Page 17 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

His blunt honesty shocks me. My tears stop and I find myself smiling, curious about this old man.

‘You’re right. I don’t know you. So, how about you tell me something about yourself.’

‘No thank you.’ He folds his arms firmly.

‘Really?’ I pull my head back until I have three chins. ‘You’re seriously not going to share a single detail about yourself.’

‘No thank you.’

I huff out. This man is infuriating, and yet I’m reluctant to get up and walk away.

‘What’s your favourite colour?’ I ask.

He takes a deep breath, but doesn’t open his mouth.

‘Is it green?’ I point to his scarf.

He makes a face.

‘Okay, fine. Not green. Red, then?’ I redirect my pointing to the red strip in his chequered coat.

He rolls his eyes.

‘Blue?’

Nothing.

‘Black?’

He moves, but only to tighten his folded arms.

‘Yellow? Purple? Silver? Bloody magenta? Seriously, you’re not going to share your favourite?’

He doesn’t reply.

I puff out and get to my feet. ‘Okay, well, thank you for sharing your non-bench with me. I best be off.’

I could swear I see disappointment flash across his face as I stand up.

‘Oh, and for the record,’ I say, taking care to get my balance, ‘I think your favourite colourisgreen.Like your scarf. And like your eyes.’

He smiles and I know I’m right.

‘Goodbye, Bea,’ he says. ‘I will see you tomorrow.’

I’m startled for a moment as I realise that he plans to sit on this same bench again tomorrow as my shift ends. I’m riddled with curiosity about why, but I know it’s pointless asking. If I can’t get his favourite colour out of him, I doubt he’ll tell me anything as private as what he is doing out there every evening. And even more curiously, I find I’m already looking forward to seeing him again when he does.

‘Goodbye, Malcolm.’

SIX

Cora comes by to babysit. She takes Ellie to the cinema and out for pizza after and I use the time to shop for Ellie’s Santa presents. I buy a small pack of crayons and a colouring book full of unicorns and fairies that I know she will love. Smyths on Jervis Street have a Barbie dream house on sale for half price. The guy working there tells me the sounds and lights don’t work.

‘Dunno what’s wrong with it. We’ve tired lots of different batteries but nothing.’ He shrugs.

‘But everything else is perfect?’ I ask, looking again at the price tag that feels too good to be true. ‘There’s no missing parts, or anything?’

‘Ah no, nothing like that. All the bits and pieces are fine. And it comes with a free Barbie.’ He points to a small selection of blond dolls in hot-pink boxes. ‘But your kid probably won’t be too happy if the thing has no sound. Like, the doorbell is supposed to ding and it plays a song when you press the radio, that sort of thing.’

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