Page 32 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

Malcolm continues to walk as Ellie looks over her shoulder and smiles.

I hurry after them, taking Ellie’s hand in seconds.

‘Eh, what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ I say, jutting my head to scowl at Malcolm. ‘You can’t just walk off with her like that. Are you mad?’

He shrugs. ‘We’re hungry.’

‘So hungry,’ Ellie says, slipping her hand out of my grasp to rub her belly.

‘Yes. Me too,’ I say, taking her hand back quickly. ‘But, Ellie. You know you can’t just walk off with strangers like that. What have we talked about?’

Ellie’s brows pinch and her nose scrunches. ‘But this is Malco.’

‘Malcolm,’ I correct. Her mispronunciation is much less adorable now than earlier. ‘And I know his name, chickpea. But it doesn’t mean we really know him. Do you underst?—’

‘Sit!’ Malcolm cuts me off and points to a street bench not dissimilar to the one at the hospital. All it’s missing is an overhanging oak tree.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Sit,’ he repeats as if I was asking what he said and not why the hell he said it.

‘I really don’t think?—’

‘She’s hungry.’ He smiles at Ellie.

‘So hungry,’ she says, exaggerating.

‘So are you and so am I,’ he goes on. ‘This is as good a spot as any for a bite.’

Ellie climbs onto the bench, with an effort that mirrors scaling Everest. Ankle first, then knee, then belly, followed by her other ankle, other knee, more belly. She pushes up on her hands like a gym bunny about to break into fifty push-ups, and finally she pulls herself into a sitting position, swinging her legs back and forth with satisfaction. When I turn away to look at Malcolm I spot his hunched frame shuffling into the brightly lit Spar behind us. I puff out, knowing we need to wait for him, and sit beside Ellie. I launch into a lecture about stranger danger.

‘But he’s Malco,’ Ellie reiterates, as if she’s known Malcolm for an even greater time than her four years on this planet. She reinforces her point by gesturing, stretching her small hands, still chubby at the wrist with baby fat, out by her sides, and bobbing them up and down as if she’s pleading with me to just accept their close bond. I close my eyes for a fleeting moment and wish that life was really as simple as my small child thinks it is. My eyes shoot open again when I feel the bench bounceas Ellie hops down. She runs up to Malcolm as he is returning through the shop door with a plastic bag dangling from his hand. Ellie takes his other hand and they walk very slowly towards me. I scoot down and make room for another bum on the bench. I put my hands on Ellie’s waist and hoist her up, tucking her in beside my hip. Malcolm lowers himself wearily beside her. Then he opens the plastic bag and rummages, head deep, around inside. He pulls out a roll, wrapped in paper and with steam dancing in the dark evening air. He leans forward and passes it to me.

‘I hope you like chicken. It’s all they had left.’

‘I like chicken,’ I say, my voice catching and coming out husky. It’s a combination of the chilly December air and a wave of gratitude. He also passes me a Diet Coke before diving his head back into the bag to pick out the same for Ellie.

‘Coke,’ she shrieks with delight, taking the can, then remembers she’s not allowed fizzy anything from a can and shoots me a pleading gaze.

‘Just this once.’ I wink. I am in no way ready to spoil her fun with the usual rules about sugar and teeth.

Lastly, Malcolm pulls out a steaming roll for himself and a can of Coke and we sit, without a word between us as we savage our makeshift dinner. Ellie fills up a few bites before the end of her roll and, although I’m stuffed, I finish it off for her, not sure when I’ll eat something quite so delicious again.

After, Malcolm folds the bag with extreme precision and manages to make an exact square from its plastic form. He shifts on the bench, making it creak beneath us all, to slide it into his pocket.

‘Had to pay a euro for this thing,’ he grumbles, with a roll of his eyes. ‘A euro. They must think people are made of money.’

I’m about to launch into a rant about the cost-of-living crisis and how out of touch the government are when a car pulls upbeside us so suddenly the brakes screech and make us all jump. Malcolm clutches his chest and I find myself quietly checking that he’s all right. The window of the car rolls down, and before anyone else has time to utter a word Ellie shouts, ‘Shayne!’

I squint and look into the car. I can’t quite believe my eyes when I see the guy from the hospital reception sitting behind the wheel. He’s less dapper now, and looks almost frazzled. Instinctively, I pull Ellie close to me and grit my teeth as I ask, ‘Are you following us?’

‘What?’ I can hear his offence. ‘That’s a weird question.’

‘Is it?’

‘Yes!’ He takes his hands off the wheel to fold his arms.

‘Ouch, Mammy. You’re squashing me,’ Ellie says, and I realise I’m holding her too tightly. I loosen my grip but I don’t let go fully.

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