for him to get a proper handle on her. Someone married to her job, he guessed, one of those workaholics who was chained to her desk, a woman who didn’t just live for work, but who ate, drank and slept it too.
‘Anyway, here’s the thing,’ Eloise Elliot went on, in the brisk, business like way she had. ‘I’m about to commission a series of stories on former inmates and how they readjust to life on the outside, as soon as they’re released. And what I’m here to ask you, is whether you might have any interest in taking part? It would of course mean monitoring how you readjust to life outside over the next few months, how you coped, how things work out for you, that kind of thing. All done anonymously, of course, your name wouldn’t appear in the paper or anything like that. You’d just be there for deep background info to the, emm … series, nothing more than that. So, what do you think?’
Jake said nothing at first, just sat back, taking her in. Had to give the girl this much, he thought, most people on their first visit here seemed shaken to hell at the conditions around them. Particularly the women, who’d barely be able to make eye contact with you, just wanted to say their piece and get the hell out of there.
But not Miss Eloise Elliot. Instead she sat opposite him waiting on his answer, cool and composed, not seeming in the least bit fazed by where she was, or the fact that she was talking to a convict. Clearly this woman wasn’t just made of strong stuff, but had nerve endings lined with lead titanium.
For some reason, that impressed Jake.
But her coming to see him was still a mystery. What in the name of God could the editor of a huge paper like the Post possibly want with him? That was what he couldn’t figure; made no sense to him on any level.
‘Okay if I call you Eloise?’ Jake eventually said, looking keenly at her.
‘Of course.’
‘You mean you don’t insist on ‘Madame Editor,’ like on your letters page?’ he threw in, grinning.
‘Eloise is fine,’ she said, looking impressed that not only did he read the national paper of record, but the letters page to boot.
‘In that case Eloise, I have to tell you that what you just said sounds like the single greatest load of horse manure this side of the Grand National.’
‘Excuse me?’
Right then, he thought. Here’s a woman unused to being spoken to like that. But on the other hand, she’d got him all the way out here, and it sure as hell was an improvement on hanging around in his overcrowded cell. Might as well have a bit of fun while he was here, he figured.
‘Well, for starters,’ he said, lazily stretching his long legs out in front of him, like a man with all the time in the world.
‘Why in the name of God would the Post have the slightest interest in writing about someone like me? I read your paper day in and day out and even I’m able to tell you this much. Your readers are predominantly ABC1, am I right?’
She nodded.
‘Now if you were the editor of say, the Chronicle or the Evening Tatler, I might at least be able to understand where you were coming from, but your lot are about as far removed from tabloid readers as you could possibly get.’
‘Well, yes … but, I don’t understand what you’re driving at.’
‘Eloise, it makes damn-all sense to me why you think your average Post reader would possibly be interested in the likes of me. Never mind what’ll become of me on the outside. With the exception of my mother, my own family barely even care. So who do you possibly think would ever give a shite about an ex-con, back on the outside?’
‘Well for starters, I would,’ she told him firmly, returning his gaze full on. Almost, the thought hit him from out of nowhere, like she’d rehearsed her speech on the way over.
‘And you can be sure that if I would, then plenty of other people would too. Jake, it’s precisely because this is not the kind of series that’s ever been commissioned before that I want to do it. And you’re absolutely perfect for us. I called the governor to ask if he could recommend someone who I might be able to talk to and he said you were far and away the best candidate. A model prisoner, in fact, is how he described you.’
Next thing, she was whipping a notepad out of her bag and referring to some neat notes she’d made earlier.
‘Ah Jesus,’ Jake groaned. ‘Don’t tell me you’re starting now?’
‘Just look at this,’ she went on, ignoring him, and sounding far more animated. ‘The governor also mentioned that you came top of your class when you took your TEFL qualification. Jake, that’s amazing! And not only that, but apparently you’re studying for your Open University exams too. He says your chances of making parole are excellent and that you’re unlikely to re-offend …’
He sighed deeply while she talked on. Okay, so she knew all there was to know about him, presumably including what he was in for; she’d obviously done all her homework, and had somehow decided that he wasn’t a threat. But that wasn’t what bothered him – in here, the first thing you surrendered at the door was any right to privacy – he’d long since taken that for granted. But there was something else about Ms. Eloise Elliot, something a bit disconcerting. (Definitely a Ms., he decided the second he locked eyes on her. No way would this one going by the prefix Miss; he’d stake his parole on it.) Not so much what she was saying, but the utterly focused, intent way she was studying him while she said it. Like she was reading each and every one of his features, scanning his face, almost as though she recognised someone else in it.
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
