Page 52 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

‘Is it MrCarter and MrFlynn?’ I ask.

Elaine’s eyes narrow.

‘Gone home,’ I clarify. ‘It’s just MrCarter has a new grandson, and he was so hoping to meet him this Christmas.’

Elaine’s lips curl into a smile so subtle that if I blinked, I’d have missed it.

‘Yes, MrCarter is gone home. But, really, Bea, patients’ family life isn’t our business.’ Her words are matronly but her tone is soft and her smile is widening. It’s a rare glimpse of her softer side and I can tell she is as happy for MrCarter as I am.

‘So, you’ll stay, then?’ she continues.

‘I would if I could,’ I say. ‘But I have to pick my daughter up?—’

‘Yes. Yes. At crèche,’ she cuts in.

‘I could come back,’ I add quickly and overly enthusiastically.

‘I didn’t think you had anyone to watch her?’

‘Oh. I don’t. But I could bring her here. She’s a great kid, and as quiet as a mouse if she has a colouring book.’

Elaine raises her hand to hush me. ‘No, no. Goodness, the wards are no place for a child. It’s fine, Bea. Go home.’

I swallow a lump of air that seems to stretch and burn on the way down. Suddenly, sneaking Ellie onto the ward this evening doesn’t seem like such a good plan. And yet, it remains my only plan. I just have to make sure Elaine doesn’t find out.

As I wrap up for the day, MrsMorgan sings Christmas carols at the top of her lungs. MrsBrennan tries to join in but just singing the chorus tires her out. Elaine places a portable radio next to the window and puts ChristmasFM on for them instead. I work as hard and fast as I can and I manage to free up time to wash the vacated mattresses before leaving to collect Ellie.

It’s finally stopped snowing, but I change into my red wellington boots all the same. The blanket of glistening, white, cloud-like snow that covered the ground so beautifully this morning has been disturbed by people, going about daily life, trying to get from one place to the next. The car park and the road have been cleared to make way for traffic. Mounds of mucky, slushy snow are piled high to the sides and everything and everywhere seems grubby. There’s a man sitting on the bench under the oak tree. For a moment my heart soars, but this man is wearing a woolly hat and petting the huge, black dog sitting at his feet. As I get closer, I take in his face. He’s about my age and it’s obvious it the dog who needs the sit-down and not him.

‘Hello,’ he says as I pass.

‘Hello.’

I pause for a moment but we don’t exchange more words. He doesn’t tell me to be careful because the footpath is slippery. He doesn’t comment on my footwear, or ask me if I’d like to sit down. He doesn’t really notice me at all. I wasn’t expecting him to, of course. But, still, I found myself longing to sit under the branches of the tired, old tree and chat.

Snowploughs have tidied the city and traffic moves freely. I’m on time for crèche, and relieved to save twenty-five quid. But my relief soon plummets when Ellie and I get back to the hospital and Elaine’s car is still in the car park.

‘Let’s go for a walk,’ I tell Ellie.

She shakes her head. ‘I’m hungry.’

I use the twenty-five euro I’ve saved to buy us both a McDonald’s and I splurge and add a coffee to the order. After, I swear out loud; Elaine’s car is still in the car park.

Ellie’s face is a picture, with round eyes and lips pulled into an ‘o’ shape, upon hearing my bad language.

‘Sorry, chickpea,’ I say, covering my mouth with my hand. ‘We mustn’t say that word.’

‘But you did,’ she tells me with a cheeky smirk.

‘I know. I’m very bold.’

I suggest a walk and Ellie protests with a stomp of her foot.

‘It’ll be fun,’ I lie, feeling every bit as fed up as my four-year-old. ‘We can go see the Christmas lights.

It is surprisingly fun. Grafton Street is beautiful after dark, as we walk up and down the pedestrianised shopping street with our necks craned back to take in the sparkling garlands that stretch from one side of the street to the other. Ellie counts them all. Other children walk alongside their parents doing exactly the same. I wonder if they are out on a winter’s evening for a pleasure stroll, or if they are out, like us, because they have nowhere else to go.

After an hour, Ellie is fed up and we are both cold. I scoop her into my arms and carry her for as long as my tired back will allow as we make our way back to the hospital. Thankfully, Elaine’s car is finally gone.

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