ROSE DOYLE
THE STORY OF JOE BROWN
Rose Doyle is a Dublin writer and journalist. She is the author of thirteen novels, two of them for younger children and one for teenagers. She has also written radio plays, short stories and more journalism than she cares to remember. When not writing, she enjoys the company of friends, goes to films, walks, talks and compulsively reads.
THE STORY OF JOE BROWN
First published by GemmaMedia in 2010.
GemmaMedia
230 Commercial Street
Boston MA 02109 USA
617 938 9833
Copyright © 2004, 2010 Rose Doyle
This edition of The Story of Joe Brown is published by arrangement with New Island Books Ltd.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Printed in the United States of America
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ISBN: 978-1-934848-37-1
Cover design by Artmark
Library of Congress Preassigned Control Number (PCN) applied for
OPEN DOOR SERIES
An innovative program of original
works by some of our most
beloved modern writers and
important new voices. First designed
to enhance adult literacy in Ireland,
these books affirm the truth that
a story doesn’t have
to be big to open the world.
Patricia Scanlan
Series Editor
Chapter 1
Joe Brown had been staying less than a month in the hostel when things began to go wrong. Small, but irritating, things.
The first thing was that some of his books went missing. Then four pairs of socks got lost in the wash. Then the cherry yoghurts he kept for breakfast disappeared – every one of them. He’d had five in a container in the fridge. Things went from bad to worse when a new resident arrived. He was an older man who drank and didn’t wash. He was given the bunk-bed beside Joe’s. Long before any of this, the dank loneliness of the recreation-room had been getting him down. With its brown walls, green floor, ancient 21-inch TV and twelve creaking wooden chairs, the place oozed despair. In no time at all it had eliminated the charms of freedom.
The “friend” who’d recommended the place was probably still laughing at his joke. Joe Brown cursed him and began looking for a room to rent.
He knew it wouldn’t be easy to find, given his limited finances. His neatly written ads on the notice-boards in the local Spar and barbers hadn’t got a single response. That he didn’t have a mobile phone and that the hostel’s public phone was out of order didn’t help matters.
He found a room, and had his first sighting of Julia Ryan, on a grey November morning just two weeks into his search. Julia was hard to miss. Under a red wool coat, flapping open in spite of the cold, she wore jeans and a white T-shirt. She had silver hoops in her ears.
He was waiting to pay for his paper in the Spar when she came in. She stood looking around, saw the manager and went straight up to him. Smiling, tossing her blonde hair, she spoke to the man briefly. When he nodded, clearly captivated, she went to the notice-board and pinned a small card there. Then she left.
Joe left the queue and watched through the window as she walked briskly down the street. He knew she hadn’t even noticed him. He knew he would read her notice as soon as she was out of sight.
He’d been going to the Spar every morning because there, at least, he was treated like an ordinary person. The young people behind the counter saw only an anorak-wearing male customer with a beard and glasses.
It was easy to become a nobody, he’d discovered. Very easy. The trick was not to give anyone a reason to take a second look at him or to think about him. He followed the same ritual every morning. He paid for his paper with the exact amount of money. If he bought milk or bread, he handed over the exact number of coins for them too. This attention to detail meant he never held up the queue or attracted attention. He was just as careful in every other part of his life.
He’d been different before. He’d enjoyed a chat then. He’d liked getting to know new people. It went against the grain to be so careful, but it had to be done. This way he didn’t have to explain himself and face frozen smiles or abuse when people found out who he was.
Being friendly, exposing himself to hurt, had, in any event, been his downfall.
Once, soon after he’d re-entered the world and before he’d learned to be quiet about what had happened, a woman had actually hit him. She’d swung with her open hand and left a red weal across his face. He’d grown the beard after that, as a sort of protection as well as a disguise.
He’d stopped using his real name too. Hearing his name was what had enraged the woman. After a lot of thought, he’d settled on Joe Brown. It was a plain name. It didn’t attract attention.
His own name and face, both of them far too well known, he committed to the rubbish bin of history. James Mulberry, with his limp brown hair and round, eager-to-please face, belonged in the past.
He liked Joe Brown, the name and the person he’d created to go with it. He was growing to like him more every day.
That morning, when Julia Ryan disappeared from view, he walked casually to the notice-board and read the notice she’d pinned next to his. She’d been every bit as precise as he’d been himself. She wanted a lodger. She was offering a room for rent in her house. It had an en suite shower and could be seen at any time. The rent included use of the kitchen. The address was in Copper Avenue, just two streets away.
Chapter 2
The second time Joe saw Julia Ryan she was standing in the doorway of her house. She was still smiling but wore a blue-and-white striped plastic apron over her jeans instead of the red coat.
Close up, he saw that she was older than he’d at first thought. Older than he was himself, even. But she was lovely, really lovely. She had blue eyes and dark lashes and skin that was as flawless as pouring cream. Joe Brown was thirty-two years old the day he met Julia Ryan. Julia was ageless.
The house was large and modern but trying to look old. It had pillars each side of the door and many windows with small panes of glass. To Joe Brown, it didn’t seem the kind of house whose owner would have needed to rent out rooms.
But things were rarely as they seemed in life, as he’d discovered to his cost.
“Have you come about the room?” Julia, standing in the doorway, sounded worried. She was a little breathless. Joe nodded and she opened the door fully. “Come on in then,” she said. “I’ve just finished giving it a bit of a clean. It hasn’t been used in a while.”
Joe followed her up the blue carpeted stairs, then across a paler blue carpeted landing. She talked all the time. Nervously, he thought.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone to come so soon.” She fiddled