Page 29 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

‘Afraid so.’

‘Well, don’t let this old man keep you.’

‘Tomorrow?’ I ask.

‘Tomorrow.’

My stomach somersaults as I walk away. I have absolutely no idea how I’ll make tomorrow work. I can’t send Ellie to crèche for another two days and after today I can’t bring her to work again, that’s for sure. Despite the cold, a bead of stressed-out perspiration trickles down my spine.

‘I need to do a wee-wee,’ Ellie says, out of nowhere.

I squeeze my eyes shut and don’t bother asking if she can hold it. I find myself secretly missing the days of nappies when I could take her anywhere without regular pitstops. I check my watch again. We’ll most definitely miss the bus if we go back inside.

‘I’m bursting. I’m bursting,’ she insists, dramatically.

We’ve no choice but to hurry back inside, and into the busy toilets at reception. Ellie is hopping from one foot to the other by the time a stall is free. After, I roll up her sleeves and let her washher own hands while I take out my phone to text the landlady of the flat.

Could we meet at 6.30 instead please? So sorry. Got delayed at work.

Have a viewing at 6.15. First come first served. Unless you want to pay a deposit now to secure?

I don’t waste time thinking about it. I need this flat. It doesn’t matter if it’s like the Ritz or a cattle barn. It’s all I can afford.

Perfect! Thank you.

Revolut is fine. I’ll let the other person know it’s gone as soon as I get your deposit.

Ellie is happily making bubbles between her hands with the soap as I open my banking app. I got paid recently but I’m still two euro short of the 500-euro first month’s rent. I take a deep breath and send 490 euro and cross my fingers that she’s not a stickler over a tenner. I keep the remaining eight euro for bus fare.

I slide my phone into my pocket.

‘C’mon, chickpea,’ I say, trying to sound cheery and not exhausted and hungry. ‘Let’s go see our new flat.’

‘Yay,’ Ellie cheers, having absolutely no idea what she is delighted about.

Outside, we run into Malcolm again, who looks surprised to see us.

‘Still here,’ he says.

‘This little one needed the bathroom,’ I say, placing my hand on Ellie’s head.

‘When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go.’ He smiles. ‘Trust me. I understand.’

‘And now we’re very late,’ I say.

‘You should invest in an alarm clock. It might help you rush less if your time management improved.’

‘Children don’t pee to the clock, Malcolm,’ I tell him.

‘Well,’ he says, with a firm nod. ‘Maybe they should. I always make sure to use the facilities before I leave the house. Serves me well.’

‘Do you ever go inside?’ I ask, shifting from slight irritation to concern once again for the hours he seems to spend sitting out here in the cold. ‘There are bathrooms inside. And a coffee shop. The coffee isn’t great, to be honest. But it’s warm—’ I cut myself off before adding anything about a scone or biscuits, in case money is as tight for him as it is for me.

‘I don’t drink coffee,’ he says. ‘Terrible stuff.’

I don’t mention tea, feeling it may be redundant. They could sell unicorns and rainbows in the tuck shop and I still doubt Malcolm would set foot through the doors. Instead, I ask, ‘Are you waiting for someone out here? Do they give you a lift home?’

‘I can walk just fine, thank you very much.’

---