Page 56 of The Secret Life of Beatrice Alright

‘I know,’ he says, in a sudden lightbulb moment. ‘Cora got something for her. It’s here somewhere, hang on.’

He hurries into the flat, leaving me standing at the door. Time ticks by in painful slow motion until he returns with a colourful forest-green bag that proudly declaimsHappy Christmas, Princessacross the front in a swirly gold font.

I look inside. There are jammies, a Barbie in a rectangular pink box complete with a dog and bowl and a tiny bone, a giant lollipop and a rainbow-coloured skipping rope.

I breathe out, making myself almost light-headed. ‘Thank you, Cora,’ I say, choking back tears, as if she can hear me.

‘It’s good?’ he asks like a schoolboy looking for praise from a teacher.

‘It’s life-saving,’ I say, and it’s only a slight exaggeration.

‘Oh, here,’ he adds, shoving his hand into the back pocket of his jeans to pull out his wallet. ‘For the Barbie house. How much was it?’

I’m about to tell him when he shoves four fifty-euro notes at me. I’m not quite sure what to say as I fumble and take the money.

He smiles, as if he’s delighted with himself, as he says, ‘Anyway, I really am sorry about the mix-up. I hope you guys have a great Christmas. I’ll tell Cora you called, yeah?’

I should probably wish him a happy Christmas too. He is the love of my best friend’s life, after all. But all I can manage as I stand outside the flat that he hasn’t invited me to step foot into is, ‘Okay. Bye.’

I walk away clutching the bag of small gifts that will be much easier to hide in the storage room than an oversized doll’s house. I promise myself that, if I have to sing Christmas carols until I lose my voice, I am going to make sure Ellie has a wonderful Christmas.

TWENTY-THREE

Although there are no windows in the storage room, I wake up on Christmas morning to find it’s snowing again. It’s not quite sevena.m. and Ellie is still asleep, but TikTok is already full of videos of people exclaiming,Happy White Christmas.There’s a short clip of an overweight fifty-something man lapping his garden in just a pair of white boxers, singing ‘Jingle Bells’ off-key at the top of his lungs. Next is a couple in matching ski suits make snow angels outside their huge, red-brick house. Kids have snowball fights. Someone in a Santa hat walks their sausage dog that they’ve dressed up as a reindeer, complete with antlers that jiggle when the dog runs. I scroll through a few more videos, before playing a couple of games of Tetris while I wait for Ellie to wake.

Finally, there is some tossing and turning, before her eyes open. It takes a moment for her to wake fully, but when she does she jumps up, throws her arms above her head and asks, ‘Did he come? Did he come?’

I produce the green bag from behind my back and Ellie squeals with joy. I place my finger over my lips quickly and say, ‘Shh. Shh. Remember, we have to be quiet in here.’

Ellie nods, although I know she’s not listening as she reaches her hands out to take the bag. She peeks inside, almost ducking her whole head in, and when she pulls out each small gift her face is so full of joy it almost melts me like a puddle on the ground.

She tries on the jammies, which are a size too big, and I’m delighted that she’ll get this year and next out of them. Then we open the box and take Barbie and her puppy out and I tell her that lollipops are okay for breakfast on Christmas. Ellie plays with her new doll contently while she sucks on her lollipop, but after a while she grows restless of the confined space with just a small yellow bulb above our heads for light. I make up games, and she plays on my phone for a while, but when I check my watch, after what feels like hours upon hours, it’s only ninea.m. I know I can’t keep Ellie cooped up in the storage room all day, so I suggest a walk.

‘How about we bring your new skipping rope outside, eh?’

The wards are unusually quiet. Any patient who was well enough to go home for Christmas has, and only the very ill and sleeping remain. It’s easier than usual to sneak about, and I take the opportunity to do some laundry. I bring a bag of our dirty clothes into the patients’ bathroom. It’s hard to get more than a few squirts from the wonky soap dispensers, but I prioritise socks and underwear and scrub everything else as best I can. I use the shower head to rinse with warm water, and I squeeze item after item, all while keeping an eye on Ellie. I have posted her by the door like a little security guard and every so often I say, ‘Well, any sign of Santa? Or his reindeers? Keep looking. Tell me if anyone is coming.’ After, I drape our dripping clothes around the storage room, confident that no one will be in there today, and finally we go outside to enjoy the freshly falling snow for ourselves.

Ellie tilts her head towards the sky, opens her mouth and catches as many snowflakes as she can on her tongue.

‘One, two, teeee,’ she says, with her tongue out. ‘Four, fiwve, six, Malco,’ she shouts.

I look across the car park, surprised, but sure enough I see the back of his bald, snowy head as he sits on the bench.

‘Malco, Malco, Malco,’ Ellie calls out, racing towards the bench.

‘Ellie. Cars,’ I scold, instinctively.

Thankfully the car park is almost empty and no one is driving in or out as she trudges through the snow that is nearly up to her knees. I catch up with her almost instantly and we reach the bench together.

‘Well, hello,’ I say, and my surprise to see him comes out in my voice.

‘Hello,’ he replies solidly as he looks at me and then Ellie.

‘What are you doing here?’ I ask.

‘Sitting down.’

I giggle sheepishly. ‘Well, yes, I can see that, but it’s Christmas Day.’

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