Page 63 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

We finish our food, but not until we’ve all helped ourself to seconds. Malcolm announces the turkey was a bit dry as he piles a couple more slices onto his plate. Ellie runs around the table, full of too much chocolate cake and shop-brand cola.

Malcolm holds up his glass and says, ‘It’s much better value than the real stuff. And who can taste the difference?’

‘Everyone,’ Shayne retorts.

And I wonder if this is their thing. Malcolm says one thing and Shayne argues the other, and vice versa. Not in a mean or judgemental way. It’s more of a habit. A tic. Something neither of them are even aware of.

‘Where’s your Christmas tree?’ Ellie asks, bringing the chatter in the room to a sudden stop. ‘We have a big giant Christmas tree.’

‘Oh, do you?’ Malcolm says.

‘Yep. Huge.’

My heart races. Ellie and I most certainly do not have a Christmas tree. I retrieved the tinsel from her Christmas jumper and draped it over the floor polisher. It didn’t add quite the festive feel to the storage room that I was hoping for, but Ellie seemed pleased. I can only assume right now that she’s talking about the tree at crèche. Or the one in the hospital lobby.

‘It smells nice too but if you gets too close its prickles getcha.’ She rubs her nose with both her hands and I realise she’s referring to the giving tree outside StStephen’s Green Park.

‘There’s cards on the tree and if you’re alls by yourself, you can take one for your chin-ney. We don’t gots a chin-ney. But Santa came nee-way. Didn’t he, Mammy?’

‘Whoa,’ I say, almost winded by Ellie’s rambling confession. ‘Yes. Yes he did. Cos you were such a good girl.’

Shayne breathes in, and I sense he’s overly invested in every word Ellie is sharing.

‘We’re missingSleeping Beauty.’ I say, trying to redirect the focus.

‘Hang on.’ Shayne raises a finger in the air. ‘Tell me more, Ellie.’

He looks at me as if to say,Let’s hear her out, and I have no escape. I can only hope Ellie doesn’t dob us and our storage room living in.

‘I like trees,’ Ellie says, bouncing on the spot, and suddenly that four-year-old concentration span that drives me crazy when we’re running late and getting dressed for crèche is a mammoth task becomes my favourite thing.

‘Well then, we need a tree,’ Shayne says, rolling with the director’s cut.

‘I haven’t had a tree in twenty years,’ Malcolm says.

‘Since Grandma and Mam left, I know,’ Shayne says. ‘But maybe….’ He takes a breath. ‘For this little lady.’ He looks at Ellie.

Malcolm’s eyes glisten and I want to hug him. Again, damn wine.

‘Absolutely,’ he says. ‘Yes indeed. We need a tree.’ He looks at Shayne. ‘Go on, then. You know where the axe is.’

Shayne looks back at him, perplexed.

‘You loved the shed as a kid,’ Malcolm tells him. ‘And there’s a garden full of trees out there. Take your pick.’

Shayne stands up from the table and bends in the middle to come down to Ellie’s height. ‘Will you help me?’

Ellie throws her arms in the air and Shayne opens the kitchen door that leads into the snowy and overgrown garden.

Malcolm shouts at them to close the door as an icy wind slices in. They’re scarcely out of earshot when Malcolm turns to me and with a charming and slightly cheeky grin says, ‘Did youhear that, Busy Bea, my grandson is single. But you’d want to be quick, he’s a fine catch.’

I choke on air.

TWENTY-SIX

It’s not long before Shayne and Ellie return with a tree that Shayne can just about manage to carry tucked under his arm.

‘What’s that?’ Malcolm asks, slowly getting to his feet.

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