The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

Chapter 27

TWENTY-SEVEN

I tried to visit John on StStephen’s Day. But the fact that I didn’t know his second name, whether or not he’d been admitted and if so to what ward made finding him as difficult as searching for a needle in a haystack. Ellie and I spent the day wandering the city instead. I hoped the cinema would be open so we could kill a couple of hours, but it wasn’t. I was torn between being glad to save the price of the tickets and add it to a flat deposit and flustered, cold and bored as we dotted in and out of shops we couldn’t possibly buy anything from.

Today, two days after Christmas, I am glad to get back to a routine. I drop Ellie to crèche. And órlaith is back on reception at the hospital. Her face lights up with the challenge of finding John Doe.

‘I always wanted to be a detective,’ she tells me. ‘Like your one in Murder, She Wrote .’

‘Wasn’t she a writer?’ I ask, almost certain.

‘No. No,’ órlaith says, with conviction. ‘Definitely a detective. Anyway, leave it with me. I’ll find the homeless guy.’

The homeless guy. The words are like a knife to my gut.

‘John,’ I say. ‘His name is John.’

She dismisses me with a wave of her hand. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I know. John Doe. That’s actually funny, isn’t it?’

My face hopefully says that it is not funny at all, but since I’m asking her for a favour here I don’t pull her up on it.

‘I’ll pop back at lunchtime, yeah?’ I say.

‘Cool. I should have found something out by then.’

A queue is forming behind me and I step aside. I’m about to go back upstairs and see if there is any rice pudding left over after patients’ lunch, but the double doors part and I spot Malcolm on the bench under the oak tree. I hurry out.

I’m not quite halfway across the car park when he points at my feet and shakes his head. I’m wearing my work shoes. My wellingtons are in the storage room, where they will stay hidden behind a bucket until it is time to change into them and pick Ellie up.

‘I know, I know,’ I say, hurrying towards him and looking down at my feet. ‘But I’m just popping out quickly to say?—’

‘Well, you shouldn’t hurry anywhere in those. Take your time. What’s the rush?’

‘I’m on my lunch break, I have to get back. But I just wanted to thank you for Christmas.’

‘Why?’

My nose scrunches. ‘Sorry?’

‘Why are you thanking me?’

He’s serious as always, but I’m not sure how to answer. Most people just accept the platitude and move on. But Malcolm is asking for an actual breakdown of my gratitude.

‘Dinner was delicious,’ I begin. ‘I haven’t seen Ellie eat so much in such a long time. She was so full I’m surprised she didn’t have a tummy ache.’

‘You cooked. Not me,’ he says, without blinking.

‘Well yes, but in your kitchen.’

‘So, thank me for my kitchen, then.’

‘Oh, erm, okay. Thank you for your kitchen, I suppose.’

He nods, satisfied. ‘You’re welcome. Thank you for your card.’

‘Oh, you liked it?’ I smile, feeling warm inside.

His brow furrows. ‘I didn’t say that. I said thank you.’

‘Oh.’ I try not to smirk at how pedantically Malcolm chooses and uses words. ‘You are also welcome, then.’

He looks at the empty space beside him on the bench and I suspect he’s waiting for me to sit down.

‘Is Shayne with you?’ I ask, cutting myself off as I reach the last syllable, expecting Malcolm to tell me his grandson isn’t his keeper or some such retort.

I’m surprised when he points across the cleared and salted car park at a sporty silver car I instantly recognise. I smile when I see Shayne sitting behind the wheel. I wave and he waves back.

‘Isn’t he going to sit beside you?’ I find the words tumbling out of my mouth.

Malcolm folds his arms. ‘I didn’t ask him to come here. And I did not ask him to sit beside me.’

‘He followed you?’

‘It appears my grandson has trouble letting me out of his sight. Ridiculous, since he’s leaving to go back to New York in a few days.’

‘He’s leaving?’

‘That’s what I said.’

I am disappointed for Malcolm. His gruff exterior doesn’t hide his loneliness from me. I can see it as clearly as if he is made of glass. I glance at my watch; I have fifteen minutes of my break remaining. I’m hungry, but I would rather spend the time with Malcolm. I sit beside him, shivering without a coat.

‘You’re shaking the bench,’ he grumbles.

My teeth chatter. ‘Sorry.’

Malcolm stands up and unbuckles his chequered coat. My mouth gapes when he tries to pass it to me.

‘Oh, no, I can’t take that. You’ll freeze.’

I didn’t notice Shayne get out of his car and I jump when I feel him tap my shoulder. ‘Everything okay?’ he asks.

‘She’s cold,’ Malcolm says. ‘But she won’t take my coat.’

Shayne runs a hand through his hair in a way that suggests he might have a headache. ‘It’s okay, Bea. You can take it if you need it. Grandad is going inside anyway, and I have the car here to pick him up when he’s done.’

‘Oh, your daughter,’ I say, feeling excited that he has finally decided to talk to her. ‘If you give me her name, I can find out which ward she works on, if that helps?’

Malcolm looks at me, confused.

‘My friend órlaith on reception can look her up on the computer.’

Malcolm takes a deep breath. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I want to go home.’

‘But, Grandad, your appointment,’ Shayne says, and I can sense his frustration or worry.

‘Are you seeing a doctor today?’ I ask, gently. ‘I can help with that too, point you in the right direction. It’s a big hospital. Sometimes people struggle with finding which department is where. I spend a lot of my day giving people directions, actually.’

Malcolm stares at me with glistening eyes, and I’m concerned that he’s afraid a doctor might give him bad news today.

‘Take me home, Shayne,’ he says with a cough.

Shayne shakes his head. ‘Grandad, you really need to see this doctor. You need to find out what’s going on. What if you’re really sick?’

‘What if I’m dying, you mean.’

‘Jesus, Grandad.’ Shayne steps back, horrified by the idea.

Malcolm begins to shiver and I drape his coat over his shoulders. He’s too invested in his argument with his grandson to notice or to shake it off.

‘We’re all dying,’ Malcolm goes on. ‘Some of us just sooner than others.’

‘Can we please just go see what the doctor has to say?’ Shayne pleads.

‘I don’t need a doctor to tell me I’m old. My knees have been telling me that for twenty years already.’

Shayne folds his arms and sighs. ‘If you cancel now, it could take weeks to get another appointment. Months maybe.’

I can tell Shayne is stressing out. But it’s obvious that the more he tries to command Malcolm the further he will dig his heels in. I glance at Malcolm’s chequered coat and, although it’s a long shot, I have an idea.

‘Do you like chess?’ I ask.

Malcolm taps his chest. ‘Me?’

I nod.

‘I played once upon a time,’ he says.

Shayne seems surprised by this revelation.

‘My Alison and I liked the game. But that was a long time ago. I don’t play any more. It’s not a one-player game.’

‘I didn’t know you and Grandma liked chess,’ Shayne admits.

‘I wasn’t always an old codger.’ Malcolm chuckles. ‘I had hobbies, once upon a time, you know.’

Getting off topic, I steer the conversation back. ‘I could use a good chess player.’

Malcolm looks at me, unconvinced, and I can see the words take me home written on his face.

‘You see there’s this patient, MrsMorgan, a lovely woman,’ I begin, and I can tell I’m losing him. I speed up. ‘Anyway, she is a great chess player. Too great. No one can beat her.’ There’s a twinkle in his eyes and I can see a slight spark of interest emerge. ‘I’d love if she could play someone on her level, you know, like a real challenge.’

‘A worthy adversary,’ he says.

‘Yes. Exactly.’

He taps his chest again. ‘And you think that someone is me?’

‘I hope so.’

‘And this has nothing to do with getting me inside for my appointment.’

‘Oh, it has everything to do with getting you inside for your appointment,’ I confess. ‘But it’s also about MrsMorgan and chess.’

‘I’m old, Busy Bea, I didn’t think I was senile, but for the life of me I can’t see how chess and seeing my doctor are related.’

‘Well, there needs to be a prize to make it worth your while, right?’

He cocks his head in a way that says, This just got interesting.

‘ If you win, Shayne has to back off about any and all medical appointments.’

His eyes twinkle, intrigued.

‘But if you lose?—’

‘I won’t lose.’

‘If you do…then you go see this doctor. See what they have to say.’

Malcolm inhales sharply. My teeth chatter harder than ever and Shayne says, ‘Sounds like a fair deal. What do you say, Grandad?’

Malcolm slides his arms into the sleeves of his coat and rolls his shoulders to settle it into place. ‘Fine. Let’s play.’