A Very Accidental Love Story (17 page)

And she wasn’t aware of it, but she had a slight tell whenever she spoke about this so-called series she was commissioning, like she wasn’t being entirely truthful. Every time she mentioned it, she’d colour a bit and glance shiftily to her left. It was tiny, she probably wasn’t even aware she was doing it and it wouldn’t have taken that much blinking to miss it, but Jake caught it alright. Two long years in here had left him expert when it came to reading ‘tells’; he played a lot of poker with his cellmates and it got so you could read people as easily as one of his books.

But why would she come out all this way just to lie to him? Made no sense on any level, no matter what way he looked at it.

‘So Jake, what do you think?’

I’ll tell you exactly what I think, Ms. Eloise Elliot, he thought to himself. I think that there’s a lot more to you than meets the eye. And that you’re possibly the worst person at covering up a lie that I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen a few.

But then he caught the desperate, almost pleading look in her black eyes and softened. She’d come all this way. She’d gone to so much bother to find out about him. Go easy, he thought.

‘Tell you what, can I sleep on it?’ he said and she smiled, looking relieved that at least he hadn’t turned her down flat.

‘Of course, Jake. But before I go, would it be OK if I ask you just one or two more things? Just for, emm … deep background?’

‘Fire away,’ he said easily, thinking, ‘deep background’ my arse.

‘Do you have family?’

‘Are you kidding me? Yeah, too many.’

‘How many of you are there?’

‘Do you mean who are still speaking to me? That’d be just the one.’

‘Are your parents alive?’

‘Yeah, but my dad left when I was a baby so now there’s just my mother. Who, just in case you want to write it down in your notebook, is the one person in my family still talking to me.’

‘Oh, right,’ she said, looking as if she was trying her level best not to ask why the others now had nothing to do with him.

‘And where do you live?’

‘When I get out? As they’d say in your paper, I’m currently of ‘no fixed abode’. My mam’s sofa, if I’m lucky.’

‘What about grandparents? Any still living?’

He saw her suddenly bite her tongue, as if she knew she’d gone too far and was beginning to sound nosey.

‘You really need to go into that much detail for your series?’ Jake grinned cheekily across at her.

‘Sorry, no of course not. But if you didn’t mind, would you be able to tell me a little bit about yourself? You know, like how you pass the time in here? I know you study, so you must read a lot, but I wondered if you’d any other interest or hobbies, like sports? Maybe even … playing a musical instrument?’

And so he went along with it and humoured her, even though she kept using the word ‘why’ so much that it gave him a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, not unlike when he was being interrogated by police. A memory he’d actively been trying to tune out for a long time.

‘Oh and another thing, why do you keep changing your name?’ she threw in suddenly. Like this was a particular niggle that really tried her patience.

‘You know about that?’

‘Well, yeah … From the governor.’

He nodded, not really believing her. That slight tell she had of looking to the left, again giving her away.

‘Okay, then let me put it to you this way. If you ever had the kind of characters coming after you that I’ve had to put up with over the past few years, believe me, you’d start calling yourself Mary Smith and you’d emigrate to New Zealand on a one-way ticket, leaving a cloud of dust behind you.’

She gave a broad grin at that, which softened her whole face and knocked years off her, he thought distractedly.

‘And I’m sorry, but I have to ask you this. Why William Goldsmith?’

‘Easy.
She Stoops to Conquer
is one of my favourite plays,’ he shrugged back at her. ‘And when I saw the statue of Oliver Goldsmith outside Trinity College, I though it’d be a good idea to take Goldsmith as my surname and William after William Blake, another writer I love.’

She nodded, again looking impressed by the fact that he’d actually read the classics.

‘But then what about Bill O’Casey? Where did that one come from?’

‘Kind of people I used to hang round with would never call me William, it was always either Bill or Billy and O’ Casey was after Sean O’Casey. I’d been reading
Shadow of a Gunman
at the time and loved it.’

Another half-smile.

‘But then … James Archer?’

‘Ah, now you mightn’t like this one, but I was reading a fair bit of Jeffrey Archer at the time. A writer who gets slagged off mercilessly, but you can’t deny he writes a great page-turner.’

‘Okay, but what about Oscar Butler then? Hang on, let me hazard a wild guess; you’d been reading Oscar Wilde at the time,’ she said dryly, but he noticed her mouth twisted down into a smile again.

He shrugged and nodded.

‘So basically, every false identity you’ve ever had has been in homage to a writer, either living or dead?’

‘Something like that,’ he told her, armed folded, sitting well back, ostensibly taking her in, but his mind was miles away. What was it to her? Why did she even care? And what was really going on here?

On and on she went with all her questions, almost as though she was carrying some kind of image in her head of what he should be like, how he should behave, and was trying to make him fit that same identikit picture. And it certainly sounded like she’d already done her homework. Because this one was thorough. Seemed to know as much about him as his own mother did.

He was wrong there though, because just as she was wrapping up to leave, it looked like there was still one question she was burning up to ask him.

‘So, emm,’ she began, picking her words carefully. ‘One last thing, if that’s okay?

‘Fire ahead.’

‘Well … Can I ask you what your plans are once you get back outside? Do you plan to finish the degree course you started, maybe even get a decent job out of it?’

The implication was there, hanging in the air between them. Jake had got very good at reading the unspoken.

Did he intend going straight after he got out?

But he couldn’t give her a straight answer to that one.

Because at this particular point in time, it was a question there was just no answer to.

One month later and to Jake’s utter astonishment, Ms. Eloise Elliot had been as good as her word. Surprising absolutely no one but himself, he sailed through his parole hearing and following one kick-up-the-arse pep talk from his parole officer along the lines of I’ll-be-watching-you-and-don’t-think-I-won’t, he found himself a free man for the first time in two long, long years.

He had nowhere to stay of course, only his mam’s, but he didn’t want to go there. At least not yet. It would be too easy for them to find him, too easy to get sucked back in. And if there was one thing he was certain of, it was this; there was no going back for him. Not now, not after everything he’d been through. And he knew of old that it could all happen so frighteningly easily, a phone call here, a recalled favour there and next thing he knew he’d end up right back where he’d started.

Not long before his release date, Eloise called to visit a second time, to ask him a few more questions, again under the pretext of commissioning a feature for her paper.

She couldn’t stay for long she said, as she had to get back to work, even though it was a Sunday and he figured she’d take a day off, like anyone else. No, she told him, no such thing as a day off in her gig, the news didn’t stop and so therefore neither could she. It struck him as funny that even though it was ostensibly the weekend (ostensibly was his new word for that day, he loved the sound of it, loved the way it rolled off his tongue), here was Eloise still dressed head to toe in black, in one of those interchangeable power suits she seemed so fond of. Neat, structured, minimalist cut, no frills or ornamentation of any kind; almost a bit like how a bloke would dress.

The apparel oft proclaimeth the man, Jake thought, looking through the grille at her. (He’d been reading Hamlet for his course at the time, and some of the quotes just stubbornly got into his head and stuck there.) She was still white as a sheet, still utterly exhausted looking; yet another mystery to Jake. What in the name of God did this woman do in her spare time anyway? Did she have any kind of private life, or even family? Or did she really just work, sleep and visit ex-cons whenever she could? Was her life really that empty, almost as empty as his own? Didn’t make sense, but then none of this did. Why would someone this smart, successful and together be bothered with the likes of him?

‘Guess what?’ Eloise told him excitedly. ‘I’ve got news. Well, more like an offer. That is, if you’re interested.’

‘Tell me more,’ he said, smiling even as she uttered the words,
if
he was interested. Without even hearing what it was, he was just about ready to jump down her throat at whatever it might be and say yes. When did anyone ever offer him anything, bar trouble? And what other offers were there for him on the table at this point in time, only dangerous crap that would surely be a shortcut to him landing back inside in no time?

‘Well,’ she began, ‘I’ve got a sister Helen, who rented out her flat in Dublin a few years ago when she moved down to Cork.’

‘OK …’

Now, I won’t bore you with the details,’ she explained in that enunciated, school ma’am way she had, ‘but basically now my sister’s staying somewhere else in Dublin. Emm … staying indefinitely. Anyway, her tenant moved out months ago and for the life of her, she can’t get anyone else to take the place. You know what it’s like renting in this market.’

Jake didn’t, but nodded politely.

‘Anyway, now Helen desperately needs someone to house-sit for her. She was about to put an ad in the paper, and then I thought of you. So basically, there’s an empty flat that you’re welcome to stay in until she’s able to rent it out again properly. I thought that it might just suit you for a few weeks, at least until you find a proper place of your own. Plus it’s on the other side of town, so at least you’d be out of harm’s way there, none of your, well, let’s just say no one from your past could possibly ever find you. You’d be doing her a favour too and all she asks is that you look after the place. It’s been empty for seven months now, and needs someone to live in it.’

He sat back, digesting this.

‘So … What do you think?’

‘It’s incredibly generous of you and your sister, but Eloise …’

Shit. It was no use. He couldn’t contain himself any longer.

‘I have to ask you something.’

‘Go ahead.’

‘Why are you doing this? I mean, why me? You’re a busy lady, you hardly have time for this. What are you anyway, like one of those Victorian philanthropists who spent their time visiting the prisons and helping the less fortunate? Like some kind of angel in disguise? Don’t get me wrong, I’m hugely grateful to you for the offer, but none of this makes the slightest bit of sense to me.’

She blushed at this. And took her time before answering him, he noticed.

‘Because … Well, I mean, just look at you Jake, you’ve got such potential. All your brilliant exam results? You could easily make something of yourself outside of here, build a whole new life, a better one. I just … I really believe in you and if there’s any way I can help out, I’m here. That’s all.’

He looked intently back at her.

‘And that’s the whole truth? Just look me in the eye, Eloise. If you’re holding back, trust me, I’ll know.’

‘Well …’ she said a bit shiftily. ‘It’s partly the truth.’

‘Partly?’

‘Look … Put it this way. I’m someone who’s always getting accused of putting work ahead of everyone and everything. I constantly hear that I never do anything good for other people. So now, I figure, well maybe here’s my chance.’

He nodded, but still couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to all this than met the eye. Considerably more.
What
though? That was the million dollar question.

‘Anyway,’ she went on in her usual back-to-business way, ‘what do you think about flatsitting?’

‘It’s an incredibly generous offer, but I’d only take it on one condition.’

‘Which is?’

‘I’d insist on paying your sister rent. Upfront and from day one. And that’s not negotiable.’

Eloise nodded, and seemed happy enough with that. Then she started to probe around a bit more.

‘And another thing Jake. I wanted to ask you if you’d thought about how you’d manage for money once you get out?’ she asked directly.

‘Jesus! Like if it’s not too personal a question?’

‘Sorry, I just wondered, that was all,’ she said, biting her tongue and looking flushed that she’d maybe overstepped the mark.

Jake sat back and shook his head. Because even just being asked that made him feel about two inches tall. She didn’t mean to humiliate, of that he was certain. It was just unfortunate that this was her manner. He’d learned by now that if there was a wrong way to get around people, Eloise would pretty soon light on it. You could see it in the way she spoke to the screws, snappily, brusquely, like someone who was used to barking orders while all around her jumped to.

A real shame, Jake thought. Because underneath all of that toughness, there was a good heart there, if you only took the trouble to furrow down deep for it. A genuine warmth and a caring side that for whatever reason, she took great pains to conceal from all around her. Not for the first time, it made him wonder why exactly she’d chosen him to be on the receiving end of all this altruism. (Another new word for the day.) Because why pick a soon-to-be ex-con when she could easily help those with far more need of it? It was a mystery, one that baffled him, but if it was the last thing he did, he’d somehow get to the bottom of it.

‘Look, I didn’t mean to be rude or nosey Jake,’ she cut across his thoughts, ‘I just wondered if you were okay for money, that was all.’

And at that point, he’d have sworn on a stack of Bibles that no bank manager on earth could have done it quite as probingly, cutting straight to the heart of the matter in seconds flat. If this one had an animal image, he thought, looking evenly through the grille at her, it would have been a bird of prey; an eagle or a hawk. She was that alert, that keen and clued in; she’d sound out any tiny detail you were not one hundred per cent sure of. In fact, she’d not only sound it out, but be on top of it in a matter of seconds.