Page 111 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

I cover my mouth with my hand.

‘Pneumonia,’ Shayne says, a tear trickling out from the corner of his eye. ‘It’s not looking good.’

My chest tightens and it feels as if someone is twisting a vice round my heart.

‘Can I see him?’

‘Yes. Of course. He’d like that.’

‘Can we go now?’

Shayne rubs his eyes. ‘Yes. They said I can visit any time, normal hours don’t apply.’

I cover my mouth with my hand, all too familiar with what that means.

Wait for us, Malcolm. Please wait!

FORTY-FOUR

Shayne drives quickly on the icy roads, and under other circumstances I would ask him to slow down. We’re parked at the hospital and walking towards the main doors within minutes. The electric doors part upon detecting us and we walk through. I walked out these same doors just hours ago convinced my life was all but over. Now, as I walk back in, I am reminded that life is precious and you must fight for it. I will Malcolm to fight. Fight just a little longer.

Shayne guides us up the stairs and towards a ward I’ve cleaned many times. It’s all so familiar, and yet in this moment, with my brain drowning in a sea of emotion, it’s as if I am arriving at StHelen’s for the first time ever.

Malcolm’s bed is nearest the window. A sky-blue blanket is wrapped round him and his face is as white as the ceiling above him as he lies with his eyes closed. I clutch my chest, startled by how frail he appears.

‘Malco,’ Ellie squeals with delight as she races towards his bed.

‘Carefully, Ellie,’ I call out. ‘Be gentle.’

She slows and takes her time as she approaches him. I watch her take his hand and his eyes flicker.

‘He knows you’re here,’ Shayne says.

‘Would you like to hear a story, Malco?’ Ellie asks.

Malcolm’s eyes flicker once more and his head bobs ever so slowly up and down.

Ellie uses the bedside chair as a step and climbs onto the high hospital bed. She tucks her hip next to his and begins.

‘Once upon a time…’

Shayne’s fingers slip between mine and I squeeze back as we watch a four-year-old tell her favourite story to her favourite person.

‘Your mam,’ I whisper, thinking of Elaine at last.

Shayne shakes his head.

‘Does she know he’s here?’

Shayne nods.

‘But she hasn’t come in?’

‘I don’t think she can bring herself,’ Shayne says.

‘She’s working tonight,’ I tell him. ‘She’s here somewhere.’

Shayne shakes his head again. ‘It’s too late, Bea. There’s too much water under the bridge for them.’

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