The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright by Brooke Harris

Author:Brooke Harris [Harris, Brooke]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Storm Publishing
Published: 2025-02-07T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-FIVE

Dinner is spectacular. The turkey is moist. The stuffing is herby and crunchy. The carrots and potatoes are cooked to perfection. The ham is mostly still raw in the middle, so we set that aside and decide who needs ham when you have turkey anyway. Malcolm finishes his wine and Shayne pours me another giant glass. There isn’t any left for him and I apologise and plead with him to take my glass.

‘I didn’t back-wash, I promise, hic,’ I say.

He shakes his head and says, ‘I’m not a big red fan. More a white guy.’

‘That’s a big fat lie,’ Malcolm says, and Ellie says, ‘You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full, Malco.’

Everyone laughs.

Mid-meal, Shayne runs out to his car to fetch a box of Christmas crackers. Ellie pulls every single one, taking it in turns to pull with me, Malcolm and Shayne. At one stage she has seven paper hats, in the colours of the rainbow, on her head at once.

‘You didn’t have to come, you know,’ Malcolm says out of nowhere. ‘I manage just fine on my own three hundred and sixty-four days a year. Christmas is no different.’

Shayne ignores Malcolm’s grumbles and pulls the final cracker with Ellie. The snap is loud. Dramatically so, but I’m grateful for the sound that cuts through the suddenly tense air.

‘So, why are you here?’ Malcolm goes on. ‘I can take care of myself. I keep telling you, Shayne.’

‘I know.’

‘I bet your father had plenty to say when you upped and left.’

Shayne places the final hat on Ellie’s head. ‘Pink is your colour,’ he says, deflecting. Ellie smiles and, thankfully, the tension seems to wash over her.

‘I bet his new wife loved that.’ Malcolm drags it back, and I can’t understand where this sudden anger is coming from.

‘They’re married fourteen years, Grandad. She’s hardly his new wife.’

‘She’s a gold-digger.’ Malcolm huffs. ‘That’s what she is.’

Shayne sighs and I get the feeling they’ve had this conversation before.

‘She’s every bit as bad as that blond girl you’re hooked up with. She’s not with you for your looks or charming personality, I’ll tell you that.’

Something flashes across Shayne’s face but it’s gone before I can make out what it is. Hurt, or anger. Maybe a little bit of both.

There is nothing wrong with Shayne’s appearance; in fact, I’m surprised I didn’t notice his good looks before now – not Hollywood handsome, with chiselled jaw and big muscles, but his blue eyes are the colour of the sea after a storm and his brown hair is giving nineties boy-band chic. He’s not particularly tall or short, and his go-to look seems to be jeans and a hoodie. And, although I don’t know much about him besides, he works in tech and has a Dublin–New York twangy accent, he seems to be a pretty decent guy.

‘Lisa and I split up,’ Shayne says. And I realise the look on his face was heartbreak. Heartbreak he’s buried so deep that it only shows for a split second when his guard drops.

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