Chapter Seven
One night back at the flat in Sandymount, Jake had been studying till very late and suddenly found himself unexpectedly starving. He was just beginning to fry up some noodles with chicken and green vegetables when there was a buzz at the intercom – Eloise, dropping off the latest draft of his re-done, re-worked, proof-read, ready-to-go CV. Come on up, he’d told her, door’s open. It was one of those miserable, filthy wet nights you sometimes get in the middle of springtime, when it feels more like November than May, so he’d lit a fire hours earlier, then stayed up late reading his course books by its flickering warmth.
In she came, dripping wet and looking even paler than he’d seen her in the longest time, which was really saying something. The girl always carried a kind of tense, jumpy energy around with her, but tonight her nerves were practically pinging off the walls. Something was seriously up, he knew by the look of her. No one this side of a correctional facility went around looking that fraught and strung out, and he should know.
‘You OK?’ he asked quietly.
‘Fine,’ she said tersely.
‘You sure?’ he asked gently.
‘Cosy,’ she nodded brusquely, avoiding his question, arms folded and face taut as she took in her surroundings in one of her lightning-quick, up-and-down appraising looks.
‘Thanks,’ he nodded, towering like a colossus over her, even in bare feet, making the room seem smaller just because he was in it. ‘Here, sit down at the fire, dry yourself off a bit.’
‘It’s okay thanks, I’m not staying, I need to go …’ she began edgily, but then seemed to waver a bit as the tantalising smell of garlic and onions hit her.
‘Are you cooking? In the kitchen?’
If she’d asked him if he was in the kitchen shaving his head, she couldn’t have sounded any more stunned.
‘Ehhh … It’s actually what people do in kitchens, wouldn’t be all that uncommon,’ he grinned down at her. ‘You hungry, by any chance? Plenty of grub for both of us.’
‘No,’ she wavered, but unconvincingly. ‘That is, yeah, but I have to get home, I’ve still got a pile of emails I need to answer and I’ve so much else to do tonight, just to stay on schedule …’
‘Oh for feck’s sake Eloise, just for once, do as I’m telling you. Don’t leave just yet. Sit down, stay and have something to eat,’ he told her, in a don’t-mess-with-me tone.
So looking like all the fight had finally drained out of her, she slumped exhaustedly into the armchair by the roaring fire.
‘Atta girl,’ said Jake. ‘Do you good to let someone else mind you for a change. You look wrecked.’
‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ she said wryly, rolling her eyes up to heaven. ‘After the day I’ve had, my spine feels like a ladder of lead pipes.’
‘Just sit back and relax. Grub’s on its way.’
He went back to the stir-fry in the tiny galley kitchen, while Eloise looked all around her, taking everything in, and as usual, missing absolutely nothing.
‘You’ve been doing some work on the place,’ she commented, nodding towards a load of pictures left strewn around the floor by the last tenant, now neatly framed and dotted tastefully around the walls.
‘Ahh yeah, I’ve just been fixing a few things round here up a bit,’ he shrugged from where he stood at the cooker, making modest light of the fact that since he’d moved in, he’d done everything he could to repair anything broken around the flat, jazz it up a bit and generally leave it in turnkey condition for Eloise’s sister. Already he’d revarnished the wooden floor, fixed the leak in the sink and shower, repaired the kitchen cupboard door that was hanging off its hinges; the works. Least he could do, he felt.
‘Looks far better than it ever did,’ she said approvingly, stretching her legs out in front of the fire and finally starting to relax a bit. ‘Have to hand it to you Jake, I never would have had you down as a metrosexual that would be good at knocking things into shape around the house.’
He laughed, unscrewing the lid off a bottle of wine and pouring her out a glass.
‘You mean, by the size of me, you’d swear I was the type better suited to smashing up things, rather than putting them back together again?’ he teased lightly.
‘No, I didn’t mean that. The place is just so spotless, that’s all. Usually in an apartment with a single guy living in it, you’d nearly expect to see a kitchen sink fit for mice to throw a party in …’
‘Don’t tell me, with the stench of a three-day-old microwaved dinner for one from Tesco hanging in the air …’ He grinned.
‘Gakky underpants strewn across the back of the sofa …’
‘… All while an FA Premiership match blares away on TV. Yeah, I’ve lived in plenty of places that fit that description in my time alright. Here, have a glass of wine.’
‘Can’t. Driving.’
‘You can have a mouthful, can’t you? Go on, put a bit of colour back in your cheeks. I’ve seen healthier-looking ghosts.’
And even though she protested she was too tired and strung out to eat, five minutes later she was heartily tucking into a big bowl of chicken noodles with a glass of white wine at her elbow. A decent hot meal brought a flush to her face, as did the wine, Jake thought, studying her. Made her look that bit less pale, he was pleased to see, as he eased his giant frame into the tiny armchair opposite her.
There was a tense lull in the chat, and for no other reason than to fill the dead air, she politely asked him how his studying was coming on, but he interrupted.
‘So, are you going to tell me what the hell is wrong with you tonight or not?’ he asked her straight out, cloud-blue eyes unflinching.
She looked blankly back at him, he guessed – correctly as it happened – unused to directness. In her line of work, Jake figured, everyone freely talked about you behind your back, but few people probably had the guts to say things straight to your face.
‘I don’t know what you’re taking about …’
‘Oh for feck’s sake, do I have to drag it out of you?’
‘There’s absolutely nothing wrong with me, I’m just a bit tired that’s all,’ she went on to protest, rubbing her black eyes exhaustedly.
‘Eloise, are you familiar with the phrase “don’t kid a kidder?” You walk in here like the whole world around you is about to collapse on your shoulders. All I’m saying is if you need a friendly ear, then I’m here and I’ve all night to listen. The floor is yours.’
Then he shrugged as if to say, if you want to talk, talk. If you need quiet, that’s fine too. No pressure, up to you.
And so, slowly, hesitatingly, she began to tell him. Really open up to him, in a way he guessed she hadn’t done in the longest time and for some reason, didn’t seem able to do with anyone else.
