Page 31 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

‘Joke will be on them when they fall,’ he tells Ellie.

She agrees, although she’s not entirely sure to what.

I fetch return tickets and we hop onboard. A woman about my age gets up and gives Malcolm and Ellie her seat. I stand next to them, dizzy and hungry as I grip the silver pole. We take one bus and then another and every so often someone titters at Malcolm’s footwear. He is wholly unfazed. And, slowly, I findmyself admiring his tenacity that keeps him so sturdy on his feet in the snow.

‘We’re here,’ I announce as we reach the address of the new flat at six twenty-ninep.m.

‘Nice. Very nice,’ Malcolm says, looking up and down the road, which is lined with a mix of terrace yellow brick houses, Weetabix-like apartments and tall, leafless trees that I imagine in summer are green and vibrant and beautiful.

Bubbles of excitement fizz inside me as I imagine Ellie and me living on this inviting road. I double-check the address on my phone, and press the buzzer for number seventeen.

It takes a moment, but soon there is a crackle and a deep voice says, ‘Hello.’

Surprised to hear a man’s voice, I clear my throat before I reply. ‘Hello. I’m looking for—’ I cut myself off, realising that I don’t actually know who I’m looking for. I saved the landlady’s number in my phone as MsNew Flat and, in my desperation to secure a viewing, I forgot to get her name. I try again. ‘Hi. I’m Bea Alright. I’m here about the flatshare.’

‘That flatshare?’

‘Erm yes. The room. The lady on the phone said to come at six thirty.’

‘Love, I think you have the wrong flat. There’s no room for rent here.’

‘Oh. Gosh. Sorry.’

‘No problem. Bye now.’

There’s a crackle and a sound like hanging up and then the voice is gone.

My face stings as Ellie and Malcolm stare at me. ‘I could have sworn…’ I check my messages again and then I cross-reference the building name and number. ‘Number seventeen, Yellow Oak Block,’ I mumble.

‘This is Yellow Oak Block,’ Malcolm confirms, pointing to the plaque clearly displayed on the wall. ‘Maybe you pressed the wrong button.’

I perk up. ‘Maybe.’

‘I don’t know why they can’t label things like this correctly,’ he says, pointing to the small square of flat buzzers stacked on the wall like piano keys.

I try buzzer after buzzer and the answer is always the same.Wrong flat.Finally, I try the first buzzer again. The man who answers is less patient this time. At last, he says, ‘Look, love, the only ones here are my partner and my dog. We have no interest in renting out a room to anyone. Sounds to me like someone is having you on.’

‘I paid a deposit,’ I say, desperately.

‘Well, then, I’d say someone has scammed you because this ismyflat and it is not for rent.’

My intake of breath is sharp and almost painful.

‘Go home, love.’

The buzzer goes dead once more and I know not to ring it again. I call the landlady’s number and the automated‘this number is not in service’reply almost doubles me over. I think of my near-empty bank account as I look around the street. I would so happily pay every penny I have for Ellie and me to live here. I think about crèche and work tomorrow. I think about Declan and the lease on the apartment where I was once so happy. I think about my empty stomach that rumbles. Finally, I look at my little girl and think about how I am possibly going to keep her safe with no money and no roof over our heads.

The inside of my head is so noisy and busy, I have to hold it with my hands because it feels as if traffic might burst through my skull at any second. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing on the footpath with my head in my hands before I feel Malcolm’s hand press firmly on my shoulder.

‘The little one needs feeding.’

I lower my hands and glance at Ellie. There are tears in her eyes and she’s staring back at me with the concerned expression of an adult.

‘I’m hungry,’ she mumbles, and I wonder how many times she has told me this information and I was too lost in blind panic to see or hear her. Suddenly, I am wildly grateful that Malcolm is here, holding her hand. Keeping her safe, when I seem to have lost the ability to. My movements are slow and convalescent-like. I wrangle with my brain to speak. To say something reassuring for Ellie’s sake.

The wordslet’s go homecircle my head like a hamster on a wheel. But when I try to open my mouth nothing but a throaty gasp comes out. Home? Soon that word won’t exist for us. And the fear is crippling me. Finally, my eyes focus and fall on Malcolm’s back as he leads Ellie away. They’re moving at a snail’s pace, and I could easily catch them with a couple of fast strides. But nonetheless, a wave of protectiveness surges inside me and kick-starts me.

‘Hey,’ I call out. ‘What are you doing?’

---