The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

Chapter 36

THIRTY-SIX

I almost miss Cora’s call. My phone is on silent and I’ve also turned off the vibrate function. The buzz, buzz, buzz of a phone vibrating on the ground is too risky when your life is that of a storage closet stowaway.

‘Hello,’ I whisper, placing the phone to my ear.

‘Hey. Just checking in. How are you feeling?

‘Much better, thanks.’ I lower my voice even more.

‘Where are you? I can barely hear you.’

‘Ellie’s asleep,’ I say, truthfully.

‘Ah, okay. Up for a visitor yet? I’m off tomorrow.’

‘Erm…’

‘It’s just a catch-up, Bea. I haven’t seen you in ages. I promise not to tire you out.’

It’s getting harder and harder to keep avoiding her. And each time I fob her off hurts my soul a little bit more.

‘I miss Ellie too,’ she says, scratching at my heart.

Ellie is tucked up in a mound of blankets on the storage room floor, sleeping with a huge smile on her face. She was exhausted after a fun day with Malcolm. They walked in the park. Fed some ducks. Got some ice cream in December. Got some brain freeze, which they both complained about for a solid thirty minutes. Watched a movie. Ate popcorn and jellies for lunch. Ordered pizza. With pineapple. Ellie loved it. Shayne said it was a crime. Malcolm taught Ellie to jive even though she stood on his toes countless times. Shayne wanted to drop us home, as usual.

‘I would really rather you stay with him,’ I said, and I didn’t feel guilty about using Malcolm’s health as a cover, because I truthfully don’t want him to be alone.

‘But—’ Shayne tried to protest.

‘Please. Just take care of him.’

Shayne nodded. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow for some kiting?’

‘Yes you will.’

‘And I don’t suppose there’s any point offering to come pick you up?’

‘Nope. We’ll meet you there.’

‘Okay.’

‘Okay.’

There was a moment at the front door where we were so close that if either of us leaned forward, our lips might have touched. And there was a moment at the front door where I really, really wanted that to happen. But, instead, Shayne said, ‘Good night.’ And Ellie and I started walking.

‘Why didn’t you call Finton?’ Cora says, and I wonder if she’s been talking all this time while I zoned out.

‘Hmm?’

‘Last night. He’s back from his sister’s in Mayo. He’d have picked you up. Brought you and Ellie to ours.’

‘I don’t have his number.’

‘Oh. God, really?’

‘Nope.’

‘Jesus, Bea.’ I can hear her embarrassment. ‘Hang on, I’ll give it to you right now. In case there’s ever another emergency. Have you got a pen?’

I do not have a pen. But even if I did, I’m not going to write down Finton’s number. Or punch it into my phone, or whatever else Cora is about to suggest. But, even if I had Finton’s number, I would never call him.

I don’t answer her and when I leave a long pause, I think we are both thinking similarly.

‘Who watched Ellie?’ Cora asks, her voice almost as low as mine. ‘Surely she didn’t stay in the hospital with you?’

I want to scream that Ellie is in the hospital with me right now. But, of course, I bite my tongue. I can literally hear the alarm bells chiming in Cora’s head. My story has more holes than my work tights. I should probably regret calling her in blind panic last night. Setting her sniffer instincts off, like a dog after a bone. But I don’t. I miss confiding in my best friend. Part of me wishes I could tell her everything. But another part, a greater, more guarded part, knows I will have to settle for telling her some.

‘I called Shayne,’ I whisper at last.

‘Who?’

I take a breath. ‘My boss’s son.’

‘Oh wow,’ she says, and I can almost hear her eyes widen and a wicked smirk creep across her face. ‘Beatrice Alright, you cheeky devil, the boss’s son.’ She laughs. ‘I like it.’

‘It’s not like that,’ I say quickly. ‘I’m friends with his grandad.’

‘You’re what?’

‘Long story, but I met this old man who needed some help, and then I met Shayne and turns out they’re Elaine’s father and son. But they don’t speak.’

‘Wait? Who doesn’t speak? The old man? Is he a patient?’

‘No. No. Not like he can’t speak. He can. A lot, and he can be pretty sarcastic actually.’

‘Riiiight. But you’re friends with him and his sarcasm.’

‘Yes.’

‘And the son? Are you friends with him too?’

‘The grandson,’ I correct. ‘Malcolm’s grandson. Elaine’s son.’

‘Okay, gotcha. So who doesn’t speak?’ she asks, excitedly invested. I imagine her lying on her couch with her feet up, enjoying hearing all about the new people in my life. I haven’t had new people to gossip about like this sense our college days and a warm wave of nostalgia washes over me.

‘Elaine and Malcolm. Something must have happened years ago, and they haven’t spoken since.’

‘Oh, that’s sad,’ she says. ‘And the son?’

‘He’s home from New York, bad breakup, so he’s taking care of Malcolm.’

‘So he’s single,’ she chirps.

‘Cora!’

‘What? It’s just an observation. Is he hot?’

‘Cora,’ I scold again, my voice finally above a whisper.

‘Ha ha, so he is.’

‘It’s not like that.’

She continues to giggle. ‘You said that already.’

‘Did I?’

‘Yes. Which means it is totally like that. Oh my God, Bea. You like the hot grandson.’

I do. I really, really do.

‘He’s going back to New York soon,’ I say.

‘Well, then you need to hurry up. Does he know you like him?’

‘Declan and I just broke up,’ I say. ‘I’m not looking to date anyone right now. Shayne is just a friend. That’s all.’

‘Um.’ I hear Cora purse her lips and I can tell she doesn’t believe me. Of course she doesn’t. I am a terrible liar. But the truth is nothing can happen between Shayne and me, and not just because he’s leaving the country soon. Even if he stayed in Ireland, I can’t date the guy. I’m already running out of excuses every time he offers to drop me home. I can tell he suspects something isn’t quite right. I cannot risk anyone, even Shayne or Malcolm, finding out the truth.

‘Cora, will you keep it down,’ I hear Finton’s voice in the distance. ‘I’ve work at sixa.m.’

It’s Cora’s turn to whisper as she says, ‘I gotta go. But text Shayne. Even if it’s just a simple good night. Let him know you’re thinking about him before you fall sleep. What’s the harm in that?’

‘Yeah. Maybe. Na’night,’ I say.

‘Night.’

The line goes dead and I lower the phone and hold it against my chest for a while, thinking. Maybe I could send Shayne a text. I could thank him again for his help with Ellie and for picking me up. I could tell him I’m excited about kite-flying tomorrow. But I said all of those things already and, besides, it’s late. He’s probably already asleep. I finally work up the courage to take Cora’s advice and send a simple ‘good night,’ but when I turn my phone round, I see that a message has already come in.

Bea. I miss you. Can we talk? Dec x

I almost drop my phone. It’s a new number, and no doubt a new phone. I hum and haw for a long time before I save it to my contacts and type out a reply with shaking fingers.

What is there to talk about?

There’s a moment after I press send and before his next message arrives where I want him to apologise. I want him to say he made a terrible mistake and he loves us. I want him to want us. My screen lights up and I read his next message.

Everything.

Ellie. Me. You.

Us.

I miss you so much.

I never should have left.

I lower the phone and stare at the ground, replaying his words over in my mind. I wait for relief. Or happiness. Or that warm feeling that comes with kind words from a loved one. But I feel nothing. Not a single thing. It doesn’t make me feel better to know he’s thinking about us. I doesn’t fill me with happiness to know he regrets leaving us, the way I fantasised that it would. That first night on Cora’s couch, I lay awake for hours just willing him to text and say something so very like what he’s finally said now. Lying there, staring at Cora’s ceiling, I would have taken him back in a heartbeat. I would have swept over everything and hidden it under the carpet for the rest of my life. But now, sitting cramped in a smelly storage room, it’s all so different. I am numb and cold and Declan’s insincere words slide past me as if I am made of ice. I bring my gaze back to my phone and type again.

It’s late

His reply is instant.

Can we talk tomorrow?

Another message chases it.

Please? I love you.

I scoff and Ellie stirs. I hold my breath, hoping she won’t wake. Thankfully, she settles back into a deep sleep. I watch her for a moment, consumed with love. I love every inch of her. Her button nose, her rosy cheeks, the subtle dimple in her chin. I would give my life for her if I had to. And right now, I think that’s exactly what I would be doing to if I agreed to talk to Declan. He doesn’t love me. I know that much now. I’m starting to suspect he never did. But he is Ellie’s father. And, while it’s hard to believe after the way he’s acted, I want to think he loves her. Maybe he wants to come back into her life. I have to at least find out. My heart hurts, and, much as I don’t want to, I send another message.

Okay.

Great!

Where are you staying?

I can come meet you?

How does 10a.m. sound?

‘Are you kidding me?’ I say aloud, as if I am expecting a response from the universe.

I am busy in the morning.

Meet me at 6p.m.

The coffee shop under the apartment.

My heart aches as I type the word apartment . A place where the three of us once seemed to fit so well, like jigsaw pieces designed to slot together. Our jigsaw is broken now. Missing a piece and bent out of shape. Even with all three pieces united again, I don’t think they will slot back together any more.

Okay. No problem. 6p.m. is good. I can’t wait. Dec x

I try to sleep but when I close my eyes it feels as if the ground beneath me is spinning. I think about Malcolm and Shayne and kites and how excited I was for a day with people who are the nearest to a family I have ever known. But they are not my family. I don’t have family. But Ellie does. And I have to prioritise that. I have to let Declan back in. Even if it breaks my heart.