Page 61 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

‘Let’s leave them to sleep for a while.’ He tilts his head towards the kitchen. ‘Anything you need help with? I am a mean carrot-peeler.’

‘Like your grandad,’ I say, but the joke is lost on Shayne as he looks at me confused.

‘Nothing. Never mind. Carrots all done. But there’s a crossword in there that we could tackle while we wait for the turkey to finish?’

Shayne snorts. ‘A crossword.’

‘Yeah,’ I say, suddenly serious. ‘Don’t people do stuff like that at Christmas?’

‘I didn’t know a Christmas crossword was a thing.’

I feel a heat creep into my cheeks. ‘No. I mean, it’s Christmas. People take the time to do the stuff they normally don’t. Like, they sit down and drink wine and watch a kids’ movie even though they hate the songs. And they do the crossword while they wait for the turkey. And they just talk, you know.’

‘Yeah,’ he says, smiling brightly. ‘People should talk at Christmas.’

Despite the wine making my head fuzzy, I wonder if he’s referring to his mother and his grandfather.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…’ I trail off before finding a better approach. ‘I’m just happy to be here. I didn’t really have Christmas growing up.’

‘You didn’t.’

I shake my head. I don’t want to get into awoe is me my childhood suckedconversation so I simply say, ‘That was a long time ago. It’s different now. I have Ellie.’

A huge smile unzips across his face and he says, ‘Christmas must be great with a kiddo. So exciting.’

I swallow hard. Suddenly I think talking about my shitty childhood would be a lot easier than lying about my currently shitty adulthood.

‘Do you smell burning?’ I say, abruptly. I don’t smell anything but I’m desperate to change the subject.

Shayne sniffs the air. ‘Nope. No burning. But something smells A-mazing.’

He’s right. The air smells delicious as scents of browning turkey waft from the kitchen and beckon us.

‘Let’s leave those two sleeping beauties to it,’ he suggests.

‘Sleeping Beauty,’ I echo, much too loudly for the small space of the hall. ‘That’s on next.’

‘Well, I’m afraid you’re going to miss it. We have a dinner finish cooking.’

‘We?’

‘Well, clearly Grandad is no help, and I’m not going to leave you to do all the work alone.’

‘You can cook?’ I say, delighted.

‘Nope,’ he admits, oddly proudly. ‘But that’s never stopped me before.’

I belly-laugh. It makes the wine inside me swirl but I don’t stop.

‘You’re a lot like your grandfather, you know.’

‘Yeah.’ He smiles, taking it the way I meant it. As a compliment. ‘I think I am.’

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.

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