The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

Chapter 8

EIGHT

Ellie gets sick twice on the bus. The guy sitting beside us makes a face that tells me I really need to do something about the small puking human sitting on my knees, as if I can just press a button and deactivate vomit mode.

I apologise and tell him it’s going around and it’s highly contagious. He moves and I sit Ellie into his free seat and slowly the feeling returns to my legs. I clean up as best I can with a bunch of baby wipes and throw them into a plastic bag. By the time we reach our bus stop, Ellie is sleeping on my shoulder and normal colour is returning to her face. I scoop her up, along with my bag of vomity wipes and my regular bag, and waddle down the bus aisle, struggling to keep hold of everything. Wellies are no longer the best footwear for the situation, and slow me down as I feel the eyes of the other passengers on me, delighted my sick child and I are getting off.

Back at the flat, Ellie manages to keep down some toast and apple juice. Within half an hour she is a ball of energy again and asking if we can play Twister. I just about have enough energy to pop Frozen on the telly and boil a kettle to make some instant noodles for my dinner. Ellie is asleep before Elsa strikes Anna with her magic and I flop onto the couch beside her, blow on my noodles and text Cora.

So I can’t send her to crèche for at least three days.

So stupid. If she’s better, she’s better. Can you pretend she wasn’t sick. Say it was something she ate?

Like fizzy apple slushie?

Can’t. All the kids have it so the rule is the same for everyone. Work are pissed with me too. As if I can control my kid getting sick.

Wish I could watch her but I’m slammed at work. You wouldn’t believe the amount of falls people have putting up Christmas lights. I have broken legs and arms coming out my ears.

I laugh out loud for a moment as I imagine my best friend with various broken limbs attached to her head.

Maybe you should text Declan. Let him know Ellie is sick. Ask the for help?

Can’t. He turned off his phone.

What? Why? He can’t keep it off for ever.

It’s his second phone. The one he had so he could hide me and Ellie from his wife. Turns out we were only ever second-phone level of affair.

ASSHOLE!!!

Totally. Anyway I gotta go. Need to get Ellie into bed. And I’m shattered too. Talk tomorrow xx

Yeah okay. I’m here if you need me. Night night xx

Ellie shares my bed again and her small, warm body snuggles into me and keeps me cosy. But I can’t sleep. The thought of missing three days of wages, especially so close to Christmas, is stressing me out so much I can feel a couple of hives appear on my ankle. I lie awake and scour rental websites yet again, crossing my fingers that by some miracle a remotely affordable apartment will appear. To my surprise a lady in Finglas emails me back and says she has a small two-bed town house, rent is just about in reach and she loves kids. I make a plan to view the house tomorrow evening and set my phone down. I wrap my arms round Ellie and am asleep within seconds.

What feels likes a blink later, I am bounced awake by a four-year-old jumping on the end of my bed.

‘Ellie. No,’ I croak, my eyes sticky with sleep and struggling to open. ‘Stop it. Get down.’ All the horrible injuries Cora has told me about from children bouncing on the bed race through my mind. Broken collarbones. Dislocated knees. Concussions. Aside from how painful they sound, I just couldn’t afford A&E.

‘Ellie, get down,’ I try again, fully awake now and with my voice loud and firm.

Ellie hops off the bed and folds her arms, making a pouting face. I drag my hands round my face and ward off a sulk or tantrum with the suggestion of Coco Pops for breakfast. Thankfully there’s some left and the milk is still in date too.

Ellie hops off her chair as soon as the last spoonful enters her mouth. ‘Let’s go. Let’s go,’ she says, emulating our usual, slightly frantic morning routine to get out the door to crèche and work on time.

‘Not today, chickpea, you’re sick, remember?’

Ellie holds her tummy as if she’s checking if anything is going to happen. Then she shakes her head, smiles and says, ‘All better.’

Orangey-grey light shines through the curtains from the streetlamp outside the window and I can tell the sun still isn’t up. I glance at Ellie, who is bursting with so much energy I can see her battling the urge to jump on the bed again. Thankfully, whatever bug she had is out of her system. If we hurry, we could easily make it on time. But Alannah’s words are ringing in my ears. ‘I’m sick of ringing parents…fining system…home for three days.’

I’m not sure which is worse. Three days without wages or the wrath of Alannah and a potential fine. And that’s when I have an idea. A probably terrible, most definitely a bit risky, almost certainly stupid idea. But if the past few day have taught me anything, it’s that Ellie and I are alone in this life and we have to figure things out and find solutions where we can. So, I tell Ellie to get dressed and I rummage down the bottom of my wardrobe to find the colouring book and colouring pencils I bought for Christmas. The plastic Smyths bag rustles and I pull it out and stuff it into my handbag. Then I dress in my uniform and stick a packet of pop tarts in the toaster. Ellie and I put on our coats, the toaster pings, and with a strawberry pop tart each we leave the apartment.

Ellie attempts to turn left at the end of our road, as we usually do for crèche, but I hold her hand a little tighter and say, ‘Not today. Today we are going this way.’

I hadn’t taken into consideration how far a walk to the hospital is for little legs, and after a while Ellie complains that her feet hurt. I carry her for as long as I am able and then, refreshed, she walks again for a while. We repeat the pattern of carrying and walking until we finally reach the main doors of StHelen’s.

Ellie’s eyes widen with delight. ‘Is this your work?’

‘Yup,’ I say proudly as if I run the hospital, rather than clean a handful of upstairs wards.

‘It’s very nice,’ she tells me, then she covers her ears as an ambulance comes into the bay with its siren blaring. ‘And noisy.’

‘C’mon. Let’s get inside,’ I say, squeezing her hand.

órlaith is chatting to someone at reception and doesn’t notice us pass. I guide us into the tuck shop and, with some coins that I was saving for the vending machine for lunch, I buy a lollipop and a carton of Ribena. And then I lead us into the lift and up to the fourth floor where I work.

When the lift dings and the doors open, I peek my head out. The corridor is silent and the storage closet is in view. I grip Ellie’s hand so tightly she winces and yelps.

‘Sorry. Oops, sorry,’ I say, loosening my grip immediately. ‘But we’ve gotta hurry. In here. Quick, quick, in here.’

I guide us into the closet unnoticed and flick on the light.

Ellie scrunches her nose. ‘Ew. It smells funny in here.’

I rarely notice the smell of bleach and surface polish any more, but I agree it is a bit stinky. I move some mops and buckets and put my back into shifting the industrial floor polisher aside to make some room in the middle of the squashed closet. I take off my cardigan and place it on the floor and encourage Ellie to sit down on it. She eyes me, unsure, but drops onto her bum and crosses her legs as she looks up at me.

‘I have a surprise,’ I tell her, and before I get another word out I can see her face light up with anticipation.

‘We’re not going to crèche today.’

Her face falls.

‘Wait. Wait. We’re doing something even better.’

I reach into my bag and pull out the colouring book and bright pencils.

Ellie squeals with joy and I quickly place my finger over my lips and whisper, ‘Shh.’

I pass her the book and pencils and she flicks through the pages, stopping when she comes to the outline of a fairy riding a unicorn and begging to be coloured in. Next, I give her the lollipop and Ribena.

‘You know how you love to play hide-and-seek?’

She scrunches her face, not so sure she does.

‘Well, this is the bestest, most fun game of hide-and-seek. You get to stay in here and colour your pictures and enjoy your treats.’

She nods, liking the sound of this game.

‘But you must, must, must not come out, okay? That’s how you play. You have to stay hiding and then you win.’

No one ever checks the storage room except me. I am certain no one will find Ellie in here.

‘Okay, Mammy,’ she says, then she scoots over and makes room for me in the space between her and the sweeping brushes.

‘Oh, chickpea, I can’t play.’ I sigh, and my heart sinks when I watch her little face fall. ‘I have to go to work now. But you’re going to have so, so much fun colouring in.’

Her bottom lip drops and quivers.

‘But I’m going to come back lots and lots and check that you’re still winning, okay? And remember?—’

‘—keep hiding. That’s how you win,’ she finishes for me with a grin.

‘Yes. Yes. You clever girl.’

I kiss the top of her head and promise I will be back soon. Ellie takes a yellow pencil from the box and begins colouring with a happy, smiling face. I take a deep breath, close the door behind me and, with my heart practically beating out of my chest, I clock in for my shift.