Page 53 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

I place my finger over my lips and tell Ellie to be quiet as we go inside. The usually busy reception area is painfully quiet and without any people it appears larger than usual too. I take a deep breath, hold Ellie tight in my arms and keep my head down as I rush past reception. I don’t recognise the woman on the desk and I rehearse something about forgetting my bag in my head in case she stops me, but she doesn’t look up from her computer.

I hurry into the lift and my insides are making a fuss as we hop out on the fourth floor and duck into the storage room in one fast-paced charge.

‘Here we are, chickpea,’ I say, stopping short of addingHome Sweet Home.

I wait for Ellie to mention the distinctive smell of hospital cleaning products, or to complain about the cramped space, that, although there is room for her little body to lie out flat on the floor, there really isn’t room for me to do the same. But she doesn’t say a word. She cuddles me tight and I slide to the floor, rocking gently back and forth until she is asleep in my arms. Every day won’t be like this, I tell myself. Although, away from Finton’s pointed glares and Cora’s walking on eggshells between him and us, I already feel better.

I wait until Ellie is soundly asleep before I lie her on the ground and scurry around to find what we need. I take blankets off an empty, freshly made bed and I fill us two large glasses of water from the water cooler in the hall. I even sneak a couple of chocolates from the box of Milk Tray on MrsMorgan’s bedside locker. She’s always trying to feed me chocolate, but although I’m sure she won’t mind, the sneaky act, while she lies sleeping, still makes my stomach flip.

Back in the storage room, I make a comfortable space for Ellie. I fold blankets for under and over her and I lift her into her makeshift bed. Then I find a spot for myself next to the sweeping brushes. I sit with my back to the wall, tuck my knees against my chest and cover myself with a blanket. Minutes turn to hours, but I can’t sleep. There’s a hum of something electrical coming from the hall and it buzzes like a bee in summer. I smile. The thought reminds me of Malcolm.

I eat the chocolate and then, wide awake, I once again sneak into the hall. The wards are eerie at night as the sound of fluorescent lights overhead battle for space to be heard over snoring. It’s harder than I thought to walk around unnoticed, as nurses patrol the wards, appearing sporadically to check on patients. I duck in and out of the toilets, or hide behind a trolley. But, inspired by my Milk Tray heist, I nab some tinsel from the hall – a sparkly, green strip – and I manage to pick up a red strip round the corner. There’s an artificial tree at the end of the corridor and I slide a handful of decorations off and stuff them into my pocket. I turn round to retreat to the storage room with my haul, then stop in my tracks and jump.

‘Elaine!’ I squeak when I see her standing in front of me with her arms folded.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asks.

‘Forgot my keys,’ I say without pausing.

She tilts her head. ‘But you said you don’t drive.’

‘House keys,’ I go on, as a slight wobble creeps into my voice.

‘Where’s your daughter?’

‘Oh, erm.’ Heat creeps up my neck. ‘Not with me.’

Her lips twist to one side and her expression says,I can see that.The air is thick with tension as I cut through it, saying, ‘Well, I better get going.’

Elaine’s eyes drop to the green and red, glittery tinsel in my hand. Her folded arms pull a fraction closer to her chest.

‘For MrsBrennan,’ I say. ‘She’s been so poorly lately, I thought I could decorate her bedside locker to cheer her up.’ The lie leaves an instant bad taste in my mouth. The tinsel is not for MrsBrennan, but the way Elaine’s expression softens tells me she doesn’t know that.

‘Okay, well, bye then,’ I say, walking away brimful of guilt for using a poor old lady’s health as a cover-up for my stealing.

‘Bea?’ Elaine calls after me.

I stop in my tracks and inhale sharply before I turn round.

‘Yeah?’

Elaine’s arms hang by her sides now and she’s looking at me with the concerned expression of a parent, or a caring teacher. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Hmm?’

‘It’s just, you don’t seem yourself lately and if there’s anything?—’

‘Everything is fine,’ I say much too quickly and eagerly.

Her face is saying a million things all at once and yet I’m not entirely sure what any of those things are. We’ve never really spoken outside of discussing which cleaner brand to switch to to save on the budget, or checking the roster, or buying new bed pans. I’ve never actually thought of Elaine as a person outside of work. She has existed to me only as my boss. A woman who tells me where to go and what to do for eight hours a day. I never imagined her with a life, or a family or friends outside of work. But the way she is looking at me now tells me she has thought those things about me. Has she thought about my daughter, and the man I wanted to marry, the life I believed I had and would have? Can she tell it’s all gone? Does she know everything is all gone?

‘Okay. If you’re sure,’ she says.

‘Mm-hmm,’ I say, choking up.

I’m not sure how I feel about this side of Elaine. If she wants to be a concerned colleague, now, with my small child stashed and sleeping in the storage closet, is the worst possible time.

TWENTY-ONE

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