Page 70 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

Shayne shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks on the spot, rolling from his heels to his tiptoes and back again.

‘Poor guy,’ he says. ‘It’s just so sad. We’ve a huge homelessness problem in New York. But I didn’t realise it was almost as bad here.’

‘Yeah,’ I say, swallowing hard. ‘It’s definitely a problem in Dublin.’

‘I wish there was more we could do, you know. To help. I donate to some charities back home, but it feels like a cop-out. Imagine if we could sit down with these people and really ask them what they need. Maybe get them set up with a job, or a skill. Something to get them back on their feet.’

‘Maybe they have skills,’ I say, and it comes out snappy. ‘Or jobs already. I doubt it’s all that black and white.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, you’re right,’ he says, picking up on my tone. ‘I just feel sorry for them.’

‘Well, don’t. Your pity isn’t going to help them. Shit like that just makes it worse.’

His eyes widen. ‘Bea, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean?—’

‘It’s fine. It’s fine,’ I say, quickly. My cheeks sting and I’m embarrassed that I snapped.

‘You okay?’

I clear my throat. ‘Yeah. Fine. But can we talk about something else please?’

He looks at me with concern and I can tell he’s thinking I’ve overreacted and he’s wondering why. I die a little inside.

‘Woo-hoo.’ Malcolm’s voice cuts through the air, and I’ve never been more thankful to hear anyone. ‘I won, I won.’

Shayne looks at me, pats his pocket once again and winks. ‘Thank you for this.’ He gestures towards MrsMorgan’s bed, where Malcolm is shaking her hand and thanking her for a great game as if they’ve just played Wimbledon. ‘I haven’t seen Grandad this happy in years. Honestly, I can’t tell you how much it means to me.’

My insides flutter. It means a lot to me to see Malcolm happy too.

‘He can come back, you know. Any time. Visit his new friends. I think they’d all like that.’

Shayne smiles. ‘Yeah. I think that would be great.’

‘And maybe, if he comes here again, he might speak to his daughter.’

Shayne sighs. ‘Yeah. Maybe.’

He doesn’t sound convinced and it saddens me.

‘Could you talk to her?’ I ask. ‘Maybe if she knows he’s trying to reach out?—’

Shayne’s face changes, like dark cloud suddenly settling in on a spring day.

I raise my hands as if I’m surrendering, ‘I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.’

His eyes glisten as he says, ‘It’s just?—’

‘Please, it’s okay.’ I cut him off. ‘You don’t owe me an explanation. I shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘Join us for dinner,’ he blurts.

‘What?’

‘Tonight. Please? This has been really great for Grandad and maybe we could talk about my mom over dinner. He opens up to you more than he ever does with me.’

‘That’s him opening up?’ I giggle, and hope Shayne picks up on my joke.

Thankfully he laughs too.

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