The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

Chapter 18

EIGHTEEN

‘Thank you,’ Ellie says, smiling at the bus driver as we get off.

He raises his hand to his forehead and salutes his young passenger. ‘Have a good day, little lady.’

‘I will,’ Ellie says with certainty as she skips down the steps.

‘Thanks,’ I say without making eye contact with the driver, hoping he doesn’t notice that we’re getting off the bus at the same stop we started at over an hour ago. I reach for my daughter’s hand. ‘Ellie, be careful, don’t fall.’

We’re swept into a sea of commuters and the buzz is refreshing. It’s still dark outside – a typical December morning – but there are lots of people about. It seemed to happen suddenly and all at once. An hour ago Ellie and I were almost completely alone as we walked the cobblestone streets of Temple Bar. Now, there are people all over. Men in suits and long winter coats with mobile phones stuck to their ear. And women in heels regretting their choice of footwear as they tried not to get a stiletto caught between the cobbles. There’s construction workers in high-visibility jackets and lots of people whose clothes don’t hint at what they do all day. There aren’t any other kids though. It’s still too early for crèche drop-off.

The city is coming to life and a sprinkling of shutters are rising. I spot an open café on the corner – opposite the main gates of Trinity College.

‘Here we are,’ I say as I curl my fingers a fraction tighter round Ellie’s, and, stride with pseudoconfidence towards the door.

Heat warms my face as soon as we step inside, and the tips of my bare fingers tingle, adapting. Inside is cosier than I was expecting, with mismatched furniture pushed too close together. Ellie pulls her hat and gloves off and breaks away from me to choose the long, narrow table just inside the window. It’s much too high for a four-year-old.

‘Here,’ she announces, reaching for a backless stool with two hands.

The legs squeak as she drags them across the rustic pine floor. I take her hat and gloves and help her climb up.

‘Careful,’ I warn, unzipping her jacket. ‘No messing if you’re sitting up this high. You’re a big girl now.’

I push the stool forward and tuck Ellie in to the table before I take a seat next to her. There are laminated menus dotted on the table, and Ellie reaches for one as if she can read. She’s instantly disappointed when there are no pictures.

The menu is more elaborate than I was expecting. Poached eggs and avocado. Overnight protein oats. Smoked salmon on sourdough bread. Foods that come with a high price tag and are certain to make my four-year-old poke her tongue out.

‘Morning,’ a chirpy young waitress says, appearing at our table with a small pad and pen in her hands.

‘Hello.’ Ellie smiles, swinging her legs back and forth and worrying me that she’s going to fall off the high stool.

‘Is there a separate kids’ menu?’ I ask.

The waitress shrugs. ‘No, sorry. Just what’s there.’

‘Erm…eh, can I get a small black coffee and?—’

‘Ribena,’ Ellie pipes up.

‘A small black coffee and Ribena please,’ I repeat.

‘Sure,’ the waitress says, writing it down. ‘And for food?’

‘Coco Pops,’ Ellie says.

The waitress giggles. ‘No Coco Pops,’ she says, smiling at Ellie. ‘But I can ask the chef to hold the sauces or anything like that?’ she says, shifting her gaze to me.

‘Oh. Eh. Would the eggs be cheaper without avocado?’

‘No. Sorry. The price would be the same, but most kids like the plain poached egg option.’

I glance at the menu again. It’s almost fifteen euro for eggs and avocado.

‘I like eggs,’ Ellie tells the waitress.

‘So plain poached eggs, is it?’

‘Mm-hmm.’ I wince.

‘Cool.’ The waitress writes it down. ‘Anything else?’

‘No thanks.’

‘So that’s poached eggs, hold the avocado. Ribena and small black coffee.’

‘Erm, actually, no coffee after all,’ I say, trying to add the prices in my head. ‘I’m not really hungry.’

‘You said you’re starving, Mammy,’ Ellie says.

‘No. No. I’m fine.’

‘You did. You did. At Cora’s house. And on the bus. And then your tummy went gurglely-wurglely on the bus. ’Member?’

I blush.

‘Do you have a loyalty card?’ the waitress asks. ‘Every tenth coffee is free so…’

‘No. I don’t.’

My face stings and I wonder if it’s as hot and red as it feels.

‘Okay. No worries,’ she says. ‘Just Ribena and eggs.’

‘Yes. Thank you.’

She leaves our table and I breathe a sigh of relief.

‘Is your tummy not rumbly no more?’ Ellie asks, steadying her little legs so she can lean closer to me.

‘Not any more, sweetheart.’

I’m grateful for the radio playing in the background, loud enough to hide my stomach grumbling.

Ellie sings along to Ed Sheeran and Taylor Swift, making up her own words, and soon the food arrives.

‘Yummy.’ Ellie smiles and the smell of her snow-white eggs with gooey golden centres on lightly toasted bread makes my mouth water.

The waitress places a takeaway cup with steam swirling out the top in front of me and for a moment I panic that she misunderstood. I really can’t afford a coffee.

‘Someone ordered a black coffee and left without it,’ she says, pulling her shoulders towards her ears.

‘Oh. Eh.’ I cringe, and tears of embarrassment swell in the corners of my eyes. ‘Thanks, but I’m okay. I really need to cut down on my caffeine.’

She looks at me knowingly and says, ‘It’s already been paid for. And it’s just going to go to waste if…’

I don’t have a reply. The steam is tantalising and I can almost taste the rich, aromatic beans. I force myself to meet her pitying gaze.

‘Look,’ she says, and I think she feels almost as awkward as I do. ‘I’ll leave it here. And, sure, just put it in the bin if you don’t want it. Yeah?’

‘Okay. Thanks,’ I mouth, not quite able to push the words out in case my tears start to fall.

Ellie gobbles her breakfast in record time. And the coffee fills me with warmth.

I pay at the counter and I take the change.

‘Have a good day,’ the waitress calls after us and I wonder if she knows how much I would love to leave that change as a tip, if only I could.

With a full tummy, Ellie skips all the way to the crèche.

‘Mor-ning,’ Alannah chirps as she greets us at the door of the crèche. Her Christmas jumper with a brick chimney and a pair of Santa legs stuck upside down makes Ellie laugh.

‘Oh, you like it,’ Alannah says, pressing a button on her sleeve that makes the chimney light up. Ellie squeals with joy and claps. ‘It’s Christmas jumper day next Friday,’ Alannah continues.

‘What? No? I thought that was last week?’ I squeak.

‘It was supposed to be. But so many of the kids had that horrible vomiting bug and missed it. So we rescheduled. Cos it’s a fundraiser, we really want the numbers up, you know?’

‘Oh, I know.’

Alannah crouches to come down to my daughter’s height. ‘I can’t wait to see yours, Ellie. I bet it’s something special.’

I swallow a lump as Alannah stands back up to smile at me. I can practically see the euro signs in her dark brown eyes.

‘Well, in you go,’ Alannah says, placing her hand on Ellie’s back, encouraging her forward. ‘The boys and girls are making a Santa jigsaw. You should go help them. I’ll be in in a minute. I just want a quick word with your mammy.’

Ellie looks back at me and I smile. ‘Go on, chickpea. I’ll see you later.’

Ellie hugs my leg, before giving me a quick wave and running off to join her friends behind the glass wall that has been hand-painted for Christmas. Reindeer and holly and stars stare at me in festive reds and golds.

‘Getting the shopping done early,’ Alannah says, pointing to the Tesco bags in my hands.

‘Something like that,’ I say, cringing and praying she doesn’t ask what I bought.

‘Good idea. Gosh, I went into town last night trying to pick up a few bits for my family Secret Santa. Ugh, never again. Place was thronged. Couldn’t wait to get out of there.’

‘Town is very busy, so I best get going, or I’ll be late.’

‘Um,’ Alannah says, making a face as she tilts her head to one side in a way that tells me I don’t want to hear whatever she’s going to say next.

‘Yes?’ I say, nonetheless.

‘Speaking of being late,’ she goes on, and all I can think about is how the bag in my left hand is slipping; it feels as if the handle is going to snap from the weight of all Ellie’s teddies. ‘I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we’ve had to put our late fee up.’

‘Oh.’

‘I know. I know. But nothing crazy. Just a tenner an hour.’

My eyes bulge. ‘That’s almost double.’

She shrugs. ‘Blame management. So, instead of fifteen euro, it’ll be twenty-five an hour. Or part thereof.’

‘Part of? So, if I’m ten minutes late, it’ll be twenty-five quid?’ I can feel my palms begin to sweat.

‘Management.’ She shrugs again, wincing as if it pains her to share this information.

‘But the buses are a joke. They’re always a few minutes late. Last week I waited thirty minutes and then it passed by me full.’

‘I know, traffic is awful, isn’t it? But it is what it is. At least this way, staff are compensated. You’ll be glad to hear it all goes straight to them.’ She shrugs once more and the tic makes me want to scream. ‘And at this time of year every penny counts, you know yourself.’

You know yourself. It’s a generic phrase. But I doubt Alannah knows just how much every penny counts for Ellie and me. Or I certainly hope not, at least.

‘I better go,’ I say, swallowing.

‘Of course. Of course. Have a good day. See you at six.’

‘See you at six,’ I say, panicking that 6.01 will cost me twenty-five euro that I don’t have.