Page 64 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

Shayne sets the tree down between them. It’s tall and narrow, coming up past his shoulders.

‘That’s one funny-looking Christmas tree.’ Malcolm rolls his eyes.

‘I did my best,’ Shayne says. ‘It’s so snowy outside I couldn’t see a thing. And this was green and tall. It does the job.’

‘If you say so.’

‘I do.’ Shayne nods. ‘And besides, Ellie likes it.’

‘I like it, I like it,’ Ellie says, clapping her hands.

Water is staring to pool on the tiles where the last of the snow melts from the branches.

‘Don’t slip, Grandad,’ Shayne says, as he picks the tree up once more. ‘You either, Ellie, be careful.’

I smile at his consideration for both the elderly and the very young. He takes the tree into the sitting room, whereSleeping Beautyis playing on the television. Malcolm fetches the coal. He struggles with the weight of the half-full bucket and I hurry to help. We place it in the corner and Shayne pops the tree in. It’stricky to get it to stay standing in the bucket and we have to move the coals around at the base like little weights locking it in place. We wash our hands and return to admire our handiwork.

‘It’s crooked.’ Malcolm tuts.

‘It’s fine,’ Shayne says.

‘It’s the bestest,’ Ellie chirps.

‘Do we have any decorations?’ I ask.

Malcolm shakes his head. ‘This was stupid. It’s just a regular garden tree in a bucket.’

Shayne raises his hand. ‘Hang on,’ he says, then disappears.

He returns moments later with a roll of toilet paper, the paper hats and the remains of crackers that are already cracked.

‘We just need a little colour,’ he says, the American in his accent sounding thicker and excited.

Ellie takes the hats and hangs each one carefully on a branch. Then she takes the hats from her head and adds those too. However, I’m unsurprised when she keeps the yellow one for her head. Next, Shayne shows her how to roll the cracker halves into colourful balls, which attempt to unroll almost as soon as they let go. They pop them on various branches like paper baubles. Lastly, Shayne and Ellie wind toilet paper round and round the tree.

‘Just like tinsel,’ Shayne says.

Malcolm folds his arms. ‘Nothing like tinsel. I hope the neighbours don’t see this thing.’

Ellie leaves her decorating spot and takes the old man’s hand as she guides him closer. ‘Do you like it, Malco?’ she asks.

His brittle exterior melts like butter as he holds her hand and a huge smile takes over his whole face. ‘I think it’s wonderful.’

When I spent Christmases in foster care, sitting at the tables of people I barely knew and watching them interact effortlessly, I always wondered what it would be like to be a part of a family. What it would be like to be inside the bubble, ratherthan on the outside staring in through the shimmering surface. Right now, watching Malcolm hold Ellie’s hand the way a loving grandfather might and telling her the world’s quite possibly ugliest abomination of a wannabe Christmas tree is wonderful, is the nearest I have ever felt to being inside the bubble.

After, Shayne opens a box of Cadbury Roses and we all sit down to catch the last ofSleeping Beauty. It’s perfectly mundane and by far the best Christmas in years. It’s dark outside when the movie ends, and Malcolm is napping again.

I stand up to stretch my legs and say, ‘We should probably get going.’

‘Nooooo,’ Ellie grumbles with chocolate-rimmed lips. ‘I don’t wanna go.’

‘You’re more than welcome to stay,’ Shayne says, sounding as deflated as Ellie about the prospect of the day coming to an end. ‘I could open more wine. Grandad has a cupboard full. There’s some gin there too if you’d rather?—’

‘No, no, God no,’ I say, quickly. The thought of sneaking back into the storage room tipsy fills me with dread.

‘Okay, at least let me drop you home, yeah?’

My dread cranks up a notch to complete panic. Shayne can’t drop us back to the hospital. What would I even say? ‘Oh, I love cleaning vomit so much, I even pop in hoping for some Christmas puke’?

---