The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

Chapter 1

ONE

I pause outside the main hospital entrance. Icy wind claws at my cheeks and I cup my hands, bring them to my mouth and blow hard. Eccles Street is beautifully still, as if the usual hustle of Dublin city is on mute. Moonlight shines through a blanket of cloud, casting shadows at my feet. Inside my head is blissfully silent too. And I know to enjoy it. The sweet spot of calm when one day winds to an end before another begins never lasts long.

An approaching siren slices through the air in the distance. I glance overhead as clouds part. The sun will be up soon. I take a deep breath and step forward. The huge, glass automatic doors part and a grey-haired man in chequered pyjamas shuffles out. He slips a cigarette between his lips and bobs his head up and down as he asks, ‘Do you have a lighter, love?’

‘I don’t smoke, sorry,’ I say. ‘But I think they sell matches in the tuck shop. It’s open after nine.’ I glance at my watch and realise that’s more than an hour away. ‘Or they might be able to help at the nurses’ station.’

Without a word, he turns and shuffles back inside, struggling to keep his slippers on.

A lady in a black bomber jacket and with car keys in her hand races towards me from the car park.

‘Are you a nurse?’ she asks, breathless. ‘Where should I go?’

I cup my ear to hear her better as the siren grows louder.

‘It’s my grandfather. He had a fall. They asked me to hurry. Room 114, they said. Or 124. I can’t remember.’

‘MrCullen,’ I say, thinking of the jolly ninety-six-year-old who loves to dance, even an IV line and oxygen tank not slowing him down. My heart pinches, knowing that, if someone called his granddaughter at this hour, his time is limited.

She nods and her keys rattle in her shaking hand. ‘Yes. Yes. Tom Cullen. Do you know where he is?’

I smile, happy to help at a time I can only imagine must be so difficult for her. ‘Room 124. Reception is just through here, on the right.’ I point over my shoulder at the glass door behind us. ‘You have to check in there first.’ I look at her teary eyes and shaking hands, and realise she’s not taking in a word I’m saying. ‘I can show you, if it helps.’

She nods and we jump aside together as the ambulance comes skidding into the bay. Blue scrubs and white coats hurry out of the doors to meet the paramedics and the patient and I know the chaos of another day at StHelen’s Hospital has begun.

Inside, I leave MrCullen’s granddaughter in the capable hands of órlaith at reception. Grab a coffee from the vending machine in the hall and glance at my watch. If I pick my feet up, I won’t be late. I hurry inside, taking large strides; my mind is already on the ward and the day ahead when I feel someone grab my arm. A young woman, I guess about my age, in her late twenties or early thirties. She lets go as suddenly as she clutched on and apologises as she wipes her hands against her jeans.

She looks my uniform up and down – a navy, knee-length skirt and matching short-sleeve top, that I layer over a once-white, but edging towards cream, long-sleeve. ‘How bad is it in here?’

The chunky bangles around her wrist chime as she continues to rub her palms against her thighs until they must burn.

‘How bad is what?’

My mouth gapes, and I don’t mean to stare but she’s a dead ringer for Ginger Spice back in the day. Her head-to-toe light-blue denim and dyed, pomegranate-red hair is ultra-cool.

‘The germs.’ She whispers as if the word itself is dirty.

Her eyes are locked on mine and her back is poker straight as she keeps one foot jutted forward, as if she’s ready to make a run for it at any moment.

‘Just be honest,’ she begs. ‘Is this place crawling?’

‘I hope not. I’m the one who cleans it.’ I smile, proudly.

She visibly deflates. ‘You’re not staff?’

‘I am. Just not medical.’

‘Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just…your uniform.’ She points.

I scrunch my nose. ‘Confuses a lot of people, don’t worry.’ I tilt my head towards a nearby automatic hand sanitiser and she races towards it like a greyhound desperate for water. I’m about to take my coffee upstairs and clock in when she bursts into tears and tells me she wants to visit her boyfriend but she had such bad OCD she can’t bring herself to take another step.

‘I’m not family, so they won’t tell me anything over the phone,’ she says, sobbing, and I try to pass her a tissue but she shakes her head. I shove the tissue back into my pocket and guide her towards a waiting area, taking care not to touch her. She doesn’t take a seat. But she does give me her mobile number and her boyfriend’s name.

I promise to investigate and message her later with news. I skid onto the ward fifteen minutes late and of course bump into Elaine as I round the corner.

‘You’re late,’ she says, in the I’m-the-ward-manager-and-your-boss tone that she rarely uses.

I open my mouth to explain but before I have a chance she says, ‘Oh, Bea. C’mon. Third time this week.’

‘I know. I know, but?—’

She cuts me off. ‘Look, someone’s been sick on ward seven. Bile. It’s making the other patients feel unwell. So, unless you want a chain effect…’

‘Okay,’ I say, turning towards the storage closet, and I know now is not the best time to mention that we’re running low on antibacterial floor wash.

‘And for God’s sake wash your hands.’ Elaine points at the name and number scribbled across the back of my hand in blue pen before she turns, taking the clipboard from under her arm that I hadn’t noticed before to start writing as she walks away.

By the end of the day, my feet burn. I haven’t sat once. Not even on my break. I ate a banana and a packet of Tayto in the closet while I quickly counted supplies and filled out the order sheet. I spent the rest of the hour searching for OCD girl’s boyfriend. I felt awful when I had to message her that I couldn’t find him. She messaged me back to say she had the wrong hospital and she was making her way to StMary’s instead. The only other message on my phone is from my boyfriend, Declan.

Hey. Caught in work. Overnighter. Sorry. Can’t pick Ellie up from crèche.

I curse Declan under my breath. He hasn’t picked our four-year-old daughter up from crèche in weeks. And his excuses are endless. Layover in Boston/New York/wherever. Bad weather can’t fly. Birds on runway.

I can’t actually complain. Declan was a pilot when we met. Truth be told, if it wasn’t for bad weather and flight delays, he never would have noticed me, panicking over lost luggage in JFK Airport. I was a skittish student, abroad alone for the first time. He was a handsome stranger in uniform, coming off duty. We hit it off straight away. I spent my summer working as a waitress in Al’s Diner in Brooklyn and my evenings in Declan’s arms. I can say without hesitation that I had the time of my life. Three months later, my student visa was up and it was time to go home. Part of me worried that would be the end of things for me and Declan. But two days before I moved back to Dublin, I discovered I was pregnant. And the rest is history. I moved into Declan’s flat in Blackrock as Ellie grew in my belly. College went out the window. Declan’s work kept him away a lot and I couldn’t juggle lectures and a newborn. I can’t lie, it was hard and lonely at first. But soon, Ellie and I found our feet. Together. I got a job in StHelen’s Hospital as a cleaner. It just about covers the cost of Ellie in crèche. But, with Declan taking care of the rent and the rest of the bills, it works. Although, my best friend, Cora, never has a good word to say about Declan.

‘He’s so old, it’s kinda gross,’ she complains about our twenty-one-year age gap.

I was twenty-five when Declan and I met, and he was forty-six. I’m almost thirty now, and Cora still won’t let it go.

‘I just think he takes advantage of you, that’s all. You had to make all the sacrifices. You had to drop out of college. You had to move into his flat. You have Ellie all the time, while he’s off seeing the world.’

‘It’s hardly like he’s on holiday,’ I reminded her, always. ‘And besides, he takes care of us. If anything, I’m lucky.’

‘Yeah, well, I still think you should have stayed living with me. And I still think you should go back to college. They’re crying out for doctors and you were so good at it.’

I know Cora means well, but going backwards is not for me. I am happy. So happy, I’m almost certain Declan is going to pop the question soon. He’s been acting nervous or awkward lately, and I saw a jewellery website left open on his laptop a few weeks ago. I don’t tell Cora though. She and her boyfriend, Finton, have been together forever, but I have a feeling marriage is nowhere on his radar yet. With engagement rings on my brain, I message Declan back.

No worries. I’ll collect Ellie. Hope you take off soon I love you xx

Declan doesn’t reply, but he thumbs-up my message, and I hope that means they’re about to take off. Maybe he’ll be home tonight after all.