The Cost of Living

by Rachel Ward

  ‘What is it?’ Julie screwed up her eyes. Bea shielded the screen with her hand to get rid of the glare. ‘Oh. It’s all right. I don’t need—’

  ‘You should feel safe,’ Bea said. ‘It’s our right. Everyone should feel safe. On the streets. At home. Let me put it on your phone.’

  ‘No,’ Julie said quickly. ‘No, he’ll find it. He—’

  ‘Can you remember it?’ Bea read the number out to her. Julie looked at her, but didn’t respond. Bea started to repeat the number, but Julie shook her head.

  ‘I don’t need it. I’m fine.’

  ‘Humour me,’ said Bea. ‘Just in case.’ She said the number again, slowly.

  Julie listened and this time Bea saw her lips moving as she said the numbers to herself.

  ‘I think I’ve got it,’ she said.

  ‘You can search for it online if you forget. Or you know where to find me. Checkout six, day in, day out. If you ever need anything. Anything at all.’

  ‘Right. Yeah. Okay.’ She flashed Bea the briefest of smiles.

  Tiffany had come to a standstill on her swing. ‘Push me, Mummy!’

  Julie sighed. ‘No rest for the wicked.’ She held onto the back of the swing and pulled it up high. ‘Thanks, Bea.’

  Bea walked across to the gate and headed for home, listening to Tiffany’s renewed squeals as she did so.

  When she got back to number twenty-three, Queenie was walking down the hall towards the door with a determined look on her face.

  Bea stood aside on the front step. Queenie gave her a tight little smile as she paused on the threshold.

  ‘All right, Mum?’

  ‘All right,’ she said, and moved onto the step next to Bea. She stayed there for a full minute, just looking. Then she pressed her fingers to her wrist and walked halfway down the path.

  Ant joined Bea on the step.

  ‘That’s the girl,’ he said.

  ‘What the hell did you say to her?’ said Bea.

  Ant was grinning broadly. ‘I just asked her what her happy place was.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘A hotel in Rhyl, apparently, Bea. In bed with your dad. According to Queenie, he was as hot as axle grease.’ He clicked his tongue and gave her a cheeky wink.

  ‘Oh Jesus,’ said Bea. ‘I can never look her in the eye again.’

  But she did look. Having put her hand on the metal gate at the end of the path, Queenie turned round and headed back towards them. She was unsteady on her feet, but she was smiling, and, despite wanting to put her mind through a boil wash and rapid spin, Bea smiled back at her.

  ‘That’s enough for one day,’ said Queenie.

  ‘Yes, Mum, that’s enough. That’s bloody brilliant.’

  Acknowledgements

  This book was written while my husband, Ozzy, was waiting for and then recovering from a heart transplant. He read it, chapter by chapter, to start with and then I read it to him when he was very poorly. I’d like to thank the staff and volunteers at Harefield Hospital for keeping him alive, and my family and friends for keeping me going, especially Shirley, David, Ali and Pete.

  A big thank you to Kirsty McLachlan at David Godwin Associates, my wonderful agent, and to all at Sandstone Press, who are bringing Ant and Bea to a wider audience.