The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

Chapter 25

TWENTY-FIVE

Dinner is spectacular. The turkey is moist. The stuffing is herby and crunchy. The carrots and potatoes are cooked to perfection. The ham is mostly still raw in the middle, so we set that aside and decide who needs ham when you have turkey anyway. Malcolm finishes his wine and Shayne pours me another giant glass. There isn’t any left for him and I apologise and plead with him to take my glass.

‘I didn’t back-wash, I promise, hic,’ I say.

He shakes his head and says, ‘I’m not a big red fan. More a white guy.’

‘That’s a big fat lie,’ Malcolm says, and Ellie says, ‘You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full, Malco.’

Everyone laughs.

Mid-meal, Shayne runs out to his car to fetch a box of Christmas crackers. Ellie pulls every single one, taking it in turns to pull with me, Malcolm and Shayne. At one stage she has seven paper hats, in the colours of the rainbow, on her head at once.

‘You didn’t have to come, you know,’ Malcolm says out of nowhere. ‘I manage just fine on my own three hundred and sixty-four days a year. Christmas is no different.’

Shayne ignores Malcolm’s grumbles and pulls the final cracker with Ellie. The snap is loud. Dramatically so, but I’m grateful for the sound that cuts through the suddenly tense air.

‘So, why are you here?’ Malcolm goes on. ‘I can take care of myself. I keep telling you, Shayne.’

‘I know.’

‘I bet your father had plenty to say when you upped and left.’

Shayne places the final hat on Ellie’s head. ‘Pink is your colour,’ he says, deflecting. Ellie smiles and, thankfully, the tension seems to wash over her.

‘I bet his new wife loved that.’ Malcolm drags it back, and I can’t understand where this sudden anger is coming from.

‘They’re married fourteen years, Grandad. She’s hardly his new wife.’

‘She’s a gold-digger.’ Malcolm huffs. ‘That’s what she is.’

Shayne sighs and I get the feeling they’ve had this conversation before.

‘She’s every bit as bad as that blond girl you’re hooked up with. She’s not with you for your looks or charming personality, I’ll tell you that.’

Something flashes across Shayne’s face but it’s gone before I can make out what it is. Hurt, or anger. Maybe a little bit of both.

There is nothing wrong with Shayne’s appearance; in fact, I’m surprised I didn’t notice his good looks before now – not Hollywood handsome, with chiselled jaw and big muscles, but his blue eyes are the colour of the sea after a storm and his brown hair is giving nineties boy-band chic. He’s not particularly tall or short, and his go-to look seems to be jeans and a hoodie. And, although I don’t know much about him besides, he works in tech and has a Dublin–New York twangy accent, he seems to be a pretty decent guy.

‘Lisa and I split up,’ Shayne says. And I realise the look on his face was heartbreak. Heartbreak he’s buried so deep that it only shows for a split second when his guard drops. I get it.

Malcolm’s lips round into an O shape. ‘Well, I can’t say I’m disappointed.’

‘You could say that, actually, Grandad. You know, just to make me feel better.’

‘But it wouldn’t be true. I never liked that girl. I said it, didn’t I? Right from the start. And now you’ve wasted years on her and look where it got you.’ Malcolm glances around his kitchen as if Shayne’s being here is some sort of failing.

Shayne pushes his plate away from him as if the sight of food is turning his stomach. ‘Maybe, for once, you could try to keep your thoughts to yourself?’

‘Don’t tell me what to do in my own home.’ Malcolm raises his voice and Ellie jumps. She hurries over to me and tucks her head against my arm.

There is still food on all our plates, but I wonder if Ellie and I should leave. I hate to pull her away from a good meal and a warm house, but I don’t think it’s appropriate for us to be here right now.

‘We should go,’ I say, draping my arm over Ellie to tuck her closer to me.

‘No. Don’t,’ Malcolm and Shayne say together, so in time it almost sounds like one voice.

‘Stay, please?’ Shayne adds.

I look at Malcolm. It’s his house and I really think the invite to continue on should come from him. I watch him take a measured breath as he looks back at me. But he doesn’t say another word, and I suspect he won’t. His knitted brows and sad eyes tell me he doesn’t want an empty house. Today of all days.

‘ Sleeping Beauty is starting soon,’ I say. ‘Maybe we could all watch it together?’

A sense of calm follows and it’s as if Disney can fix anything. I bite my tongue before I break into a chorus of ‘Once Upon a Dream’ . Damn wine!

We finish our food, but not until we’ve all helped ourself to seconds. Malcolm announces the turkey was a bit dry as he piles a couple more slices onto his plate. Ellie runs around the table, full of too much chocolate cake and shop-brand cola.

Malcolm holds up his glass and says, ‘It’s much better value than the real stuff. And who can taste the difference?’

‘Everyone,’ Shayne retorts.

And I wonder if this is their thing. Malcolm says one thing and Shayne argues the other, and vice versa. Not in a mean or judgemental way. It’s more of a habit. A tic. Something neither of them are even aware of.

‘Where’s your Christmas tree?’ Ellie asks, bringing the chatter in the room to a sudden stop. ‘We have a big giant Christmas tree.’

‘Oh, do you?’ Malcolm says.

‘Yep. Huge.’

My heart races. Ellie and I most certainly do not have a Christmas tree. I retrieved the tinsel from her Christmas jumper and draped it over the floor polisher. It didn’t add quite the festive feel to the storage room that I was hoping for, but Ellie seemed pleased. I can only assume right now that she’s talking about the tree at crèche. Or the one in the hospital lobby.

‘It smells nice too but if you gets too close its prickles getcha.’ She rubs her nose with both her hands and I realise she’s referring to the giving tree outside StStephen’s Green Park.

‘There’s cards on the tree and if you’re alls by yourself, you can take one for your chin-ney. We don’t gots a chin-ney. But Santa came nee-way. Didn’t he, Mammy?’

‘Whoa,’ I say, almost winded by Ellie’s rambling confession. ‘Yes. Yes he did. Cos you were such a good girl.’

Shayne breathes in, and I sense he’s overly invested in every word Ellie is sharing.

‘We’re missing Sleeping Beauty .’ I say, trying to redirect the focus.

‘Hang on.’ Shayne raises a finger in the air. ‘Tell me more, Ellie.’

He looks at me as if to say, Let’s hear her out , and I have no escape. I can only hope Ellie doesn’t dob us and our storage room living in.

‘I like trees,’ Ellie says, bouncing on the spot, and suddenly that four-year-old concentration span that drives me crazy when we’re running late and getting dressed for crèche is a mammoth task becomes my favourite thing.

‘Well then, we need a tree,’ Shayne says, rolling with the director’s cut.

‘I haven’t had a tree in twenty years,’ Malcolm says.

‘Since Grandma and Mam left, I know,’ Shayne says. ‘But maybe….’ He takes a breath. ‘For this little lady.’ He looks at Ellie.

Malcolm’s eyes glisten and I want to hug him. Again, damn wine.

‘Absolutely,’ he says. ‘Yes indeed. We need a tree.’ He looks at Shayne. ‘Go on, then. You know where the axe is.’

Shayne looks back at him, perplexed.

‘You loved the shed as a kid,’ Malcolm tells him. ‘And there’s a garden full of trees out there. Take your pick.’

Shayne stands up from the table and bends in the middle to come down to Ellie’s height. ‘Will you help me?’

Ellie throws her arms in the air and Shayne opens the kitchen door that leads into the snowy and overgrown garden.

Malcolm shouts at them to close the door as an icy wind slices in. They’re scarcely out of earshot when Malcolm turns to me and with a charming and slightly cheeky grin says, ‘Did you hear that, Busy Bea, my grandson is single. But you’d want to be quick, he’s a fine catch.’

I choke on air.