The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

Chapter 10

TEN

I wait until the end of my shift before I return to the storage closet, collect my cardigan and tidy up. I remove all evidence that Ellie was here before I leave. Downstairs, I find Ellie behind the reception desk. She’s perched on a leather chair like a tiny Alice in Wonderland on an oversized throne. She’s smiling contently, and I’m relieved that getting lost earlier doesn’t seem to have traumatised her like it has me.

‘Thank you sooooo much,’ I tell órlaith as I reach the desk.

‘No, Mammy,’ Ellie says, seeing me. ‘I don’t want to go home. I busy.’

‘Oh, I see. Very, very busy,’ I tell her as she swings the large swivel chair from side to side with a kick of her legs. ‘But your shift is over, Miss receptionist. It’s time to go.’

‘More tomorrow?’ she asks, and I think her question is directed towards órlaith and not me.

‘More any time you like,’ órlaith says, then she lifts Ellie out of the chair and sets her down. Ellie runs towards me and wraps her arms around my leg.

‘Is everything okay?’ órlaith asks, lowering her voice. ‘What happened today?’

‘Everything is fine. Just the crèche being difficult.’

‘Right. Right. I know.’

órlaith does not know. She’s single and still lives with her parents despite being nearly forty.

‘I have a dog. A maltipoo,’ she goes on. ‘And it’s such a worry leaving him home all day while I’m in work.’

I don’t remind her that her mother is home with her dogs all day. Or that, although dogs and young children sometimes wet the floor or chew toys, that’s about where the similarities end.

Ellie covers her mouth with her hand but it doesn’t hide her loud tittering. ‘She said poo. Did you hear her, Mammy? She said poo.’

‘Shh.’

Another thing dogs don’t do is mortify you with the things they repeat. Thankfully, órlaith laughs.

‘I’ll see you soon, Ellie,’ she says, pulling some Toy Story stickers off a long roll.

Ellie takes them, delighted, and says, ‘Tomorrow.’

órlaith glances at me and I can tell she knows that things are most definitely not all right.

‘C’mon, Ellie. We have to let órlaith get back to work now.’

‘You know, I had a lovely time with Ellie today, Bea,’ órlaith says. ‘So, if you ever need help?—’

‘Oh gosh. Yes. Erm. Thanks.’

‘Well,’ she finishes up, reading my embarrassment. ‘Safe home. Forecast says it’s supposed to snow, so hopefully it doesn’t play havoc with the traffic.’

‘I like snow,’ Ellie says, then bursts into the chorus of ‘Let It Go’ from Frozen .

‘Shh,’ I tell her again, then I wrap her up for the weather, take her hand and walk outside.

Ellie shrieks with delight when she discovers snow has already started to fall and a soft, fluffy blanket covers the ground already. I put on my red wellies, scoop her into my arms and start walking. The snow is crisp and easy to walk on. I charge like a racehorse. It’s two buses and Luas across town to the new flat, and I told the landlady I’d meet her at sixp.m. She’s been texting me frantically since three thirty to make sure I’m still coming.

I’m practising in my head what I’ll say to try to negotiate the rent down when a deep voice cuts through my thoughts.

I look over Ellie’s shoulder and find Malcolm sitting in the usual spot. Snowflakes land on his head and catch in eyebrows and I find myself once again wishing that he would wear a hat.

‘Hello, Bea,’ he says, then he points at my wellies and says, ‘Much better.’

‘Yes. Much better,’ I echo.

‘Who do we have here?’ he asks.

Ellie lifts her head off my shoulder to chirp, ‘I’m Ellie. I’m four.’

‘My daughter,’ I add.

‘Hello, Ellie-I’m-Four,’ Malcolm says.

Ellie laughs and brushes my hair aside so she can whisper loudly in my ear: ‘He’s silly.’

‘I’m not silly. I’m Malcolm.’

Ellie laughs again. The sound of her innocent chuckles warms me from the inside out and I realise it’s been a few days since I heard her giggle. I guess I’ve been so busy worrying about the apartment and work, I forgot to take the time to make her laugh.

‘Ellie,’ Malcolm repeats, shaking his head and puffing out warm air that creates a small cloud in front of his face. ‘Hmm.’

‘Is something wrong?’ I ask.

He scrunches his nose.

‘No. Not wrong. Just…’ He shrugs and today’s scarf, a silver and maroon cable knit, bobs on his shoulders. ‘Didn’t you think to call her Lily or Rose or Daisy?

‘Do you like those names?’ I ask, confused.

‘No. I don’t care for children named after flowers, or cities or colours. But I also don’t think parents should call children after insects. But if they do, well then, surely that child would grow up and keep with tradition. Bea and Lily. Or Bea and Rose…you see.’

‘Well, it’s Bea and Ellie,’ I say, sounding irritated but I’m not.

I love Ellie’s name. It’s the perfect fit for my little girl and no one could ever make me doubt how well we fit together. Ellie is the best part of me. And Declan too, although I try not to think about that now.

I check my watch and say, ‘It was nice seeing you again, Malcolm.’

‘A busy Bea,’ he says with a wink.

‘Afraid so.’

‘Well, don’t let this old man keep you.’

‘Tomorrow?’ I ask.

‘Tomorrow.’

My stomach somersaults as I walk away. I have absolutely no idea how I’ll make tomorrow work. I can’t send Ellie to crèche for another two days and after today I can’t bring her to work again, that’s for sure. Despite the cold, a bead of stressed-out perspiration trickles down my spine.

‘I need to do a wee-wee,’ Ellie says, out of nowhere.

I squeeze my eyes shut and don’t bother asking if she can hold it. I find myself secretly missing the days of nappies when I could take her anywhere without regular pitstops. I check my watch again. We’ll most definitely miss the bus if we go back inside.

‘I’m bursting. I’m bursting,’ she insists, dramatically.

We’ve no choice but to hurry back inside, and into the busy toilets at reception. Ellie is hopping from one foot to the other by the time a stall is free. After, I roll up her sleeves and let her wash her own hands while I take out my phone to text the landlady of the flat.

Could we meet at 6.30 instead please? So sorry. Got delayed at work.

Have a viewing at 6.15. First come first served. Unless you want to pay a deposit now to secure?

I don’t waste time thinking about it. I need this flat. It doesn’t matter if it’s like the Ritz or a cattle barn. It’s all I can afford.

Perfect! Thank you.

Revolut is fine. I’ll let the other person know it’s gone as soon as I get your deposit.

Ellie is happily making bubbles between her hands with the soap as I open my banking app. I got paid recently but I’m still two euro short of the 500-euro first month’s rent. I take a deep breath and send 490 euro and cross my fingers that she’s not a stickler over a tenner. I keep the remaining eight euro for bus fare.

I slide my phone into my pocket.

‘C’mon, chickpea,’ I say, trying to sound cheery and not exhausted and hungry. ‘Let’s go see our new flat.’

‘Yay,’ Ellie cheers, having absolutely no idea what she is delighted about.

Outside, we run into Malcolm again, who looks surprised to see us.

‘Still here,’ he says.

‘This little one needed the bathroom,’ I say, placing my hand on Ellie’s head.

‘When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go.’ He smiles. ‘Trust me. I understand.’

‘And now we’re very late,’ I say.

‘You should invest in an alarm clock. It might help you rush less if your time management improved.’

‘Children don’t pee to the clock, Malcolm,’ I tell him.

‘Well,’ he says, with a firm nod. ‘Maybe they should. I always make sure to use the facilities before I leave the house. Serves me well.’

‘Do you ever go inside?’ I ask, shifting from slight irritation to concern once again for the hours he seems to spend sitting out here in the cold. ‘There are bathrooms inside. And a coffee shop. The coffee isn’t great, to be honest. But it’s warm—’ I cut myself off before adding anything about a scone or biscuits, in case money is as tight for him as it is for me.

‘I don’t drink coffee,’ he says. ‘Terrible stuff.’

I don’t mention tea, feeling it may be redundant. They could sell unicorns and rainbows in the tuck shop and I still doubt Malcolm would set foot through the doors. Instead, I ask, ‘Are you waiting for someone out here? Do they give you a lift home?’

‘I can walk just fine, thank you very much.’

A strong breeze whips by and ruffles the fine silver hairs splayed across his head and they flap like a flag. Ellie laughs. I tell her to shush. But Malcolm bobs his head, making his hair flap faster. Ellie laughs and laughs, and finally I can’t hold it in either. I decide that maybe this is why he doesn’t wear a hat – because he doesn’t want to hide his dancing hair.

Malcolm tires quickly. And when he is still again, Ellie stops laughing and, very seriously, she tells him, ‘We are going to see our new flat now.’

‘Oh, how very nice. Does it have a nice big bedroom? With lots of room for all your toys,’ he says, kindly, and my heart pangs. Any size room will be just fine, I think.

‘I didn’t seed it yet,’ Ellie tells him.

‘Oh, a viewing.’ He smiles, understanding. ‘Somewhere nearer work?’

It takes me a moment to realise he’s shifted his focus from Ellie to me.

‘Erm, something like that.’

‘Do you want to come?’ Ellie chirps.

‘Oh, Ellie. I’m sure Malcolm is busy,’ I tell her, noting that I really, really need to have the stranger danger conversation with her again.

‘I’m not busy,’ he says.

‘Oh.’

Ellie throws her arms above her head. ‘Yay.’

I wait for him to tell Ellie he is only joking and wish us on our way, but Malcolm is button-lipped as he looks at me like a lost puppy waiting to be picked up and brought home.

‘It’s all the way across town,’ I say, trying to put him off and then immediately feeling bad because he’s clearly lonely – why else would he be out here all by himself every evening?

‘We go on the bus,’ Ellie says, as if public transport is a big, exciting adventure.

‘I like the bus,’ Malcolm says.

Ellie’s grin widens from ear to ear. ‘Me too. And the Luas. I like the Luas lots and lots.’

‘I’ve never been on the Luas,’ Malcolm says, and I can’t tell if he’s serious or not.

I feel tugging on my coat and look at Ellie as she pulls me down so she can whisper in my ear. ‘Can old peoples go on the Luas, Mammy?’

I nod, hoping Malcolm didn’t hear her.

Ellie pulls her lips away from my ear and announces loudly, ‘You’re allowed on the Luas, Malco.’

‘Malco,’ he echoes, as if a child’s mispronunciation brings him joy. ‘And I can ride for free.’

‘Can I go for free?’ Ellie asks.

‘No.’ I swallow, wishing. ‘Half price.’

‘Half price,’ she tells Malcolm, as if I am surplus to this strange conversation about transport fares and eligibility.

‘Right, well. We better be going.’ My clipped tone slices through the air, icier than the weather, as I give Malcolm another opportunity to bow out.

He stands up, surprisingly sprightly, and bends to fetch something under the bench. He stands up again, exceptionally unsprightly, and I notice two tennis rackets in his hands. With a degree of difficulty, he attaches one to the sole of each of his boots and secures them with what seem to be large rubber bands. He stands once again, and I except Ellie to laugh at his ridiculous appearance, because I’m trying hard not to. But she doesn’t. She takes his hands and says, ‘Ready?’

‘Ready.’

I’m lost for words as my small child holds hands contently with a new friend – a friend with a wispy grey combover blowing in the wind, and two tennis rackets beneath his shoes that leave waffle footprints behind him with every step.

At the Luas stop a group of teenagers snigger at Malcolm’s footwear. He straightens his curvy spine as best he can and holds his head high.

‘Joke will be on them when they fall,’ he tells Ellie.

She agrees, although she’s not entirely sure to what.

I fetch return tickets and we hop onboard. A woman about my age gets up and gives Malcolm and Ellie her seat. I stand next to them, dizzy and hungry as I grip the silver pole. We take one bus and then another and every so often someone titters at Malcolm’s footwear. He is wholly unfazed. And, slowly, I find myself admiring his tenacity that keeps him so sturdy on his feet in the snow.

‘We’re here,’ I announce as we reach the address of the new flat at six twenty-ninep.m.

‘Nice. Very nice,’ Malcolm says, looking up and down the road, which is lined with a mix of terrace yellow brick houses, Weetabix-like apartments and tall, leafless trees that I imagine in summer are green and vibrant and beautiful.

Bubbles of excitement fizz inside me as I imagine Ellie and me living on this inviting road. I double-check the address on my phone, and press the buzzer for number seventeen.

It takes a moment, but soon there is a crackle and a deep voice says, ‘Hello.’

Surprised to hear a man’s voice, I clear my throat before I reply. ‘Hello. I’m looking for—’ I cut myself off, realising that I don’t actually know who I’m looking for. I saved the landlady’s number in my phone as MsNew Flat and, in my desperation to secure a viewing, I forgot to get her name. I try again. ‘Hi. I’m Bea Alright. I’m here about the flatshare.’

‘That flatshare?’

‘Erm yes. The room. The lady on the phone said to come at six thirty.’

‘Love, I think you have the wrong flat. There’s no room for rent here.’

‘Oh. Gosh. Sorry.’

‘No problem. Bye now.’

There’s a crackle and a sound like hanging up and then the voice is gone.

My face stings as Ellie and Malcolm stare at me. ‘I could have sworn…’ I check my messages again and then I cross-reference the building name and number. ‘Number seventeen, Yellow Oak Block,’ I mumble.

‘This is Yellow Oak Block,’ Malcolm confirms, pointing to the plaque clearly displayed on the wall. ‘Maybe you pressed the wrong button.’

I perk up. ‘Maybe.’

‘I don’t know why they can’t label things like this correctly,’ he says, pointing to the small square of flat buzzers stacked on the wall like piano keys.

I try buzzer after buzzer and the answer is always the same. Wrong flat. Finally, I try the first buzzer again. The man who answers is less patient this time. At last, he says, ‘Look, love, the only ones here are my partner and my dog. We have no interest in renting out a room to anyone. Sounds to me like someone is having you on.’

‘I paid a deposit,’ I say, desperately.

‘Well, then, I’d say someone has scammed you because this is my flat and it is not for rent.’

My intake of breath is sharp and almost painful.

‘Go home, love.’

The buzzer goes dead once more and I know not to ring it again. I call the landlady’s number and the automated ‘this number is not in service’ reply almost doubles me over. I think of my near-empty bank account as I look around the street. I would so happily pay every penny I have for Ellie and me to live here. I think about crèche and work tomorrow. I think about Declan and the lease on the apartment where I was once so happy. I think about my empty stomach that rumbles. Finally, I look at my little girl and think about how I am possibly going to keep her safe with no money and no roof over our heads.

The inside of my head is so noisy and busy, I have to hold it with my hands because it feels as if traffic might burst through my skull at any second. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing on the footpath with my head in my hands before I feel Malcolm’s hand press firmly on my shoulder.

‘The little one needs feeding.’

I lower my hands and glance at Ellie. There are tears in her eyes and she’s staring back at me with the concerned expression of an adult.

‘I’m hungry,’ she mumbles, and I wonder how many times she has told me this information and I was too lost in blind panic to see or hear her. Suddenly, I am wildly grateful that Malcolm is here, holding her hand. Keeping her safe, when I seem to have lost the ability to. My movements are slow and convalescent-like. I wrangle with my brain to speak. To say something reassuring for Ellie’s sake.

The words let’s go home circle my head like a hamster on a wheel. But when I try to open my mouth nothing but a throaty gasp comes out. Home? Soon that word won’t exist for us. And the fear is crippling me. Finally, my eyes focus and fall on Malcolm’s back as he leads Ellie away. They’re moving at a snail’s pace, and I could easily catch them with a couple of fast strides. But nonetheless, a wave of protectiveness surges inside me and kick-starts me.

‘Hey,’ I call out. ‘What are you doing?’

Malcolm continues to walk as Ellie looks over her shoulder and smiles.

I hurry after them, taking Ellie’s hand in seconds.

‘Eh, what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ I say, jutting my head to scowl at Malcolm. ‘You can’t just walk off with her like that. Are you mad?’

He shrugs. ‘We’re hungry.’

‘So hungry,’ Ellie says, slipping her hand out of my grasp to rub her belly.

‘Yes. Me too,’ I say, taking her hand back quickly. ‘But, Ellie. You know you can’t just walk off with strangers like that. What have we talked about?’

Ellie’s brows pinch and her nose scrunches. ‘But this is Malco.’

‘Malcolm,’ I correct. Her mispronunciation is much less adorable now than earlier. ‘And I know his name, chickpea. But it doesn’t mean we really know him. Do you underst?—’

‘Sit!’ Malcolm cuts me off and points to a street bench not dissimilar to the one at the hospital. All it’s missing is an overhanging oak tree.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Sit,’ he repeats as if I was asking what he said and not why the hell he said it.

‘I really don’t think?—’

‘She’s hungry.’ He smiles at Ellie.

‘So hungry,’ she says, exaggerating.

‘So are you and so am I,’ he goes on. ‘This is as good a spot as any for a bite.’

Ellie climbs onto the bench, with an effort that mirrors scaling Everest. Ankle first, then knee, then belly, followed by her other ankle, other knee, more belly. She pushes up on her hands like a gym bunny about to break into fifty push-ups, and finally she pulls herself into a sitting position, swinging her legs back and forth with satisfaction. When I turn away to look at Malcolm I spot his hunched frame shuffling into the brightly lit Spar behind us. I puff out, knowing we need to wait for him, and sit beside Ellie. I launch into a lecture about stranger danger.

‘But he’s Malco,’ Ellie reiterates, as if she’s known Malcolm for an even greater time than her four years on this planet. She reinforces her point by gesturing, stretching her small hands, still chubby at the wrist with baby fat, out by her sides, and bobbing them up and down as if she’s pleading with me to just accept their close bond. I close my eyes for a fleeting moment and wish that life was really as simple as my small child thinks it is. My eyes shoot open again when I feel the bench bounce as Ellie hops down. She runs up to Malcolm as he is returning through the shop door with a plastic bag dangling from his hand. Ellie takes his other hand and they walk very slowly towards me. I scoot down and make room for another bum on the bench. I put my hands on Ellie’s waist and hoist her up, tucking her in beside my hip. Malcolm lowers himself wearily beside her. Then he opens the plastic bag and rummages, head deep, around inside. He pulls out a roll, wrapped in paper and with steam dancing in the dark evening air. He leans forward and passes it to me.

‘I hope you like chicken. It’s all they had left.’

‘I like chicken,’ I say, my voice catching and coming out husky. It’s a combination of the chilly December air and a wave of gratitude. He also passes me a Diet Coke before diving his head back into the bag to pick out the same for Ellie.

‘Coke,’ she shrieks with delight, taking the can, then remembers she’s not allowed fizzy anything from a can and shoots me a pleading gaze.

‘Just this once.’ I wink. I am in no way ready to spoil her fun with the usual rules about sugar and teeth.

Lastly, Malcolm pulls out a steaming roll for himself and a can of Coke and we sit, without a word between us as we savage our makeshift dinner. Ellie fills up a few bites before the end of her roll and, although I’m stuffed, I finish it off for her, not sure when I’ll eat something quite so delicious again.

After, Malcolm folds the bag with extreme precision and manages to make an exact square from its plastic form. He shifts on the bench, making it creak beneath us all, to slide it into his pocket.

‘Had to pay a euro for this thing,’ he grumbles, with a roll of his eyes. ‘A euro. They must think people are made of money.’

I’m about to launch into a rant about the cost-of-living crisis and how out of touch the government are when a car pulls up beside us so suddenly the brakes screech and make us all jump. Malcolm clutches his chest and I find myself quietly checking that he’s all right. The window of the car rolls down, and before anyone else has time to utter a word Ellie shouts, ‘Shayne!’

I squint and look into the car. I can’t quite believe my eyes when I see the guy from the hospital reception sitting behind the wheel. He’s less dapper now, and looks almost frazzled. Instinctively, I pull Ellie close to me and grit my teeth as I ask, ‘Are you following us?’

‘What?’ I can hear his offence. ‘That’s a weird question.’

‘Is it?’

‘Yes!’ He takes his hands off the wheel to fold his arms.

‘Ouch, Mammy. You’re squashing me,’ Ellie says, and I realise I’m holding her too tightly. I loosen my grip but I don’t let go fully.

‘I think it’s a completely reasonable question actually,’ I go on, my heart beating quickly. ‘You had my daughter earlier. And now, here you are again.’

He turns off his engine, and I brace myself in case he gets out of the car.

‘I think you mean: I found your daughter earlier and returned her after you lost her. Which you didn’t seem all that bothered about, actually.’

‘Of course I was bothered,’ I snap. ‘And I said thank you, didn’t I?’

‘You didn’t say it like you meant it.’

‘Well, I meant it. Thank you. Now, can you please answer my question. Why are you following us?’ My words are clipped and confident but inside I am trembling. If this Shayne guy turns out to be a psychopathic serial killer, I’m not sure I could save a child and an old man at the same time.

Shayne leans forward to stare past me at the bench. ‘Hello, Grandad,’ he says.

Malcolm huffs. ‘Spying on me again, are you?’

‘It’s not spying.’ Shayne rolls his eyes. ‘It’s just a tracker on your phone so I know where to find you.’

‘Techy nonsense.’ Malcolm waves his hand dismissively.

‘Well, building apps is my job.’

‘Damn phones,’ Malcolm goes on, patting his pocket, where I guess he keeps his phone.

‘I wouldn’t be able to find you without it. And when you’re not where you’re supposed to be when I come to pick you up, I’m very glad you have it.’

So, Shayne picks Malcolm up every day at the hospital, I decide, joining the dots in my head. I’m glad he has someone come to fetch him. But it still doesn’t explain why he’s going there every day.

‘Your grandfather,’ I say, staring at Shayne as I look for a resemblance.

‘Yes. Hi. I’m Shayne Fairbanks,’ Shayne says, opening the door of the car to step out.

I’m no longer nervous, but I am embarrassed. I wish I hadn’t been so noticeably on guard just now. I notice Shayne and Malcolm’s eyes are similar, and their chins. Shayne certainly has more hair; a floppy mop of brown curls bobs on his head, ruffled by the wind.

‘You two know each other?’ Malcolm says, drawing an invisible line in the air to join Shayne to me.

‘Not exactly,’ Shayne says. ‘We met briefly. At the hospital. I was looking for you actually. You weren’t answering your phone and I was worried.’

He slides his phone out of his coat pocket and turns his screen towards Malcolm to share that he has made seventeen attempts to call his grandfather today, all of which have gone unanswered.

‘That thing,’ Malcolm grunts, scrunching his face to read the screen. ‘Can’t get a minute’s peace any more. Everyone going around with mobile phones in their pockets. In my day a man could go for a walk to clear his head and no one pestered him until he came home.’

‘You’ve been gone since lunchtime,’ Shayne says. ‘And you forgot your hat.’

He pulls a colourful hat from his other pocket. It’s a perfect hand-knitted match for Malcolm’s scarf and I find myself wondering if Shayne has a loving grandmother at home who is wonderful with a pair of knitting needles.

Malcolm shakes his head.

‘But it’s cold, Grandad…’ Shayne trails off and I pick up a sense of something between them. An unresolved argument or something.

‘It really is very cold,’ I tell Malcolm.

‘Gosh, really, and here I was hoping to do some sunbathing this evening.’ Malcolm chuckles, amusing himself much more than either Shayne or me.

‘Okay, suit yourself, but will you at least get in the car? I have the heated seat on, so you should warm up soon.’

‘Who says I’m cold?’ Malcolm says.

‘I’m cold,’ Ellie joins in, her teeth chattering like a prop in a play.

‘I’m getting the Luas and the bus,’ Malcolm goes on.

I shove my hand into my pocket and feel around for the loose coins that I know will be enough for a Luas or a bus. But not both. Ellie and I have a long walk ahead and if Malcolm joins us, at his pace it will take hours.

Shayne sighs. ‘I’m here now. The car is warm. Please, Grandad, can we just go? I will give your friend and her daughter a lift to anywhere they want to go. How does that sound?’

‘That’s the problem with you young people. Always so busy. Busy Bea is just as bad. So busy buzzing from one place to the next, she doesn’t even take the time to check we’re in the right place in the first place.’

Shayne seems confused and looks at me as if he is expecting me to explain. I bend and scoop Ellie into my arms. All the feelings of worry and distress bubble to the surface again, and if I’m going to start crying again I would really rather it wasn’t in front of these people.

‘Get in the car, Malcolm,’ I say. ‘Take the damn lift.’

‘I will, if you will,’ he says.

I breathe in until I am light-headed. After what he just said about the whole flat hell scam, I can barely look at him. But Ellie is flagging and she really should be in bed in an hour, not dragging her little feet across Dublin. I swallow my pride and say, ‘If you’re still offering, a lift would be great, Shayne. Thank you.’

‘Of course. But I don’t have a car seat, I’m afraid. Will she be ok?’ he asks, glancing at Ellie who is tugging on my arm and complaining about being tired and cold.

‘Erm… it’s just a short ride. She’ll be fine,’ I say, crossing my fingers behind my back as I add another parenting faux pas to my ever-growing list.

‘Can I get your name? If I’m going to be your Uber, that is. I mean, I doubt Busy Bee is your official title, and you didn’t share your name at the hospital, so I’m guessing it’s something terrible like Prudence or Gertrude or something even worse.

‘Gertrude is my mother’s name,’ I say, and wait for him to squirm.

‘Mine too,’ he says, calling my bluff.

I let the joke hang in the air just long enough to make him uncomfortable before I say, ‘Bea. My name is Bea.’

His face lights up and he says, ‘Now, that really is a lovely name. It reminds me of summer.’