The Seat Beside the Screen
The demand he remembered did arrive, but it arrived in years that hurt many people. In 2020 live rooms closed and performers lost work. The company was already able to deliver remote games, which kept a paid team working; it was an advantage purchased through preparation, not a reason to celebrate the circumstances. Max still had frightened calls, cancelled bookings and days when he hated looking at another screen. Beth wrote new stories, asked actors what they could manage, and refused his attempt to work until dawn every night. A future could be known in outline and still be exhausting to live through one hour at a time.
By 2021 their games were being licensed to independent hosts outside Jersey. The hosts used their own performers and locally adapted scripts, while Max and Beth kept the original catalogue and earned licence revenue. They did not need to pretend a Jersey street existed in every country. The brass fish became a running joke among players, not a copied souvenir sold as local history. Ella designed further illustrations at agreed rates and sent a photograph from her own studio opening. Max admired the work and the pleased confidence on her face. She replied that he had finally learned to compliment something without immediately asking where it might fit on a screen.
Amy returned between tours, brought her partner to a performance, and stole Max's bright shirt for a photograph. Zoe visited after a season abroad and introduced a companion who actually wanted to spend months outside. Rose opened a larger workshop and invited Beth as well as Max to the celebration. There were a few awkward moments, enough to remind everyone that endings required people to practise them. Beth did not demand erased histories. She did expect Max to stop using friendliness as an excuse for inviting ambiguity. He learned, sometimes with embarrassment, and found that a clear answer could leave more affection alive than an attractive half-promise.
Jane began a family with someone else. Sue announced an engagement, and May booked the party while accusing Max of having become almost respectable. Nia developed her own software products and continued sending him terrible interface photographs. Eve came through the island with fellow musicians and played the original theme at supper for his mother. Tess and her partner joined them, arguing over who had solved the earliest mystery first. Leah sent a postcard addressed to "The Island's Least Reliable Dance Instructor." None of these messages felt like entries in a score. They belonged to adult lives that had continued after a date, which was exactly why Max was glad to receive them.
He and Beth bought a home together in 2023, paying GBP520,000 in equal shares from their separately taxed personal distributions. It was comfortable rather than palatial, with a room where his mother could stay and a kitchen window Beth liked. They kept the company shares at seventy and thirty. At the housewarming she wore a silver dress and pulled him into a quiet room to ask whether he had anything scheduled for the next morning. He said only breakfast. "That," she murmured, loosening his tie, "is a remarkably good answer." They returned to their guests later, with Max's tie nowhere to be found and Beth refusing to assist the investigation.
In 2026 the company earned GBP1.25 million after company tax. Max and Beth held their original shares, maintained a paid team, and no longer depended on his face appearing in every performance. Their home had no mortgage, and Max had personal savings of GBP600,000 after tax, his home contribution and ordinary living costs. The numbers felt absurd beside the camera strap he still used. He replaced it at last, then bought his mother a new tablet she chose herself. When he offered to configure everything for her, she told him she was perfectly capable of pressing a button if her overpaid son would stop standing in front of it.
An old acquaintance from his struggling video years invited him to an event, asking first whether he would mind bringing a projector. Max nearly laughed aloud. He declined the job, accepted the invitation as a guest, and arrived with Beth in a jacket that fitted. Nobody announced his wealth. They did not need to. During the evening someone recognised one of Beth's characters and quoted a line back to her. Max watched her grin and felt a satisfaction that did not resemble winning a bet. On the way home she asked whether he was disappointed nobody had begged him to fix a cable. He said the night had lacked suspense.
On the tenth anniversary of his return, his mother came to their latest mystery. Max sat beside her instead of watching from the wings. Every spoken clue had its visible partner; nothing essential disappeared when a character turned away. Halfway through she nudged him and pointed to the brass fish. She had guessed the ending again. Max groaned, and Beth, crossing behind their seats, brushed his shoulder with her fingers. He remembered another tablet, another room, a kind smile concealing an evening she could not follow. For a moment his eyes filled so abruptly that his mother handed him a tissue without looking away from the game.
Afterward they walked home beneath the island's changing sky. Beth took his hand while his mother walked a little ahead, explaining the plot to a friend with great satisfaction. Max still kept the old betting slip in a drawer. It recorded the first thing he had known would happen. This evening was different. He had not remembered the laughter, the touch of Beth's coat against his sleeve, or his mother accusing the writer of making it too easy. He had built them without knowing the ending. When Beth asked what he was smiling at, Max answered that, for once, he had no idea what came next. She kissed him and said that sounded promising.