Page 87 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

Shayne doesn’t seem convinced and I sense him taking his eyes off the road every so often to check on me, and I can feel a question brewing under the surface.

When I can’t take it any longer, I blurt, ‘What? What is it?’

He takes a deep breath that noticeably puffs out his chest, and I feel the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Declan used to inhale like that right before he said something I didn’t want to hear. Right before he brought my life crashing down like pieces raining from a broken Lego tower.

All sort runs through my head.He’s going to tell me he knows and he has to report me to the authorities. Or tell Elaine, at least.Suddenly I’m sweating and I need air. I roll the window down a little and an icy breeze whips in, but it doesn’t help.

‘Just say it,’ I snap.

‘Okay.’ He exhales. ‘But don’t take this the wrong way.’

‘Oh, just say it, just say it,’ I pant, shoving my face closer to the wind, gasping for air.

The countryside is coming into view as we make our way onto the steep, winding roads that hug the mountainside. Tall, leafless trees line both side of the road, their branches interlinked and shivering in the breeze, like old friends supporting each other.

‘Just say it,’ I say again, exasperated.

There’s another sharp intake of breath, and this time he blurts, ‘I don’t think you should go back to work tomorrow.’

‘What?’

‘I don’t think you’re ready. I’m sorry, but look at you. You seem so…so…’

Homeless!I want to scream.

‘Look, this isn’t my place. I get that. We don’t know each other all that well. But I’m worried about you.’

‘You’re worried about me?’ I echo in a barely audible whisper.

‘Yeah. It’s weird, I know. But I just feel…’ He trails off and I should probably say something but I am lost for words.

A feeling I can’t quite put my finger on swirls inside me. I think it might be a memory, from when my parents were still alive. A memory from when people truly worried about my wellbeing and said or did things that I might not like, but they did it for my own good. Like enforcing a curfew on dark evenings, or forbidding chocolate before dinner. It’s been so long since anyone has worried about me that way that I had all but forgotten the feeling. I know what it’s like to have people care. My foster parents cared for me. They fed me and clothed me and did their best to make me feel welcome in their home. But they didn’t worry about me. They didn’t worry that I never felt like I belonged or that getting paid to have me in their life made me feel like a bag of groceries or a new skirt. My feelings didn’t keep them awake at night. Cora cares about me too. Deeply. She wants me to be happy and she thinks that, without Declan, some day I will be. Be she doesn’t worry about me, because she doesn’t have any idea that she needs to. I hid the dark parts of my life from her so well, she has no idea that it’s so dark now I can barely see any more. But somehow, despite my best efforts to keep hiding in the shadows, Shayne sees through the darkness,as if he can pull the shutters open and my heart is lying bare for him to explore. I don’t understand what is happening, or why it is this way with him. But the absolute last thing I am going to do is take his worry and concern the wrong way.

‘We could help, you know,’ he says. ‘With Ellie. Grandad and I could watch her while you get a few days’ rest.’

‘Thank you. But you’ve already been great. Malcolm is sick, the last thing he needs is a giddy four-year-old?—’

‘Ellie is everything he needs. When I left this morning I’m not sure either of them heard me say goodbye because they were laughing so hard. Do you know the last time I heard my grandfather laugh?’

I shake my head.

‘Neither do I.’

My heart splits with a mix of gloom and hope. I am saddened to think of Malcolm without laughter in his life for so long, but I am filled with joy that Ellie, my little Ellie, can bring him happiness.

There’s a sudden gap in the trees and a car park appears as if out of thin air. The dark grey gravel is loose and crunches under the car tyres like milk pouring over Rice Krispies as we turn in. We’re the only car there, and I suspect the cold snap has kept people at home. Shayne parks in a spot overlooking the city. Houses and fields stretch out below us like a giant game of Monopoly. He leaves the engine running and unbuckles his seat belt to lean forward for a better view.

‘It’s so green,’ he says. ‘I miss that in New York.’

The sky is grey and thick cloud hangs low. I know if we were to step outside the icy wind would pinch our cheeks, and yet there is something so inviting out there. Something so indisputably lush and endearing about the landscape below.Home. Even without a house of my own, I am looking out at my home.

‘He doesn’t have much time,’ Shayne says, his voice cracking.

I swallow and I’m glad he’s not looking at me because I think I might cry if he does. ‘Yeah. I heard you tell Elaine.’

‘It’s terminal.’

‘How long?’ I ask, and I want to shovel the words back into my mouth as soon as they spill out. ‘I’m sorry. You don’t have to say…that was insensitive.’

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