Page 92 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

THIRTY-SEVEN

The snow has completely melted. Even the slushy brown stuff that seemed determined to gather at the sides of the roads, or under the sill of shop windows, is finally gone, and the city is once again full of traffic and people. But, if possible, the clear blue sky allows the last few days of December to feel even colder than ever. I wrap Ellie up well for the weather and she moans that her scarf is too scratchy and her hat is too itchy, but she never tries to take them off. We follow the footpath along by the Liffey and down the quays, leaving the city behind us. It’s another kilometre or so before the gates of the Phoenix Park come into view, but Ellie never once complains about tired legs. Instead, her mouth gapes and she says, ‘Wow,’ as she points at the stone pillars at the park entrance. Huge, fresh green wreaths hang in the centre of each pillar, adorned with red and gold bows, like a perfect Christmas postcard. I tell Ellie to stand next to one of the pillars and I pull my phone out of her pocket and take her picture. She’s adorable, wrapped in winter woollies and with a warm and innocent smile lighting up her beautiful face. I make the photo my home and lock screen wallpaper and shove my phone back into my pocket. Then I take her hand and we walk again.

Shayne and Malcolm are waiting by the bike hire area. Malcolm is hatless as ever, with a large kite tucked under each arm. One pink. One blue. Shayne also has two kites, albeit both smaller. Ellie squeals with delight when she sees them.

‘Malco. Malco,’ she calls out, wriggling her fingers free from my grip. She hurries up the path towards them.

‘Don’t fall,’ I call after her, but she picks up speed and launches herself at Malcolm.

He and the kites almost topple over, but Shayne steadies him, dropping both his kites in the process.

I run to get them.

‘Ellie,’ I scold, both angry and embarrassed. ‘You have to be careful. You could have hurt Malcolm.’

Ellie’s eyes tear up and Malcolm looks at me, frustratedly.

‘She’s just excited,’ he says.

‘But if you fell?—’

‘Then I’d be down instead of up,’ he says, with a comical jig as if he has all the energy in the world.

Shayne and I look at each other, noting how tired the movement makes him. And Ellie laughs and copies him. Bouncing on the spot with one foot hopping in front of the other. At four years old she doesn’t see the barrier of age. It’s both endearing and stressful.

‘I’m sorry,’ I mouth to Shayne.

He makes a face that says,Don’t worry about it. And I try not to.

‘Well, are we flying kites or are we wasting a good morning standing around?’ Malcolm asks, taking the pink kite from under his arm and passing it to Ellie.

Ellie jigs on the spot again, this time with dance moves of her own creation, and stretches grabby hands out.

‘Unicorns,’ she says, observing the pattern of several flying unicorns and cupcakes and rainbows dotted sporadically all over the kite.

‘Wow, are you sure it’s big enough, Grandad?’ Shayne laughs when Ellie takes the kite that is at least one and a half times as tall as she is.

‘They didn’t have bigger,’ Malcolm says, seriously.

‘I’m afraid ours are much smaller,’ Shayne says, still laughing as he passes me a perfectly regular-sized plain green kite.

‘Thank you,’ I say, taking it.

Ellie’s face doesn’t approve. ‘Yours doesn’t gots unicorns, Mammy.’ But her scowl is quickly wiped from her face when Malcolm’s huge blue kite whooshes into the air.

‘Look, look, look.’ She points, barely able to contain her excitement, and then she cheers and laughs.

Malcolm’s kite flies high as he holds the string tightly. The wind is strong and the kite zigzags left and right, with its tail thrashing like a serpent. Shayne’s kite is next up. Its small stature is emphasised next to Malcolm’s beastly kite. Ellie and I try hard to launch hers but there seems to be a knack to it that neither of us can quite get. Shayne helps and soon there are neon pink unicorns dancing in the sky. My kite falls flat on its face a few times before I finally manage to get it airborne and, when all four kites swirl overhead, brightening the sky with their vibrant colours, Ellie exclaims, ‘This is the best day ever.’

My heart soars, because I think she might just be right.

The wind picks up and I have to help Ellie keep hold of her kite. Shayne assists Malcolm, who is wholly unimpressed.

‘I can do it. I can do it,’ he protests like a cranky toddler with an inflated sense of their own capabilities.

But despite his grumbles he leans into Shayne every so often and I can tell that deep down Malcolm is grateful for his grandson’s support. And once in a while, I catch him look atShayne in a way that says he is grateful for his grandson in all ways.

When our arms are tired and our stomachs are rumbling, Shayne suggests we let the kites down and grab some food. Ellie grumbles and starts sulking until Shayne mentions hot chocolate and marshmallows, and then she is the first to start walking.

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