Page 54 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

Ellie is ecstatic when she finds a Christmas jumper ready and waiting for her. It didn’t take me all that long to pull it together last night. I found a lovely woolly white jumper in the lost and found box. I knew it would be too big, but I tell myself that oversized is all the rage, even for four-year-olds. I borrowed a suture needle and some thread, although I made sure to bin it after so some poor sod doesn’t end up with tinsel stitched above his eyebrow, and I turned up the sleeves and tacked red tinsel all round the cuffs. I stitched the green tinsel across the front in my best attempt to create a Christmas tree. It wasn’t exactly clear what it was until I attached the decorations I took from the actual tree. I doubt I’m going to win a prize for my artistry any time soon, but Ellie’s shriek of joy and huge hug and kiss, morning breath and all, is the best prize I could ask for.

‘Right, chickpea,’ I say, peeling her chubby arms from round my neck. ‘You need to brush those teeth.’

I wait until everyone is distracted by breakfast before I sneak us into the patients’ bathroom and freshen up. After, we dress quickly. I help Ellie into her new jumper and we’re both delighted with the results. It can’t be comfortable, with so much wool and tinsel, but Ellie never once complains, although shedoes occasionally scratch her neck. I slip into my uniform in record time and set about hiding the evidence that Ellie and I spent the night. I fold the blankets and stuff them next to our bags behind the floor polisher. That thing is so big and heavy, no one ever moves it unless they absolutely have to. And, really, the only person who absolutely has to is me. Then it’s time to sneak out of the hospital before breakfast finishes up.

Ellie sings lines of various Christmas songs, mashed together to create one unique and slightly pitchy tune, and people on the bus are charmed by her excitement. The guy sitting beside us is sipping something cinnamon, and a lady behind us is chatting on her mobile about her shopping list.

‘And fresh herbs, don’t forget the fresh herbs. Your mother will complain about the stuffing if we use the dried stuff.’

Christmas spirit is thick in the air and there’s a sense of happiness that encapsulates everyone. As if the air is made of carols and glitter, and for a little while it’s all so lovely to get lost in the sense of it all as I stare out the window and watch the city pass by. Ellie is still singing as we reach crèche.

‘Look, look, ’lanna,’ Ellie calls out as she charges through the door ahead of me, peeling off her coat and hat and leaving them on the ground. ‘Do you like my jumper?’

Alannah looks momentarily horrified, before she pastes on a smile and with a clap of her hands says, ‘Wonderful, Ellie. It’s very lovely. ’

I pick up Ellie’s things and stuff them into her box as usual. There is an unmissable, foldaway table next to the storage unit. On top is a rectangular box which looks like a shoe box covered in colourful wrapping paper. Someone has written€5 Christmas Jumper Dayacross the front in thick black marker and there is a plastic Santa proudly standing next to it. It seems to have a motion sensor, because every time one of the other parentsdrops their donation into the box Santa springs to life, jiggling on the spot and announcing, ‘Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Christmas.’

Ellie’s face fills with joy each time and I am painfully aware of Alannah’s eyes on us. I reach into my pocket and pull out a clenched hand, then I walk over to the table and drop my hand into the box full of fivers and coins. I leave a fist full of air behind and whisper, ‘Sorry, Santa.’

I jump when he loudly replies,‘Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Christmas.’

Alannah laughs and encourages Ellie to run along and play with her friends, and they all happily show each other their jumpers. The other kids’ jumpers boast shiny unicorns in Santa hats. Or well-known cartoon characters dressed for the occasion. Unsurprisingly, Ellie’s is the only hand-made creation. Surprisingly, however, the other kids seem to love her jumper, and they giggle when Ellie tickles their noses with the tinsel.

‘You didn’t have to go to so much trouble,’ Alannah tells me, staring Ellie’s way.

‘Weren’t we supposed to make our own?’ I say, cringing on the inside. ‘I thought it was a make-and-do thing.’

‘Erm, not really. But I love it. Maybe we’ll introduce that idea next year.’

‘Do. Do,’ I say. ‘It was a lot of fun.’

I’m not lying. I enjoyed making Ellie’s jumper, and the concentration tired me out and I finally slept afterwards.

I leave as Alannah strikes up a conversation with one of the staff members about whether or not it’s too late to suggests parents make a jumper.

‘We could run a competition; wouldn’t that be fun?’ I hear her say as I hurry out the door and start running so I don’t miss the bus. I have just enough time to make it back to the hospital and walk inside as if I am arriving for the first time today.

TWENTY-TWO

Routine takes shape quickly. I use opportunities throughout the day to sneak some food and board games into the storage room. Ellie’s favourites are strawberry jelly, cornflakes and apple juice. And she loves snakes and ladders, checkers and Connect4. A lot of the red Connect4 discs are missing. Ellie is always yellow and she always wins. We try to sneak into the storage room at the earliest opportunity, but sometimes Elaine stays late and we have to lap the grounds or take a walk into town to kill time. Ellie rarely complains; she’s too busy asking how many more sleeps until Santa.

Cora calls regularly.

‘So, how’s the new place? Is Ellie settling in? You still need to send me on your address. Come here for drinks. Or, I’ll come to you.’

The chitchat is effortless and I never lie.

‘Oh, you know. New place is a bit cramped but we’re making it work. Commute is good. But work is busy. I feel like I live here.’

‘I hear ya. I hear ya.’

There are plenty of missed calls too. I’ve started letting Cora’s number go to voicemail more and more often, especially asChristmas edges closer. I can’t have another conversation about joining her and her parents for the big day.

‘Please. Just have a think about it. That’s all I’m saying,’ her most recent voice message begins. ‘Finton is going to his parents so…’ There’s a pause before she goes on. ‘Mam and Dad haven’t seen you in ages and you know how much they love Ellie. They’d be so happy to have her bubbly little face brightening up all our Christmases. And it would get my mam off my back about when I’m going to settle down and pop a kid.’ She giggles awkwardly. ‘Anyway, pleeeeeeease. What do I have to do to convince you? Seriously, Bea. Call me back!’

My reply to Cora’s badgering is always consistent.

‘Ellie and I need this Christmas alone. We need to stand on our own feet. It’s a lovely offer, and please tell your mam and dad I was asking for them.’

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