Page 105 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

She places her hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently.

‘This is a lot, I know,’ she says. ‘But don’t be scared. You’re safe now.’

I wonder what Elaine told her about my situation. It’s clear Millicent thinks I’m hiding from someone. Perhaps, I am.

‘I’ll leave you to get settled,’ she says, pulling her hand away, and when she lets me go I suddenly feel cold. ‘But if you need anything, I’m working all night. You’ll usually find me near the coffee machine. Or playing table tennis, if I can muster up a partner.’

‘Thank you,’ I try again, and this time a meek sound like a mouse is trapped in my throat comes out.

Millicent leaves and I don’t have time to say a word to Ellie before she climbs into the waiting bed and tucks the covers under her chin. I had forgotten how small she looks in an actual bed. My eyes sting and I want nothing more than to climb in beside her and sleep until this whole nightmare ends. But as I slip off my runners, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, praying it’s Shayne returning my call, but instead I find Cora’s name on the screen. My finger hovers over the accept button but I let it ring out. I can’t pretend to be okay. Not right now. But it has stopped for less than a second when it starts again.Go away. Please, please go away, I beg silently in my head. When it almost rings out for a third time is when I begin to worry that something might be wrong. Cora never calls persistently like this. Not even that time in college when she thought she had the world’s worst hangover but it turned out to be appendicitis and she needed emergency surgery. I pick up.

‘Hello,’ I say, and it comes out as if I’m breathless.

‘Bea,’ she says, sounding equally short of air.

‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.

‘It’s Finton. We broke up.’

I inhale, not sure what to say. Finton is an asshole. I haven’t recently come to this conclusion, and it’s not because he didn’t want a small child sleeping on his couch indefinitely. That’s not what he signed up for, I get that. I don’t like him because of how he treats Cora. Always demanding so much of her time and her headspace, as if he deserves all of her and she shouldn’t waste space on anyone else. He always has something negative to say about everyone. Cora’s mam is too loud apparently, and her dad too quiet. Her friends and colleagues too passive-aggressive. I don’t know what he says about me behind my back. I don’t care. But I care that for years Cora has carried the weight of hiding it.And yet, as I hear her try to squash gentle sobbing, I am broken-hearted for her, because losing someone who is the biggest part of your life is shit, asshole or not. I should know.

‘Can I come around to yours?’ she asks. ‘I can’t be here.’

‘Oh.’ I swallow, flopping onto the bed next to Ellie. It groans under my weight and reminds me of the camping trips my parents took me on when I was a kid. I try to pretend Ellie and I are on an adventure just like the ones of my childhood but, as I glance around the dorm, filled with other women equally broken and lost, my imagination is not that good and it’s hard to pretend that this room is anything but an endurance test for us all right now.

‘Bea?’ Cora whispers, requesting my attention again. ‘You still there?’

‘Yeah. Sorry. Just shocked. I dunno what to say, Cor. This is massively shit. I’m sorry.’

‘Yeah. Thanks. We can talk about it at your place, eh? What’s your address again? My brain is a mess and I can’t remember for shit.’

My mind races. I would love nothing more than to open my front door and wrap my arms round my best friend and give her the hug she so badly needs. The hug we both need. But I don’t have a front door. And no matter how hard I try, I cannot think of an excuse for the situation. I can’t lie to her any more. Not now, when she needs me.

‘I’m not at home right now,’ I say.

Cora chokes back a muffled cough. ‘Oh. Erm. Okay. No worries. Later then? I should probably go for a walk anyway, I’m a mess.’

‘Cora.’ I take a deep breath.

‘Um.’

‘I need to tell you something.’

‘Okay.’

She sounds confused, and I can’t blame her. Why would I pick this exact moment to tell her something important? I wish I didn’t have to.

‘I won’t be at home later, either,’ I say.

‘Oh.’

‘Yeah. That’s what I need to tell you. It’s my situation. It’s eh, well, it’s complicated.’

‘Oh.’

I realise I am phrasing this in the worst possible way.

‘I just?—’

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