Page 21 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

‘I should think so. Tomorrow.’

‘Oh, not tomorrow.’ I sigh. My feet feel rather warm and cosy in the wellies. ‘My little girl is sick, so…’

A flash of worry pans across his face as he turns to look at the hospital.

‘Oh, no. Nothing serious. Just a tummy bug. She’s not a patient. I just work here.’ I run my hand over my uniform as if to silently say, ‘See.’

He nods, accepting my explanation.

‘Okay. Well. I better go.’

I start running, and I almost chuckle out loud when I can pick up decent speed without slipping.

EIGHT

Ellie gets sick twice on the bus. The guy sitting beside us makes a face that tells me I really need to do something about the small puking human sitting on my knees, as if I can just press a button and deactivate vomit mode.

I apologise and tell him it’s going around and it’s highly contagious. He moves and I sit Ellie into his free seat and slowly the feeling returns to my legs. I clean up as best I can with a bunch of baby wipes and throw them into a plastic bag. By the time we reach our bus stop, Ellie is sleeping on my shoulder and normal colour is returning to her face. I scoop her up, along with my bag of vomity wipes and my regular bag, and waddle down the bus aisle, struggling to keep hold of everything. Wellies are no longer the best footwear for the situation, and slow me down as I feel the eyes of the other passengers on me, delighted my sick child and I are getting off.

Back at the flat, Ellie manages to keep down some toast and apple juice. Within half an hour she is a ball of energy again and asking if we can play Twister. I just about have enough energy to popFrozenon the telly and boil a kettle to make some instant noodles for my dinner. Ellie is asleep before Elsa strikes Annawith her magic and I flop onto the couch beside her, blow on my noodles and text Cora.

So I can’t send her to crèche for at least three days.

So stupid. If she’s better, she’s better. Can you pretend she wasn’t sick. Say it was something she ate?

Like fizzy apple slushie?

Can’t. All the kids have it so the rule is the same for everyone. Work are pissed with me too. As if I can control my kid getting sick.

Wish I could watch her but I’m slammed at work. You wouldn’t believe the amount of falls people have putting up Christmas lights. I have broken legs and arms coming out my ears.

I laugh out loud for a moment as I imagine my best friend with various broken limbs attached to her head.

Maybe you should text Declan. Let him know Ellie is sick. Ask the for help?

Can’t. He turned off his phone.

What? Why? He can’t keep it off for ever.

It’s his second phone. The one he had so he could hide me and Ellie from his wife. Turns out we were only ever second-phone level of affair.

ASSHOLE!!!

Totally. Anyway I gotta go. Need to get Ellie into bed. And I’m shattered too. Talk tomorrow xx

Yeah okay. I’m here if you need me. Night night xx

Ellie shares my bed again and her small, warm body snuggles into me and keeps me cosy. But I can’t sleep. The thought of missing three days of wages, especially so close to Christmas, is stressing me out so much I can feel a couple of hives appear on my ankle. I lie awake and scour rental websites yet again, crossing my fingers that by some miracle a remotely affordable apartment will appear. To my surprise a lady in Finglas emails me back and says she has a small two-bed town house, rent is just about in reach and she loves kids. I make a plan to view the house tomorrow evening and set my phone down. I wrap my arms round Ellie and am asleep within seconds.

What feels likes a blink later, I am bounced awake by a four-year-old jumping on the end of my bed.

‘Ellie. No,’ I croak, my eyes sticky with sleep and struggling to open. ‘Stop it. Get down.’ All the horrible injuries Cora has told me about from children bouncing on the bed race through my mind. Broken collarbones. Dislocated knees. Concussions. Aside from how painful they sound, I just couldn’t afford A&E.

‘Ellie, get down,’ I try again, fully awake now and with my voice loud and firm.

Ellie hops off the bed and folds her arms, making a pouting face. I drag my hands round my face and ward off a sulkor tantrum with the suggestion of Coco Pops for breakfast. Thankfully there’s some left and the milk is still in date too.

Ellie hops off her chair as soon as the last spoonful enters her mouth. ‘Let’s go. Let’s go,’ she says, emulating our usual, slightly frantic morning routine to get out the door to crèche and work on time.

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