Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
Although there are no windows in the storage room, I wake up on Christmas morning to find it’s snowing again. It’s not quite sevena.m. and Ellie is still asleep, but TikTok is already full of videos of people exclaiming, Happy White Christmas. There’s a short clip of an overweight fifty-something man lapping his garden in just a pair of white boxers, singing ‘Jingle Bells’ off-key at the top of his lungs. Next is a couple in matching ski suits make snow angels outside their huge, red-brick house. Kids have snowball fights. Someone in a Santa hat walks their sausage dog that they’ve dressed up as a reindeer, complete with antlers that jiggle when the dog runs. I scroll through a few more videos, before playing a couple of games of Tetris while I wait for Ellie to wake.
Finally, there is some tossing and turning, before her eyes open. It takes a moment for her to wake fully, but when she does she jumps up, throws her arms above her head and asks, ‘Did he come? Did he come?’
I produce the green bag from behind my back and Ellie squeals with joy. I place my finger over my lips quickly and say, ‘Shh. Shh. Remember, we have to be quiet in here.’
Ellie nods, although I know she’s not listening as she reaches her hands out to take the bag. She peeks inside, almost ducking her whole head in, and when she pulls out each small gift her face is so full of joy it almost melts me like a puddle on the ground.
She tries on the jammies, which are a size too big, and I’m delighted that she’ll get this year and next out of them. Then we open the box and take Barbie and her puppy out and I tell her that lollipops are okay for breakfast on Christmas. Ellie plays with her new doll contently while she sucks on her lollipop, but after a while she grows restless of the confined space with just a small yellow bulb above our heads for light. I make up games, and she plays on my phone for a while, but when I check my watch, after what feels like hours upon hours, it’s only ninea.m. I know I can’t keep Ellie cooped up in the storage room all day, so I suggest a walk.
‘How about we bring your new skipping rope outside, eh?’
The wards are unusually quiet. Any patient who was well enough to go home for Christmas has, and only the very ill and sleeping remain. It’s easier than usual to sneak about, and I take the opportunity to do some laundry. I bring a bag of our dirty clothes into the patients’ bathroom. It’s hard to get more than a few squirts from the wonky soap dispensers, but I prioritise socks and underwear and scrub everything else as best I can. I use the shower head to rinse with warm water, and I squeeze item after item, all while keeping an eye on Ellie. I have posted her by the door like a little security guard and every so often I say, ‘Well, any sign of Santa? Or his reindeers? Keep looking. Tell me if anyone is coming.’ After, I drape our dripping clothes around the storage room, confident that no one will be in there today, and finally we go outside to enjoy the freshly falling snow for ourselves.
Ellie tilts her head towards the sky, opens her mouth and catches as many snowflakes as she can on her tongue.
‘One, two, teeee,’ she says, with her tongue out. ‘Four, fiwve, six, Malco,’ she shouts.
I look across the car park, surprised, but sure enough I see the back of his bald, snowy head as he sits on the bench.
‘Malco, Malco, Malco,’ Ellie calls out, racing towards the bench.
‘Ellie. Cars,’ I scold, instinctively.
Thankfully the car park is almost empty and no one is driving in or out as she trudges through the snow that is nearly up to her knees. I catch up with her almost instantly and we reach the bench together.
‘Well, hello,’ I say, and my surprise to see him comes out in my voice.
‘Hello,’ he replies solidly as he looks at me and then Ellie.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask.
‘Sitting down.’
I giggle sheepishly. ‘Well, yes, I can see that, but it’s Christmas Day.’
‘Do people not sit on Christmas Day? Are we supposed to stand for twenty-four hours?’ he deadpans.
I sigh and try again. ‘I mean, it’s Christmas, shouldn’t you be with family? Where is Shayne?’
‘He is with his family. His father and that new wife of his.’
I note that this must make Malcolm Shayne’s maternal grandfather.
‘And your daughter, Shayne’s mother,’ I say, hoping I’ve got the family tree correct. ‘Are you spending the day with her?’
Malcolm’s eyes narrow and I think I may have pried a little too hard.
‘Not this year,’ he says, after a long pause.
I’m instantly curious. Is she busy? But who is so busy they would leave their elderly father alone on a car park bench on Christmas Day? Perhaps she lives abroad, I think. But again, surely she’d have arranged for her father to travel to her. I’m searching my brain for other possibilities when Malcolm says, ‘I haven’t spoken to her in years.’
I look at Ellie. She is rolling snow into balls at my feet, and I can’t imagine a time when she won’t be the most important person in my world. I can’t possibly comprehend what it must be like for a parent and child not to speak.
‘She works here. Like you.’
‘Oh,’ I say, my heart heavy as I realise that his daughter must be what brings him to this bench so often.
There’s a flash of something on his face, curiosity, I think, and I know what he is going to ask.
‘What are you doing here?’
Although I guessed his question correctly, my brain doesn’t have time to compute a reasonable answer. I’m not wearing my uniform, so I can’t say I was working.
‘We didn’t really have anywhere else to go,’ I say, truthfully.
My honesty seems to confuse him even more. ‘No family,’ he says, and it’s not a question.
I shake my head.
‘No friends?’ he goes on, and this time I can tell he’s asking.
‘I have a good friend, but…’ I inhale and cold air stings my lungs. ‘Ah, it’s complicated.’
‘Life is,’ he says.
‘No one should be alone on Christmas Day,’ I say.
‘Who’s alone?’ He draws an imaginary circle round Ellie and me and him. ‘Can you cook?’
I pull my head back until I have three chins at the strange, sudden shift in the conversation.
‘Cook?’
‘Yes. The art of making raw things safe to eat. Can you cook, Bea?’
I yelp suddenly as an icy snowball flies into my welly and instantly starts to melt. I look at Ellie, who is grinning, delighted with her throw. I balance on one foot as I take off my boot and shake the offending, freezing ball out. Malcolm’s deep chuckle fills the air, but it is quickly silenced by a small snowball hitting him in the knee.
‘Ellie,’ I gasp, quickly pulling my welly back on.
There is a brief moment where I’m lost for words before I begin to apologise. But I don’t get time to say anything before Malcolm’s laughter grows louder.
‘Gotcha.’ Ellie giggles.
‘You got me,’ Malcolm says, rubbing his knee, for what I hope is dramatic effect rather than Ellie having actually hurt him.
‘That’s enough now,’ I warn, catching Ellie bending down to gather more snow from the corner of my eye.
Deflated, she stands up and dries her hands on her front, turning her minty-green coat teal in wet patches.
‘So can you?’ Malcolm asks, pulling my attention away from Ellie’s coat.
‘Cook?’ I ask, wondering if the wet patches will dry out and leave a stain. ‘I can cook.’
‘Are you any good?’
‘I think so,’ I say. ‘I mean, I’m no Gordon Ramsay or anything but?—’
‘Good,’ he says, getting to his feet. It takes some time for him to rise fully upright and Ellie finds the process fascinating and hilarious. ‘I’m starving.’
‘Me too,’ Ellie concurs.
I’m very hungry too but I don’t say anything. I’m not entirely sure what’s happening here.
‘My house isn’t far,’ Malcolm says, pointing as if I will find his home at the end of his finger. ‘I’ve nothing in, mind you. So we’ll have to do a shop first.’
‘Excuse me?’
I’m so confused.
‘We’re going shopping,’ Ellie pipes up as if she’s helping to explain.
‘You can cook. I can’t. Seem the logical solution is you come to my house and cook dinner?’ Malcolm says, and I swear his explanation is less helpful than Ellie’s. I stare blankly.
‘Look,’ he goes on. ‘I’m hungry. The kid is hungry. And I’ve a big kitchen. You said yourself you’d nowhere to go, so it all just makes sense, doesn’t it?’
‘You want me to come to your house and cook you Christmas dinner.’
‘Yes,’ he says, concisely.
That’s ridiculous , I think. It’s bonkers, awkward, weird, totally unexpected and simply batshit crazy.
‘Okay,’ I say, ‘let’s do it.’
The words that come out of my mouth are a direct contradiction to the thoughts swirling in my head. And yet, I think, I’m excited. The idea of a warm home and a big dinner are tantalising. More than that, I can tell how delighted Malcolm is by the prospect of sharing his table with Ellie and me.
‘The shops will all be closed,’ I say, and I watch his face fall. ‘But there’s a petrol station round the corner. I doubt we’ll get a turkey or ham, but I’m sure we’ll find something we can make work.’
‘Yay,’ Ellie cries excitedly, although I can tell she has no idea what is happening.