Page 104 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

‘It will be all right,’ Elaine tells me. ‘We’ll get you back on your feet.’ Then she turns her attention towards the storage room and adds. ‘Let’s get you packed up, eh?’

FORTY-TWO

Elaine escorts us downstairs. She insisted on helping us with our bags, and now a Tesco plastic bag of teddies dangles from her hand. Her other arm is linked round mine, vise-like, and she keeps repeating, ‘It will be all right, Bea. It will.’ As if hearing her trying to convince herself she is doing the right thing somehow helps me or Ellie in any way. Ellie, thankfully, is sleeping in my arms. Her chest is pressed against mine and her head is resting on my shoulder. I can feel her warm, gentle breath on my neck as her legs flop beside my hips with each step forward. I’m struggling to keep hold of her and the other bag, but Elaine clearly has no intention of letting me go.

A taxi is waiting outside the main hospital doors. And the driver takes the plastic bags that encapsulates Ellie and my entire lives, and places them into the boot.

‘Straight to StClement’s, please,’ Elaine says commandingly, as if Ellie and I are planning to make a run for it at the first red traffic light. Where she thinks a homeless woman and four-year-old child plan to go is beyond me.

‘It’s a tenner extra for the kid’s seat,’ the driver says, opening the door, and I can see a grubby, backlessToy Storybooster seat that is suitable for a child older than Ellie.

‘Yes, yes, that’s fine,’ Elaine says, passing him some cash. ‘This should cover it.’

‘Grand,’ he says, and then he turns his attention to me and his eyes ask if I’m getting in.

‘You’ll be all right, Bea,’ Elaine says once more. ‘They’re expecting you. Millicent who runs the charity is a lovely woman. We had her father with us for end-of-life care a few years back. Very sad. Before you joined us, I think. Anyway, Millicent is looking forward to meeting you. She’ll be at reception when you arrive. And everything will?—’

‘Be all right,’ I finish for her, unable to bear hearing her say it again.

There’s a flash of something on her face. Sadness, or pity, I think. I’m too exhausted to try to make it out.

‘Yes. Yes, it will.’

‘Come on, Ellie,’ I whisper as I bend into the car and secure her in theToy Storyseat. ‘Shh, shh, it’s okay.’

Ellie doesn’t wake fully and when I climb in beside her I guide her head to rest on my shoulder. I take some deep, measured breaths and try to slow my racing pulse. But it doesn’t help. My heart is beating furiously, as if it might vibrate through my chest wall and kill me. If it wasn’t for Ellie, I’m not so sure death would be such a bad thing. My heart beats even faster, scared of the dark places my mind is going, and I try hard to get a grip.

‘You all right back there?’ the driver asks, sitting in behind the wheel.

‘Yes.’ I manage a meek mumble.

‘Don’t worry. That bastard will never touch you again,’ he says, and I’m not sure what Elaine told him. Maybe he thinks Declan hit us. If only he knew that what Declan has done to us is just as soul-destroying. With a confident nod as he starts the engine, ‘Let’s get you to safety,’ he adds, as if he should bewearing his underwear outside his trousers, the way all good superheroes do.

I can only imagine the strings Elaine had to pull to get me and Ellie into StClement’s. A respected charity for the homeless, it used to be a foodbank, but as homelessness in the city worsened the charity expanded and now they have several rooms for the needy. People I used to feel pity for. People we have become.

The drive is across town is short without traffic, and in less than ten minutes the driver announces, ‘We’re here, love. Safe and sound.’

We come to a stop outside an old, whitewashed building that appears to have once been a large church, or a convent perhaps. There are still stained glass windows and some crosses etched into the walls.

As Elaine promised, Millicent is waiting for us. We don’t have to go as far as reception to find her; she greets us at the car door as soon as the driver hops out and opens it for us.

‘Hello, Beatrice,’ she says, with a kind smile, ‘and this must be Ellie.’ She extends her hand and Ellie shakes it.

Millicent is a small, round woman with huge eyes and rosy cheeks.

‘I know this is scary,’ she says, taking the plastic bags from the driver. ‘But everyone here wants to help, and you can stay as long as you need to, okay?’

Past words, I just about manage a single nod.

Millicent shows us around, with a bag in each hand. And I wonder what the etiquette is. Should I take my bags, or leave her to look after them like a host? My face stings with the not-knowingness of it all. Millicent is saying something about cooking rules, and a reading group. I’m not taking any of it in. I spot a table tennis table somewhere, and a kettle and some teabags. I think I spy a toaster and a fridge too. There’sbathrooms and showers. And there’s a smell that reminds me of the hospital – like boiled veg masked with bleach.

‘This time of year is pretty busy, unfortunately. The cold weather makes sleeping rough dangerous,’ she says, leading us up some stairs with a threadbare-in-patches maroon carpet. ‘We only have a foldaway bed, but maybe you could share for tonight. We can make better arrangements in a couple of days when all the staff are back to work after the holidays. There’ll be some admin stuff, but we’ll worry about that then. Let’s just get you settled for now.’

After weeks sleeping crouched in the corner, sharing any sort of bed with Ellie sounds like a dream. Millicent leads us into an upstairs dormitory. It smells much more pleasant up here. Like apple shampoo, or summer potpourri. In spite of the lovely smell, the dorm also reminds me of the hospital, with its six beds. Three on each side, with their headboards spaced evenly against the wall behind them.

‘This is yours,’ Millicent says, pointing to a narrow bed shoved into a free space near a small wardrobe. She leaves the bags down on a leather armchair that looks as if a small animal has chewed the armrest. ‘Sheets are clean, don’t worry. Springs aren’t great though. Sorry about that.’

‘Thank you,’ I mouth, but no sound comes out.

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