Page 57 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

‘Do people not sit on Christmas Day? Are we supposed to stand for twenty-four hours?’ he deadpans.

I sigh and try again. ‘I mean, it’s Christmas, shouldn’t you be with family? Where is Shayne?’

‘He is withhisfamily. His father and that new wife of his.’

I note that this must make Malcolm Shayne’s maternal grandfather.

‘And your daughter, Shayne’s mother,’ I say, hoping I’ve got the family tree correct. ‘Are you spending the day with her?’

Malcolm’s eyes narrow and I think I may have pried a little too hard.

‘Not this year,’ he says, after a long pause.

I’m instantly curious.Is she busy?But who is so busy they would leave their elderly father alone on a car park bench on Christmas Day? Perhaps she lives abroad, I think. But again, surely she’d have arranged for her father to travel to her. I’m searching my brain for other possibilities when Malcolm says, ‘I haven’t spoken to her in years.’

I look at Ellie. She is rolling snow into balls at my feet, and I can’t imagine a time when she won’t be the most important person in my world. I can’t possibly comprehend what it must be like for a parent and child not to speak.

‘She works here. Like you.’

‘Oh,’ I say, my heart heavy as I realise that his daughter must be what brings him to this bench so often.

There’s a flash of something on his face, curiosity, I think, and I know what he is going to ask.

‘What are you doing here?’

Although I guessed his question correctly, my brain doesn’t have time to compute a reasonable answer. I’m not wearing my uniform, so I can’t say I was working.

‘We didn’t really have anywhere else to go,’ I say, truthfully.

My honesty seems to confuse him even more. ‘No family,’ he says, and it’s not a question.

I shake my head.

‘No friends?’ he goes on, and this time I can tell he’s asking.

‘I have a good friend, but…’ I inhale and cold air stings my lungs. ‘Ah, it’s complicated.’

‘Life is,’ he says.

‘No one should be alone on Christmas Day,’ I say.

‘Who’s alone?’ He draws an imaginary circle round Ellie and me and him. ‘Can you cook?’

I pull my head back until I have three chins at the strange, sudden shift in the conversation.

‘Cook?’

‘Yes. The art of making raw things safe to eat. Can you cook, Bea?’

I yelp suddenly as an icy snowball flies into my welly and instantly starts to melt. I look at Ellie, who is grinning, delighted with her throw. I balance on one foot as I take off my boot and shake the offending, freezing ball out. Malcolm’s deep chuckle fills the air, but it is quickly silenced by a small snowball hitting him in the knee.

‘Ellie,’ I gasp, quickly pulling my welly back on.

There is a brief moment where I’m lost for words before I begin to apologise. But I don’t get time to say anything before Malcolm’s laughter grows louder.

‘Gotcha.’ Ellie giggles.

‘You got me,’ Malcolm says, rubbing his knee, for what I hope is dramatic effect rather than Ellie having actually hurt him.

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