Page 100 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

‘Can we get ice cream?’

‘Um.’

I really don’t want to refuse such a simple request. And with Declan back soon, I guess there will be money again for things like ice cream and cinema trips. It will all be better, I tell myself. It has to be. That’s why I’m taking him back, after all. I’m doing it for Ellie.

‘Pleeeeease,’ Ellie tries again and I realise I haven’t given her an answer.

I nod. ‘Sure. Let’s get ice cream.’

I take a deep breath, that’s so cold it seems to shock my lungs, and I lead us to join the queue.

One of the girls, in a tiny miniskirt and platform Converse, notices us.

‘Oh my God, your little sister is so cute!’ she says, smiling at Ellie as if she’s a pixie or a fairy or some other sort of magical creature. ‘And you guys look so alike. Don’t they look like literal twins?’ She nudges the ribs of her friend, who turns and says, ‘Totally.’

The first girl keeps going, her speech a little slurry from booze but not so bad I can’t make out what she’s saying. ‘I nearly got stuck babysitting tonight. I’ve four younger brothers. But I told my parents no way, you know. I have a life too, yeah? You’re making me feel guilty now.’ She follows with a giggle and hiccup.

‘Your sister is the best,’ she tells Ellie as if she knows me. ‘You’re so lucky.’

Ellie giggles and points at me. ‘She’s my mammy.’

‘Oh fuck, shit.’ The girl stumbles back. Then she laughs hard. As if I’m the funniest thing she’s ever seen. ‘So sorry. I totally thought you were like our age.’ She wiggles her finger in the air and I think she is trying to draw a circle around her and her friends. ‘I guess I’m more drunk than I thought. Hic.’

‘I guess so,’ I say, but I am smiling. My bones may ache from sleeping on a hospital floor and there may be bags under my eyes that would put a Tesco bag for life to shame. And I may spendthe majority of my days with the elderly and convalescent. But to a stranger, I’m just a girl, and I like that.

I buy Ellie a strawberry ice cream, and I even splash out and get a pistachio one for myself. I plan to sit in the park for a while, but the gate is locked and Ellie is too tired to keep walking. When rain starts out of nowhere we take cover in the door way of a closed shop. Soon, puddles are forming on the street and I suspect the best thing we can do now is settle in for a long night back at the hospital.

FORTY-ONE

Ellie and I join MrsBrennan and MrsMorgan on the ward for a game of cards. MrsBrennan’s son Vincy and his wife, Rachel, have come to visit, and join the game. We’re about halfway through a second round when Vincy reaches into a paper bag next to the bedside locker and produces a bottle of prosecco.

‘That’s not allowed,’ MrsMorgan says quickly with a wagging finger.

‘Well, if you don’t want any,’ he says, hiding the bottle behind his back.

‘That’s not what I said!’

He chuckles. I should say something. I should back MrsMorgan up and reiterate that alcohol is strictly prohibited for patients. But it’s New Year’s Eve, and who knows if it will be MrsBrennan’s last.

‘I’d love a glass if there’s one on offer,’ I say, boldly.

Vincy has come prepared, with a screw-cap so there’s no faffing about with a corkscrew, and no loud pop. But it’s nonetheless exciting when he twists the lid off and some fizz spills over the top.

‘Hang on,’ I say, with a finger in the air. I dash to the water cooler on the corridor and fetch several plastic cups. A cheerygrin lights up MrsBrennan’s whole face when I return with cups in hand.

Vincy pours a small splash of prosecco into each cup and I pass them round. I give MrsBrennan the fullest cup, and pass MrsMorgan an almost equally overflowing one.

‘Here’s to the new year,’ Vincy says, raising his cup.

‘To the new year,’ everyone echoes, and with all our cups in the air we tap them together. There’s no clink as the flimsy plastic connects, but it’s a still a joy.

‘You’re a good boy,’ MrsBrennan says, sipping from the clear plastic cup with her pinkie extended. ‘The best thing to ever happen to me, you are. And when I’m gone?—’

‘Stop it, Mam. Don’t talk like that,’ Vincy says, cutting his mother off. ‘You’ll be fine. You’ll see.’

‘The kid is right,’ MrsMorgan says, smiling at Vincy as if he is Ellie’s age and not a middle-aged man. ‘You’re not going anywhere. Not until you learn to stop cheating. Now, are we playing cards or what?’

A heated game of poker ensues, and, while none of use lose ourselves quite enough to forget where we are, the prosecco is delicious, the company is fun and it’s altogether a lovely New Year’s Eve indeed. We play for as long as MrsBrennan and MrsMorgan can keep their eyes open, but what feels all too soon the elderly patients are flagging and Vincy announces it’s time to go.

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