The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

The snow is relentless. The guy on the radio said it’s the coldest December in fifty years and it’s all anyone at work can talk about.

‘There’s inches out there,’ MrsMorgan on StPaul’s ward says as she stands by the window overlooking the car park.

The heating is blasting in the hospital, but she’s wrapped in a fleece dressing gown and fluffy, boot-like slippers as if just looking outside chills her to the bone.

‘You should say there’s centipedes out there,’ MrsBrennan croaks from her bed across the ward. Her health is deteriorating quickly, and I am worried she might not see the year out, but she still manages to wag her finger towards the window to argue with MrsMorgan. ‘All the young people say, centipedes. Don’t they, Bea?’ She looks at me with a smile that warms my heart and I wish so much I could reverse time and know her as a young, healthy person. I can only imagine the fun we would have.

I sweep the floor, taking care to get the brush in under the beds where dust likes to gather. My back cracks audibly and I can see them both look at me with concern. I snap upright, to ease their worries, and softly say, ‘I think you might mean centimetres.’

MrsMorgan begins to laugh, folding in the middle.

‘Stop it,’ MrsBrennan grumbles, mustering sudden energy from somewhere to pull herself up in the bed. ‘Stop laughing at me.’

MrsMorgan laughs louder. A deep, rattly laugh that highlights that she’s been a heavy smoker for most of her life.

‘Oh, say what you like,’ MrsBrennan says, lying back down and turning her back like a sulky toddler.

‘Ah, don’t be like that,’ MrsMorgan says, cutting out her giggling and straightening up, obviously worried she has offended her frenemy. ‘Inches or centimetres. It doesn’t change the fact that there’s plenty of it out there. It’ll be a white Christmas for certain.’

‘My last Christmas,’ MrsBrennan says, turning back.

MrsMorgan jams her hands on her hips, ready to scold MrsBrennan again. ‘None of us know how long we have, but you owe me at least ten games of chess, and with the snail’s pace you play at you’ll be at it for ever.’

There is a moment of shared silence, while we all wish it was that simple. It’s not long before my two favourite patients return to chatting. They move on from discussing the weather to talk about politics. I leave them to it, and make my way to the storage room to fetch the mind the wet floor sign before I start washing.

The storage room is as chaotic as ever and it takes some time to find the plastic safety sign. When I finally spot it and take it off a low shelf, something beside it rolls onto the floor. I look down and discover a yellow colouring pencil rolling around my feet. Recognising it as Ellie’s, I pick it up. I know she’ll be delighted when I give it to her later. I’m about to slide the pencil into my uniform pocket when my phone vibrates and startles me. I take a breath and slide my phone out. I exhale with relief when I find Cora’s name on the screen and not the crèche.

‘Hello,’ I chirp.

‘Oh, you sound happy.’

‘Thought you were the crèche. You’ve no idea how happy I am that you’re not.’

‘Right. Okay. Getcha,’ she says, sounding equally happy but not actually getting me at all.

‘What’s up?’ I ask.

‘Nothing important. I’m just excited for later. For yours and Ellie’s first night at our flat.’

‘Me too.’

Although I am more relieved than excited, but I love how excited she is.

‘Finton is working late so I thought maybe we could grab a takeaway and some wine and make it a girls’ night. Whatcha think?’

I wasn’t prepared to finance a takeaway and alcohol. But Cora is giving me a roof over my head; the least I can do is indulge her girls’ night.

‘Sure,’ I say, sounding even more chipper than before.

‘Oh. Great.’

She picks up on my extreme enthusiasm and I try to tone it down a bit.

‘Is Indian okay? I can pick some up on my way home from work. There’s a lovely place round the corner from here. What will you and Ellie have? I always go for the butter masala. It’s unreal.’

‘Sounds good,’ I say, although I have absolutely no idea. Declan didn’t like Indian food and I couldn’t splash out on takeaways when Ellie and I were alone.

‘Oh super, nice and simple if we’re all the same,’ she goes on. ‘And red or white wine?’

‘White please.’

‘White it is.’

There’s a pause, and I know I have to fill it with, ‘Let me know what I owe you and I’ll give it to you when I get there.’

‘It’s cool,’ she says, breezily. ‘Just send it to me whenever.’

I swallow. I can’t imagine what it must be like to have the financial security to pay out and not have to worry about the exact moment you will get the money back.

‘Anyway,’ she says in a singsong tone. ‘I better get back to work. I’ll see you later, roomie.’

‘Yeah. Later.’

She hangs up but I hear my name. The tone is clipped and I know when I turn round I will find Elaine behind me.

‘MrsBrennan has been sick,’ she says.

My heart sinks. MrsBrennan hasn’t eaten much in weeks. I finally saw her nibble some toast earlier. I’m so disappointed it hasn’t stayed down.

‘I was just on my way to wash the floors,’ I say, to reassure her that I’ll have the ward spotless as soon as possible.

‘With that?’ Elaine points to the colouring pencil in my hand.

‘Oh. Eh. No.’

‘Are some of the patients colouring?’ she says, arching her brows. ‘That’s good. I’ve heard colouring can be very therapeutic.’

‘Yes. I think so,’ I say, although I’ve never heard that. I make a mental note to bring Ellie’s pencils and colouring books to work. Maybe MrsBrennan and MrsMorgan might like to give it a go.

Elaine smiles and says, ‘Well, don’t let me keep you.’

I smile and try not to look like I would rather stick the colouring pencil through my eye than clean up yet more vomit from a ward floor.