There were three biscuits left and he polished them off in about forty-five seconds. I wondered whether to wish for a few more for him, but decided not to.

‘Sam?’

‘Yeah?’

‘What I was saying yesterday – about guessing what I want you to wish for . . .’

To be honest, what with one thing and another, this had completely slipped my mind.

‘I just wanted you to figure it out for yourself,’ Evan said. ‘I felt kind of awkward and – I sort of thought the wish might work better if it came from you. I dunno. But now – I have to ask you straight out . . .’

And then the whole scenario flashed into my mind. ‘Your dad!’ I said.

Evan nodded. ‘My dad.’ His voice sort of quivered. ‘He’s really ill, Sam.’ I looked, and saw his eyes were full of silver tears. ‘He’s dying.’

‘Oh, I . . . oh my God. Oh, Evan,’ I said.

I felt a horrible stab of guilt. Why hadn’t I thought of this before? I knew how ill Evan’s dad was. The last time I’d seen him was a few weeks ago, just after he came out of hospital, and he looked really thin and grey and weak. The only thing I can say in my defence is that Evan didn’t talk about it much, and when he mentioned his dad he tended to speak about things his dad said or did or liked, not about the illness. And in day-to-day life Evan seemed normal, having a laugh and a joke and playing games like everyone else. But maybe that’s how people deal with it. The thought of Evan pretending to feel normal when all the time his heart was breaking inside made me feel even worse.

‘Evan, I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I should have realized. Of course I’ll wish he’s better!’

His face lit up, like the sun breaking through rain clouds. If faces were skies, his would have had a rainbow all over it.

‘Serious?’

‘Yeah. Serious. I wish Evan’s dad was completely better, right now!’

‘And that’s it?’ Evan said.

‘That’s it!’

‘He’s better already?’

‘That’s what I wished for. And my wishes come true!’

‘What’s he doing?’

‘Let’s find out . . . I wish I knew what Evan’s dad is up to.’

The newsreader’s voice intoned inside my head, He’s just thrown back the bedclothes, got up and announced he’s going to mow the lawn.

I passed this on to Evan.

‘That grass has got really long,’ Evan said. ‘I better go and give him a hand!’

‘Do you want a few biscuits to take?’

‘Biscuits? I don’t need biscuits now, do I?’ And then I realized that it was only in the last couple of years, while his dad was ill, that Evan had got overweight. He must have been comfort-eating all that time.