Page 15 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

Goodbye.

I send several messages after that, in various tones. From pleading with him to forward some contact details – his address, his other number, even what area of London he’s in – to much more aggressive and angry messages calling him out on his horrendous behaviour. There are a lot of swear words and angry emojis in those messages. But none of them deliver and I can only guess he has switched his phone off. The sinking feeling that comes with knowing he won’t switch it on again almost drowns me.

I’m not late but Elaine is glaring at me with narrow eyes and folded arms as soon as I reach the ward.

‘What?’ I shrug.

‘Did you ask Órlaith to check on a patient yesterday?’

‘Eh…’ I try to rewind my mind to the day just past, but all I can think about is Declan’s back as he walked out the door.

‘She said you rang and asked her to send security outside to check on an old man.’

‘Oh. Yes. I did,’ I say, remembering the man with scarcely any hair and no hat. ‘I was worried about him.’

‘Just not worried enough to check he was all right before you walked off.’

‘He said he wasn’t a patient.’

Elaine rolls her eyes.

‘I checked on him. I asked Órlaith to send security to double-check. But it’s not my job to?—’

‘Oh, Bea, really. I thought you’d have more compassion.’

‘I do,’ I say, as a mix of anger and upset swirls inside me. ‘I was in a hurry to get to the crèche to pick my daughter up and I had to go. Is he all right? Did something happen?’

Elaine puffs out. ‘Did you know MrFlynn went walkabout last night?’

I search my brain for a MrFlynn but an image won’t come.

‘Room 115. Tall man. Kidney stones and dementia.’

Panic flashes inside me like a bolt of lightning. I’ve worked on the geriatric ward for three years, and I’ve been warned over and over that all eyes must be kept on senile patients. I try to remember if Malcolm was tall. He was sitting but his legs didn’t seem particularly long. And he seemed fully lucid to me. If he was at all confused, I wouldn’t have left him.

‘Did you find him?’ I ask, worried.

‘MrFlynn. Yes, we found him. Turns out he was locked in MrsWard’s bathroom.’

‘Oh. That’s good.’

‘We didn’t find your friend in the car park though. Turns out, this time, he really wasn’t a patient. But for heaven’s sake, Bea. If you are ever unsure again. Do. Not. Walk. Away.’

I nod. Accepting the scolding and regretting asking Órlaith for help.

‘Now, let’s forget about all this and get to work, yeah?’ Elaine says, unfolding her stiff arms and smiling.

The day passes in a decidedly average way. I wash floors, change bed linen, clean bathrooms and unblock stubborn shower drains. At some point between it all I text the landlord.

Hello. My name is Beatrice Alright and I am interested in renting your apartment. I work at StHelen’s Hospital and I have a 4yr old daughter. I am very tidy and have no pets. Please could you let me know how much it would cost monthly? Thank you!

His reply is almost instant.

Hello Beatrice. Which apartment are you interested in?

I blush, and realise that he owns more than one apartment in the city. I imagine he’s rather wealthy and there’s a pang of envy in my gut for this stranger.

Number 17 Burken Cross please.

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