Page 44 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

He puts both feet on the ground and kicks something. I hear the clip-clop of a Lego brick scurry across the tiled floor.

I lie back down and pretend to be asleep. I thought I’d cleared up all the Lego earlier. I’ll look for the brick in the morning and apologise to Finton. Standing on a Lego brick is the worst, but I’m sure he’ll see the funny side in the morning.

SIXTEEN

In the morning, I fold the blankets and leave them neatly on the couch. I try my best to stuff the Tesco bags fully under the coffee table and out of view. I can’t find the offending Lego block and I hope it’s lost under the couch or behind a floor lamp, never to be stepped on again. Ellie and I both have some orange juice and Coco Pops and then I clean up. I hear Cora and Finton getting up, but we leave the flat before they leave their room. On the bus, I talk to Ellie about keeping the flat tidy.

‘We’re guests,’ I tell her.

‘Do we have to have that yucky dinner again?’ she asks.

‘No. No more takeaways,’ I say, remembering I still owe Cora money for it.

At the bus stop, I spot a Tesco Express and decide to pick up some ingredients to make spaghetti Bolognese later. It was Cora’s favourite when we were in college and Ellie loves it too. I hope Finton likes it. The recipe needs wine but they only have full-size bottles and it’s very expensive, so I decide it’ll will be fine without it.

Then I drop Ellie to crèche and head to work. Each time I pass the empty bench in the car park, I find myself disappointed and relieved in equal measure that Malcolm isn’t there. I’mdisappointed that we won’t get to share a chat. But relieved that whatever issue was keeping him here seems to be resolved.

A new routine quickly develops. Pop into Tesco and pick up whatever is on special offer to make dinner for four. Drop Ellie to crèche, trek across the city in morning traffic, spend a day cleaning floors and grubby bathrooms, break my neck to get back across the city in time for Ellie. Sing songs, watchBlueyon my phone or play I-Spy on the bus to make sure Ellie doesn’t fall asleep. Lie on a couch that is much too small for two and scroll through flat listings on my phone until I fall sleep.

After ten nights on Cora’s couch, my back is screaming. I try shifting but every movement seems to disturb Ellie. Her chubby little arms are tight round my neck and one leg is draped over my tummy as I lie next to her. She was restless and found it hard to fall asleep tonight, and even now she’s jumpy and jerky and I wonder what she’s dreaming. She was unusually quiet when I picked her up from crèche earlier and I hope Alannah wasn’t sticking her nose in, as per usual.

‘Where’s your daddy?’ I imagine her asking my confused little girl. Or, ‘Did your mammy really not know your daddy was already married?’ Or, worse still, ‘Are you going to live on your mammy’s friend couch for ever?’ I try to push the thoughts of things Alannah couldn’t possibly know out of my racing mind. I’m confident that the news of my breakup and moving flat has given parents at the crèche plenty to gossip about, but I doubt any of them have any idea of what the reality of it is really like.

My arm under Ellie goes dead and I try to slide it out without disturbing her. Most nights, I move from the couch to a space on the floor between it and the coffee table where I lay down blankets for myself. It’s cold, but at least I can stretch out. Cora gave me the extra blankets when I lied and said Ellie and I were chilly. Ellie has got used to rolling to the edge of the couch in the morning and peering down to find me when it’s breakfast time.

‘Wake up, Mammy,’ she says every morning with her round blue eyes, so like her father’s, wide and locked on mine. ‘I’m hungry.’

Ellie and I finish breakfast most mornings before Cora and Finton come into the kitchen. It works best for everyone this way. Sometimes I leave pancakes or French toast for them. And I replace the orange juice regularly. And yet, most evenings I still feel Finton’s narrowed eyes on me and Ellie when he comes through the door after work and finds that we are home first. We try to be as invisible as possible. I turn off CBeebies and we go for a walk for as long as Ellie’s little legs can keep going. Finton is always watching TV when we return, but as soon as he sees us he turns it off and goes to his room.

Cora is always quick to cover for him. ‘He’s just tired. Long day, you know the drill.’ Or, ‘He has a headache.’ Or, ‘He’s work to catch up with on the laptop.’

Finton must be the most overworked, headache-prone, exhausted adult I’ve ever known.

‘Keep watching, don’t let us disturb you,’ I’ve tried to say countless times, but his reply is always the same.

‘It’s fine.’ Said in a tone that indicates it is very much not fine. ‘You need to put her to bed anyway.’

Finton regularly refers to Ellie as ‘her’, as if he forgets her name or just refuses to take the time to learn it. He doesn’t particularly like children. And he doesn’t make an exception for my child. He’s told Cora countless times he never wants to have any of his own.

‘Finton’s right,’ Cora says. ‘We work so hard we don’t really have time for kids. It wouldn’t be fair on them.’

Cora does work hard. She’s a radiographer at a private hospital and she volunteers at a homeless shelter once a week. But she still finds time to read Ellie stories, or join us in the park for a game of tag. And every now and then, when she’s noticedEllie take a growth spurt, she’ll buy her new pyjamas or a pair of shoes. ‘They were on sale and I couldn’t resist,’ she says.

It’s harder than usual to shuffle away from Ellie tonight and by the time I stand up I’m hopping on one leg because I’m so bursting for the loo. I’m only gone five minutes when Ellie starts calling out.

‘Mammy. Mammy. Where are you, Mammy!’

I race back. ‘Shh. Shh,’ I say, scooping my daughter into my arms and stroking her hair. ‘Shh. Shh. I’m here. I’m here.’

Ellie wraps her arms round me and nuzzles her face into the crook of my neck. ‘I got scareded,’ she whispers and I can feel her little heart racing in her chest.

‘It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere,’ I promise. ‘I’m never going anywhere.’

Ellie settles quickly and soon she’s contentedly sleeping in my arms, but it’s too late. I hear someone get out of bed and walk across the creaky bedroom floor to flick on the bedroom light.

Oh no.

I lie Ellie on the couch and cover her ears with my hands, wishing the walls of the tiny flat weren’t so paper-thin.

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