alex’s cubicle. He’s the father of two young children, and Alex is sure that the thought of a very ill young girl at the Children’s Hospital fills him with horror.
‘Sorry, mate, you know how he is when his father-in-law tells him to do something.’
‘Yeah, it’s “how high do you want me to jump, Frank, what can I do to please you, Frank”.’
‘I gotta say, that’s a tough gig …’ Steve shakes his head. ‘For a dad, a parent, that’s the kind of thing you hope you never have to deal with. Might be easier on you, you know …’
Alex sighs. He knows Steve means well, but it’s hard not to react to the underlying suggestion that he doesn’t have a family to care about.
‘We’ll all help out if you need it.’ Steve calls out to the others in the room, ‘Won’t we? People? Are you with me? We’ve got Alex’s back?’
The mutterings of support, eyes still firmly on screens, don’t fill Alex with confidence.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born in Te Awamutu, New Zealand, Heather Morris has lived between Australia and New Zealand since 1971. After completing a Bachelor of Arts degree at Monash University, she worked for over two decades in the Social Work department at a major Australian teaching and research hospital. During this time, Heather continued to pursue her lifelong passion for storytelling, enrolling in professional scriptwriting courses in both Australia and the USA.
In 2003, Heather was introduced to an elderly man who ‘might just have a story worth telling’. The day she met Lale Sokolov changed both their lives. Lale’s story formed the basis for The Tattooist of Auschwitz, published in 2018, and for the follow-up novel, Cilka’s Journey (2019). Three Sisters (2021), the story of three Holocaust survivors who knew Lale from their time in Auschwitz-Birkenau, concluded the Tattooist trilogy. The Tattooist of Auschwitz went on to become one of the 21st century’s bestselling books, and in 2024 an adaptation of the novel was released as a Stan Original Series, to wide acclaim.
Her most recent historical novel, the heart-wrenching Sisters Under the Rising Sun, is based on the true-life experiences of women held in Japanese POW camps during World War II.
Together, Heather’s books have so far sold over 18 million copies worldwide.
The Wish is Heather’s first contemporary novel. It was inspired by her years spent working in a busy public hospital, alongside families facing the toughest of times with love and courage.
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