Page 99 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

Shayne’s smiling as he turns to me and whispers, ‘It’s a miracle.’

FORTY

NEW YEAR’S EVE

Ellie hasn’t stopped talking about the Viking boat thing in three whole days.And then Shayne said this. And Malcolm did that. And then we saw this. And then we saw that.Sometimes she rambles on so quickly and intensely that she runs out of air and has to pause to take a deep breath as if she’s a whoopee cushion refiling before bursting again.

Ellie hasn’t stopped talking. And at the same time, I haven’t heard a word from Shayne since. He offered to drop her back to my apartment after pizza, but I made up some lame excuse that I can’t even remember now and asked him to bring her to the hospital again. I was cleaning the men’s bathrooms when he arrived, and Órlaith on reception watched her until my shift finished. I texted him straight after.

Thank you so much. Ellie had the best day. You’re a life-saver. Tell Malcolm I said hi.

I added a kiss and took it back out several times before I hit send. His reply was instant.

Any time. We had the best day too. Grandad says hi. Shayne x

I’ve read his message countless times since.Grandad says hi. Shayne. Kiss.Kiss! He typed a kiss. I run my finger over it again and again and try not to read too much into it. It’s just a sign-off, I tell myself. Nothing more. I’ve sent a couple of messages since. One thanking him and Malcolm again for looking after Ellie. Another to tell him that Ellie is now obsessed with Vikings. And a final message to ask how Malcolm’s itchy head is and enquire if he will be wearing hats all the time outdoors from now on. Shayne hasn’t read a single one.

On New Year’s Eve, I send one more.

Hi. I have the day off. I was wondering if you’re free?

I follow it quickly with another.

And your grandad too, of course.

My heart sinks when a long time passes and no reply follows. I resign myself to a day wandering around the city with Ellie, killing time until we can go to bed again, long before the clock strikes twelve. Everywhere is busy. People are drunk by early afternoon, and they are overflowing from bars and restaurants and spilling onto the streets, full of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and booze and excited to ring in a new year. We try visiting the ducks in StStephen’s Green Park, but there’s a guy taking a wee at the edge of the water, weaving from side to side, with a can of Guinness in his hand. I take Ellie tightly by the hand and we move on to visit the Disney store on Grafton Street. Ellie is overjoyed as we walk through the door and straight to thedress-up section. A teenage staff member with a full face of airbrushed-perfect make-up and long, styled hair approaches and sweetly says, ‘We’re closing.’

My mouth rounds. ‘Oh.’

‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘Closing early, so we can go out.’ She points to the couple of guys, around the same age, standing behind the counter. ‘But if there’s anything you want, I can check it out for you now.’

‘Oh no, that’s okay.’

‘You sure, it’s no trouble.’

I glance at the price tag of the blue-and-gold Cinderella dress Ellie is hugging and my eyes water.

‘Sorry, chickpea. Time to go.’

Ellie begins to cry, and clutches the dress tightly.

‘We have to go,’ I repeat, as I prise the dress out of her small hands. Ellie wails loudly, a full tantrum erupting. The staff look on, unimpressed.

‘Please, Ellie,’ I plead with her, close to breaking point, as if she will take pity on me and instantly snap out of her tantrum. ‘Please stop.’

I place the dress back on the rack, and lift Ellie into my arms. She bucks against me and I can’t make it outside quick enough.

‘Byeeeeee,’ the girl behind the counter chirps as we walk away.

Outside, the shutters of all the shops are coming down and Ellie becomes distracted by a guy with a guitar busking. He’s really very good as he sings one of my favourite Coldplay songs. I glance at my watch. It’s fourp.m. I had forgotten everywhere closes early on New Year’s Eve. Town seems to be divided into people with kids, who are heading home with a takeaway of choice tucked under their arm as they push a buggy or hold hands with a toddler, preparing for a night in front of the TV, and childless people, dolled up in their finest. Women are mostlydressed in sequins and sparkle from head to toe like the glitter baubles on the giving tree outside StStephen’s Green Park. The guys shimmer less, but are equally energetic. There’s something in the air. I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s like happiness mixed with nostalgia mixed with vodka. Or something like that. A collective sense of joy as one year comes to a close and another begins. A sense that all the shite that happened this year will magically vamoose at midnight, as if the stuffed fairy godmother toy in the Disney store will spring to life at midnight and wave her wand, and a new year and a fresh start will sprinkle all of us like glitter raining from the clouds. I give it until ten past before someone throws up on the corner of Grafton Street, someone else steps in it and everyone realises that it's just the same shit, different year.

‘C’mon, Ellie,’ I say, as a group of cackling girls about my age zigzag towards us in short skirts and chunky heels. ‘We should go.’

But I don’t go. I seem to be stuck to the spot, unable to take my eyes off them. They seem so carefree and youth sits brightly in their faces, even under layers of make-up. They stop at a small gelato bar that despite the minus-three temperature is busy, with a queue snaking out the doorway. They don’t notice me as they line up outside, shivering in fashionable but totally unsuitable for the weather clothes. I suspect I look years older than them. I feel older. My bones ache as if I’ve broken each one at some point or another and my eyes are heavy and I have to battle with each blink to keep them open.

‘Mammy.’ I hear Ellie’s little voice cut into my thoughts. ‘Mammy. Maaaaammmm.’

‘Yes. Yes,’ I say, widening my sleepy eyes to look at her. ‘You okay?’

---