Page 67 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

‘I know, I know,’ I say, hurrying towards him and looking down at my feet. ‘But I’m just popping out quickly to say?—’

‘Well, you shouldn’t hurry anywhere in those. Take your time. What’s the rush?’

‘I’m on my lunch break, I have to get back. But I just wanted to thank you for Christmas.’

‘Why?’

My nose scrunches. ‘Sorry?’

‘Why are you thanking me?’

He’s serious as always, but I’m not sure how to answer. Most people just accept the platitude and move on. But Malcolm is asking for an actual breakdown of my gratitude.

‘Dinner was delicious,’ I begin. ‘I haven’t seen Ellie eat so much in such a long time. She was so full I’m surprised she didn’t have a tummy ache.’

‘You cooked. Not me,’ he says, without blinking.

‘Well yes, but in your kitchen.’

‘So, thank me for my kitchen, then.’

‘Oh, erm, okay. Thank you for your kitchen, I suppose.’

He nods, satisfied. ‘You’re welcome. Thank you for your card.’

‘Oh, you liked it?’ I smile, feeling warm inside.

His brow furrows. ‘I didn’t say that. I said thank you.’

‘Oh.’ I try not to smirk at how pedantically Malcolm chooses and uses words. ‘You are also welcome, then.’

He looks at the empty space beside him on the bench and I suspect he’s waiting for me to sit down.

‘Is Shayne with you?’ I ask, cutting myself off as I reach the last syllable, expecting Malcolm to tell me his grandson isn’t his keeper or some such retort.

I’m surprised when he points across the cleared and salted car park at a sporty silver car I instantly recognise. I smile when I see Shayne sitting behind the wheel. I wave and he waves back.

‘Isn’t he going to sit beside you?’ I find the words tumbling out of my mouth.

Malcolm folds his arms. ‘I didn’t ask him to come here. And I did not ask him to sit beside me.’

‘He followed you?’

‘It appears my grandson has trouble letting me out of his sight. Ridiculous, since he’s leaving to go back to New York in a few days.’

‘He’s leaving?’

‘That’s what I said.’

I am disappointed for Malcolm. His gruff exterior doesn’t hide his loneliness from me. I can see it as clearly as if he is made of glass. I glance at my watch; I have fifteen minutes of my break remaining. I’m hungry, but I would rather spend the time with Malcolm. I sit beside him, shivering without a coat.

‘You’re shaking the bench,’ he grumbles.

My teeth chatter. ‘Sorry.’

Malcolm stands up and unbuckles his chequered coat. My mouth gapes when he tries to pass it to me.

‘Oh, no, I can’t take that. You’ll freeze.’

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