The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

Chapter 48

FORTY-EIGHT

For the next six days, Malcolm, Shayne, Ellie, Elaine and I fly a kite in the park every single day. Elaine insisted we both take the week off work.

‘Claudia and Emer can handle things,’ she said, although I knew by the look on her face that she doubts very much that they can, but she also doesn’t think it is important any more.

There are other activities too. A horse-drawn carriage aroundSt. Stephen’s Green. Malcolm makes the driver stop halfway round.

‘It stinks,’ he says. ‘I’m getting off.’

He’s right, the horse is particularly potent, and although at one point I think Shayne might have to carry Malcolm home, the short walk back is delightful.

Ellie has loved sleeping in a bed again, although I have loved it less. Who knew a four-year-old could kick like a horse in their sleep? Elaine spends a lot of time in the kitchen; making soup Malcolm barely manages more than a mouthful of.

‘He’s not eating any of it,’ Shayne said once after a bath of potato and leek that the rest of us enjoyed immensely.

‘I don’t think it matters,’ I said, as I watched her lovingly add salt and pepper to a boiling pot while humming ‘Let’s Go Fly a Kite’.

On day seven, Ellie wakes before me and grabs her kite. She races into Malcolm’s room before I have a chance to catch her.

‘Ready?’ she chirps, far too bubbly for an hour of the morning that hasn’t seen the sun rise yet.

I race in after her.

‘Sorry, I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘It’s early. Go back to?—’

A shiver runs the length of my spine when I hear Malcolm’s laboured breathing, like a rusty hinge swinging. His face is chalky and the edges of his lips are tinged a bluish-green as if he’s cold. The heating woke me briefly earlier when it came on and air rattled through the pipes; despite the January cold outside, the house is toasty.

‘Get Shayne,’ I say, with a raspy voice crack.

Ellie takes a step back, narrowing her eyes, and her little face looks concerned.

‘It’s okay, chickpea,’ I whisper, taking care not to spook her. ‘I just need Shayne now. Can you wake him please?’

‘Okay, Mammy,’ she chirps, instantly appeased.

I take Malcolm’s hand in mine. It’s clammy and cold at the same time. ‘Hang on, Malcolm,’ I whisper. ‘Please, please wait?’

I hear the pitter-patter of Ellie’s feet across the landing. The creak of Shayne’s bedroom door. Some mumbles, and then the hurried thud of Shayne’s feet charging towards us. The door swings open, crashing against the wall.

‘Is he?—?’

‘Shh.’ I place my finger to my lips. ‘I don’t think there’s much time.’

‘My mam,’ Shayne says. ‘We have to call her.’

Although there is much urgency in Shayne’s voice, he seems to find it hard to edge closer. I try to encourage him with a smile as I feel the trickle of tears down my cheek. When he finally reaches the edge of the bed, I swap my hand out for his. He’s instantly lost in his emotion and he doesn’t notice me scoop Ellie into my arms and take her downstairs. I flick on the TV, not paying much attention to which cartoon comes on. I think about telling her that I’m going to go make breakfast, but I don’t trust myself to speak without crying. Instead, I kiss the top of her head and back out of the room while she is distracted by the upbeat antics on screen.

I call Elaine’s mobile from the hall. It rings a single time.

‘Bea?’ she says, and I can tell she already knows.

‘It’s time.’

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and I suspect it’s the sound of her heart breaking. ‘I’m on the way.’

I turn and hurry back upstairs, but I stop on the middle step and sit down. I don’t belong in Malcolm’s room. His family do. My heart aches but I know my place is downstairs with Ellie. I return to the sitting room and climb onto the couch beside her, tucking my legs under my bum as if it’s a mundane Saturday morning back in our old apartment watching cartoons before we tucked into sugary breakfast cereal. The ads are on and Ellie is on her feet dancing to a brightly coloured screen trying to convince her that a talking stuffed blue elephant is exactly what she needs in her life.

There’s a knock on the front door, gentle at first, and I almost don’t hear it over the TV, but it quickly turns to pounding and by the time I reach the hallway it sounds as if Elaine is trying to break the door down.

‘Bea? It’s me. Elaine. Shayne?’

‘Coming,’ I call out.

She doesn’t seem to hear me in her panic as she goes on. ‘Shayne, it’s Mam. Shayne. Are you there?’

I hurry and open the door. Elaine’s eyes are red and puffy and her usually perfect silver bob is bristly with odd strands standing up at free will. I can tell she hasn’t taken the time to brush it. She’s wearing a long grey raincoat that isn’t warm enough for the weather. I can see her pink and cream striped pyjamas underneath. And finally I notice engine-red wellington boots on her feet. I smile as I step aside and wait for her to come in. She doesn’t budge. I’m not sure what to do. It feels odd to invite my boss into her father’s home, and it’s certainly not my place, but Elaine seems stuck. I have to say something.

‘He’s upstairs,’ I finally mumble.

She seems to snap out of her daze and her red-rimmed eyes focus and meet mine.

‘Shayne is with him.’

‘Is he…?’ She swallows hard. ‘Am I…? She gulps again. ‘Is it too late?’

I don’t know the answer to her question. But Malcolm has waited years for Elaine, and I hope with all my heart he can wait a few minutes more.

‘Go,’ I say, choking back tears.

She takes my hands in hers and squeezes gently. Then she kicks off her wellies, with a degree of difficulty as she’s slightly unsteady on her feet. She climbs the stairs slowly, her feet not making a sound as they touch each step. I wish she would hurry, but I know she can’t. Each step is hard for her. Hard to leave the past behind, and even harder to face the future awaiting at the top of the stairs.

Ellie and I watch cartoons for a long time. An hour, maybe two. I’m staring into space, not watching anything on screen, when I finally hear footsteps on the stairs. I hurry into the hallway and see Shayne and Elaine making their way down the stairs together. Shayne’s arm is draped over his mother’s shoulder and she is sobbing, softly. I don’t know if mother and son are speaking, but they are embracing and I know they both so badly need each other right now. I don’t need Shayne to look at me and shake his head to know Malcolm is gone. I feel it in my gut. But when Shayne’s sad eyes burn into mine, my knees wobble and I have to concentrate hard to keep them firmly straight so I don’t crumple. I must be a pillar now. For them. I search my brain for something to say.

‘Can I get you anything? A tea. A coffee?’ I ask. I instantly want to shovel the useless words back into my mouth as soon as they tumble out. What good is a warm beverage now?

Elaine smiles. ‘Tea would be good, thank you, Bea.’

‘Cof…’ Shayne chokes up.

‘Coffee,’ I say for him.

I lead them into the kitchen where just a few weeks ago I spent my best Christmas ever with Malcolm. My stomach clenches, and sadness and heartbreak swirl inside me. I thought my heart broke when Declan left, but I see now that was a bruising. This. Right here, right now, sharing in the Hammingtons’ grief. This is true heartbreak and my God does it hurt.

Shayne and Elaine sit at the kitchen table. They talk about funeral arrangements. Songs he might like. How he should wear his favourite coat.

‘He loved the outdoors,’ Elaine says.

‘Yes. He could sit outside for hours. Even in the rain,’ Shayne adds.

‘And never wear a bloody hat.’ Elaine laughs and cries at the same time.

I set about making tea. Smiling to myself that Malcolm wore a hat for Ellie. I press the memory into my brain, making sure I keep it for ever.

I place a cup of tea in front of Elaine and a cup of coffee in front of Shayne. They both thank me but they don’t reach for their cups. I don’t think they’ll drink them. I leave them talking in the kitchen and I fetch Ellie. We tiptoe upstairs to the guest room and get dressed. We pass by Malcolm’s bedroom door. It’s slightly ajar, but I can’t bring myself to look inside. Instead, I press my hand against the timber, and succumb to the powerful wave of emotion that washes over me.

‘Thank you,’ I whisper. ‘Sweet dreams.’

I scoop Ellie into my arms and carry her downstairs. We pull on our shoes and leave. I’m trying to find words to explain to Ellie that Malcolm is gone when I hear my name being called behind me. I turn round and find Shayne hurrying towards us.

‘Where are you going?’ he asks.

‘I just want to give you and your mam some space. You have a lot to talk about.’

‘You’re coming back though, right? You’re still staying here?’

I’m not sure it’s appropriate to stay in Malcolm’s house any more. It’s a time for family. But Ellie and I have nowhere else to go. I wince.

‘Is that okay?’ I ask.

‘Yes. Yes of course.’ Shayne reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small white envelope and passes it to me.

I tap my chest before I take it. ‘For me?’

‘He wanted me to wait until after…’ Shayne clears his throat, trying to cough away his tears. It doesn’t help. He tries again. ‘He wanted me to wait until he was gone to give you this.’

I take it with shaking hands.

‘Are you coming back inside?’ Shayne asks.

I scrunch my face. ‘I’m going to take Ellie to crèche today, I think she needs to be around other kids for a little while.’

‘And you?’ he says, with round eyes that despite how much he’s suffered today are still full of concern for me.

‘I’m going to walk for a while. Maybe check in on things at work, so your mam doesn’t have to.’

He nods. ‘I’ll see you later though, yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

Shayne walks slowly away, and Ellie speaks for the first time in a while. I hadn’t noticed her being usually quiet but it seems all I can think about now.

‘I go to crèche today,’ she says, ‘I see Nita and my friends.’

‘Yes, chickpea. Would you like that?’

She smiles and nods. I will tell Ellie about Malcolm. Of course I will. But not right now. Right now, I want to drop her off with Alannah and her friends and I want to be alone in the park where we happily flew kites and I want to read Malcolm’s letter.

It rains as I reach the park. I find a bench, next to some deer who seem unfazed by the large cold drops as they graze in the long grass. I sit down and take off my hat so I can feel the wind and the rain in my hair. It’s cold, but I don’t put my hat back on. I slide the envelope out of my pocket and I begin reading the words written in pristine handwriting.

Dear Busy Bea,

So I’m dead, eh? Well, that took longer than expected. My knees have been dead for the last ten years, just took the rest of me a while to catch up.

I’ve outstayed my time, but I did it for my Alison. I had to put things right with our Elaine before I left or Alison would chew the ear off me on the other side.

I can’t wait to see her. She’ll be so pleased that I fixed things. Yes, yes, I know technically it was you, but I’m dead, let me take the credit for this, eh?

I’m not very good with words – never have been. I should have thanked you in person, but I thought writing them down would be the next best thing. Thank you for sitting beside me on the park bench. Thank you for sharing one last Christmas with me. Thank you for making my grandson smile. It’s been a while and I’d forgotten how damn handsome he is. The spitting image of his grandfather! Mostly, thank you for being you. I’m usually quite good at pushing people away, but you stuck. I’m glad you’re like honey, Busy Bea.

I’ve set a few bob aside for you. And some for Ellie too. Before you say anything, yes, you can take it. In fact you must, or I’ll be highly insulted and I’ll be forced to come back and haunt you, which frankly sounds like a chore I could do without.

Use the money to go back to college, Busy Bea, the world needs doctors like you. People who care past the aches and pains of the body and get right down to the soul.

Take care of that precious little girl of yours. But don’t make her wear a hat. Let her get the wind in her hair.

And for the love of God kiss my grandson. One of you has to make the first move. Don’t bring me back to the haunting thing again.

With all my heart, Beatrice Alright,

Malcolm x

I lower the paper and turn my face to the rain. The drip-drop against my skin soothes me as I finally allow myself to cry.