Page 30 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

A strong breeze whips by and ruffles the fine silver hairs splayed across his head and they flap like a flag. Ellie laughs. I tell her to shush. But Malcolm bobs his head, making his hair flap faster. Ellie laughs and laughs, and finally I can’t hold it in either. I decide that maybe this is why he doesn’t wear a hat – because he doesn’t want to hide his dancing hair.

Malcolm tires quickly. And when he is still again, Ellie stops laughing and, very seriously, she tells him, ‘We are going to see our new flat now.’

‘Oh, how very nice. Does it have a nice big bedroom? With lots of room for all your toys,’ he says, kindly, and my heart pangs. Any size room will be just fine, I think.

‘I didn’t seed it yet,’ Ellie tells him.

‘Oh, a viewing.’ He smiles, understanding. ‘Somewhere nearer work?’

It takes me a moment to realise he’s shifted his focus from Ellie to me.

‘Erm, something like that.’

‘Do you want to come?’ Ellie chirps.

‘Oh, Ellie. I’m sure Malcolm is busy,’ I tell her, noting that I really,reallyneed to have the stranger danger conversation with her again.

‘I’m not busy,’ he says.

‘Oh.’

Ellie throws her arms above her head. ‘Yay.’

I wait for him to tell Ellie he is only joking and wish us on our way, but Malcolm is button-lipped as he looks at me like a lost puppy waiting to be picked up and brought home.

‘It’s all the way across town,’ I say, trying to put him off and then immediately feeling bad because he’s clearly lonely – why else would he be out here all by himself every evening?

‘We go on the bus,’ Ellie says, as if public transport is a big, exciting adventure.

‘I like the bus,’ Malcolm says.

Ellie’s grin widens from ear to ear. ‘Me too. And the Luas. I like the Luas lots and lots.’

‘I’ve never been on the Luas,’ Malcolm says, and I can’t tell if he’s serious or not.

I feel tugging on my coat and look at Ellie as she pulls me down so she can whisper in my ear. ‘Can old peoples go on the Luas, Mammy?’

I nod, hoping Malcolm didn’t hear her.

Ellie pulls her lips away from my ear and announces loudly, ‘You’re allowed on the Luas, Malco.’

‘Malco,’ he echoes, as if a child’s mispronunciation brings him joy. ‘And I can ride for free.’

‘Can I go for free?’ Ellie asks.

‘No.’ I swallow, wishing. ‘Half price.’

‘Half price,’ she tells Malcolm, as if I am surplus to this strange conversation about transport fares and eligibility.

‘Right, well. We better be going.’ My clipped tone slices through the air, icier than the weather, as I give Malcolm another opportunity to bow out.

He stands up, surprisingly sprightly, and bends to fetch something under the bench. He stands up again, exceptionally unsprightly, and I notice two tennis rackets in his hands. With a degree of difficulty, he attaches one to the sole of each of his boots and secures them with what seem to be large rubber bands. He stands once again, and I except Ellie to laugh at his ridiculous appearance, because I’m trying hard not to. But she doesn’t. She takes his hands and says, ‘Ready?’

‘Ready.’

I’m lost for words as my small child holds hands contently with a new friend – a friend with a wispy grey combover blowing in the wind, and two tennis rackets beneath his shoes that leave waffle footprints behind him with every step.

At the Luas stop a group of teenagers snigger at Malcolm’s footwear. He straightens his curvy spine as best he can and holds his head high.

---