Page 118 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

‘Do you always do that?’ he asks.

‘Do what?’

‘Make excuses for old people just because they’re old?’

‘What?’

‘You’re not supposed to feed the deer. They have everything they need right here. They’ll probably have the scutters later from eating shrivelled lettuce. Someone will step in it, ruin their shoes and blame the animals. When really it was two busybodies with a bag of left-overs that were the problem.’

‘Do you think it will make them sick?’ I ask.

‘Don’t know. But I think if it was a thirty-something-year-old couple, like you two’ — he points to Shayne and then to me. I blush, and I hope he doesn’t notice as he continues to make his point — ‘then I think you’d see it differently. You’d wonder what the hell they were thinking.’

Would I? Am I guilty of treating elderly people differently? I didn’t think so, but maybe Malcolm is right. Their bodies may be slower but they’re not children, and yet sometimes I am guilty of speaking to them as if they are. I’m not quite sure how to rectify it; it’s not as if I can chase after the lettuce couple and tell them they’re going to give deer diarrhoea from rotten salad. I decide I’ll do better with Malcolm instead. I can start by jumping less every time he so much as sneezes.

‘Right, c’mon,’ I say, ‘it’s getting windy and we should get some good height with these.’

I point to the bag of kites Shayne has been guarding with his life. We settle ourselves in front of the Wellington monument,where the grass is too short for the deer to enjoy, there are no trees and kites can take flight in the wide, open skies.

Malcolm’s kite is first up. The tail flaps furiously and at one point I hold my breath when a large gust of wind almost takes his feet off the ground. I’m about to warn him to be careful when I remind myself that he is a grown man and can think for himself.

Shayne’s kite is next up. He chuckles with satisfaction when it soars even higher than Malcolm’s.

‘Take that, Grandad.’

I reach into the bag and pass Cora a kite.

‘Oh, teal,’ she says.

‘That’s green,’ Ellie corrects her.

Cora struggles to get her kite up, but she finally gets the knack and soon she is running around the open space like a child. Ellie takes her unicorn kite and follows her. Their laughter carries in the wind and my heart soars almost as high as the kites. Finally, I toss mine in the air and a sharp gust whips it up.

The kites brighten up the cloudy sky like multicoloured sprinkles on a white-frosted cupcake. Cora begins to sing the kite song from the end ofMary Poppins, although she seems to only know a couple of lines from the chorus, and sings them on repeat. Ellie joins in. And Shayne. Malcolm doesn’t sing, but the smile on his face as his kite zigzags over his head, flapping like a gloriously colourful bird, tells me that inside his heart is full of song.

I take a step back and watch them: my long-term best friend. My daughter. And two men, who just weeks ago were strangers but right now, as we stand in the freezing park but are somehow warm inside, have become such an important part of my life. I want to remember this moment for ever. I lower my kite, with a degree of difficulty as the enthusiastic wind want to keep playing, and I take my phone from my pocket. I snap several shots and check them out. There are some blurry ones, becauseeveryone is moving too much. Some with the backs of heads, or someone missing. But there is one shot where everyone is there and the camera has caught a smile on all of their faces.

I take a deep breath as an idea comes to me, and scroll through my contacts, stopping when I come to Elaine’s number. I don’t give myself time to think as I type a message and attach the photo.

Have you seen Mary Poppins? MrBanks was a shitty dad, but then he flew a kite with his kids. We’re in the phoenix park. Next to the wellington monument. It’s not too late to fly a kite with your dad. Bea x

Elaine sees the message and she starts typing. But then she stops. She starts again. And stops. The start/stop continues for a while, until finally the stop remains and she doesn’t send a reply. I try not to let it deflate me too much as I rejoin the group, but it’s harder to laugh now.

‘I need to do a wee,’ Ellie announces loudly.

‘Can you hold it for a little while?’

Ellie shakes her head. I glance at my watch and I’m shocked to discover more than two hours have passed since I texted Elaine. Ellie begins to hop from one foot to the other.

‘I bursting,’ she says, her face all scrunched up, and I can tell she’s concentrating hard to hold it.

‘Okay, okay,’ I say, lowering my kite and helping her to lower hers. ‘We’ll be back in a minute,’ I tell Shayne. He makes a face that asks if everything is okay. ‘Needs a wee,’ I explain.

He nods.

‘C’mon, chickpea. Let’s find a loo.’

‘They’re over there,’ a familiar voice behind me says, and my eyes bulge when I turn round and find Elaine standing behind me. ‘I don’t have a kite,’ she goes on.

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