‘Ah get over yourself, I’m not listening to you any more,’ he said, firmly gripping her by the arm and steering her into the Lemon Tree coffee shop on Dawson St., almost lifting her off her feet.
‘No, would you stop it please? I told you, I don’t have time for this,’ she protested, but he’d learned by now that if you just firmly ignored her, she’d eventually give up.
‘I can eat back at the office, you know.’
‘Yeah right, eat what? By the look of you, I’d say you live off a couple of celery sticks and coffee. Now either you can shut up and eat, or else I can ram it down your bony throat, the choice is yours.’
‘Okay, okay,’ she sighed.
So Jake ordered her a large egg, cheese and bacon crêpe with two coffees to go, paid up, then handed hers over to her so she could at least eat walking down the street on her way back to work.
‘Out of curiosity, do you ever take time off, ever?’ he asked her as they headed towards the Post offices on Tara St.
‘I mean, just look at you. It’s the weekend. Normal people all over the world are relaxing and recharging their batteries, and here you are, racing back to the office so you can stay on schedule. On a Saturday. Jeez, what do you want for your next birthday anyway Eloise? A nervous breakdown?’
She was munching hungrily into her crêpe and had allowed her pace to slow down to a gentler stroll, he was pleased to see.
‘Would take time off I could, but I can’t,’ she said, mouth full. ‘Believe me, you’ve no idea the pressure I’m under. Even though it’s a Saturday, we still go to print tonight …’
‘I know, I know, I’ve heard it all before, the Post holds up the sky and you’re single-handedly holding up the Post, and the whole world will crumble if you work anything less than an eighteen-hour day. All I’m saying is that sometimes it’s okay to stop and smell the roses for a bit. Graveyards are full of people just like you, who were indispensable to their jobs, you know. I’m only saying.’
It was almost painful to hear the deep, long-drawn-out sigh she gave.
‘I hear you,’ she nodded. ‘But I keep telling myself that one day I’ll have time to do all the things I want. One day.’
‘Like what?’
‘I couldn’t say.’
‘Yes you bloody well could. Go on, tell me. A day in the dream life of Eloise Elliot.’
‘Well … I dunno … In my dream life, I’d like to actually be able to sleep for starters. And to eat actual meals. And to go a whole day without once using my mobile. And to read a book right the whole way through. And drink a glass of wine in the afternoons if I was in the humour. And go to the movies midweek because I feel like it. And … take an actual holiday to somewhere like EuroDisney. Where I could take my lit …’
She stopped herself from finishing that sentence, he noticed. Odd. He picked up on it, but said nothing.
‘What I mean to say is,’ she corrected herself, ‘I feel I’m working this hard now because in a funny way, I’m storing up time that I can enjoy later on, down the line. Does that make any sense?’
He took a giant glug of his coffee and nodded.
‘Does to me. I know all about storing up time alright.’
She smiled up at him. ‘To be honest with you,’ she added, ‘I feel like I’ve spent the past couple of years just waiting on the storm to pass. But one day it will. Won’t it?’
‘Life isn’t about waiting on the storm to pass. It’s about learning to dance in the rain.’
They chatted easily and walked on as far as the Post offices on Tara St., when suddenly …
‘Eloise? That really you? I thought I was seeing things.’
It was Ruth O’Connell, the Post’s Northern editor, wiry and alert as ever, looking curiously at Jake, then at Eloise, then back to Jake, just waiting to be introduced.
‘Ehh, oh, sorry,’ said Eloise, mouth full of cheese crêpe, suddenly flushing like a wino in an off-licence. ‘Emm … Ruth, meet Jake, Jake, Ruth. Well I’d better get going, busy afternoon. You heading back in Ruth?’
‘Jake, was it?’ said Ruth, taking everything about him in with beady-eyed curiosity, missing absolutely nothing.
‘That’s right,’ he nodded amiably, going to shake hands.
‘Friend of Eloise?’
A trick question. Ruth knew Eloise didn’t have any friends, just people who didn’t despise her.
‘Yes,’ Jake answered evenly, looking down at her. ‘Yes I am, as a matter of fact.’
Eloise, for no reason, flushed even more at this. ‘Okay, so that’s that then,’ she said in a panicky voice, several notes higher than usual. ‘Come on Ruth, let’s get going …’
‘So, how exactly do you two know each other?’ Ruth asked Jake in her deadpan Norn Iron accent, in absolutely no rush to go anywhere.
Eloise semaphored a flustered look across to Jake, but there was no need. He was expert at reading people, sensed Eloise’s discomfort and wasn’t about to give anything away or let her down in public.
An awkward pause while they all stood around the busy street corner, waiting to see who’d blink first.
‘Perfectly simple question,’ said Ruth, breaking the now awkward silence, bony arms folded, giving Jake her best head-girl glare. ‘I’m just curious to know where you two met, that’s all.’
‘Err, well … you see,’ Eloise began to stammer, for once not quick enough on her feet to think up a fast answer. ‘The thing is … I met Jake through … emm …’
‘Very simple as a matter of fact,’ said Jake smoothly taking over from her. ‘I’m renting an apartment belonging to Eloise’s sister.’
With that, she shot him a thank you look of deepest gratitude.
‘I see,’ Ruth nodded, sounding unconvinced. ‘And how long have you known …?’
‘You know, much as I’d love to stay here and natter for the rest of the afternoon,’ Eloise interrupted her briskly, sounding a bit more like herself now, ‘we’ve got a news conference in exactly ten minutes Ruth. You haven’t forgotten? Come on, better get going.’
‘Oh, right then,’ said Ruth, a bit wrongfooted.
‘Nice to meet you,’ Jake nodded casually at her.
‘We’ll be seeing lots more of you in future, I’m sure,’ was Ruth’s parting shot, accompanied by one last incredulous glance back at him.
He grinned his wide, happy grin, kissed Eloise lightly on the cheek, told her that he’d chat to her soon, and like that, was gone.
Eloise insisted on rehearsing, prepping and grooming him over and over again for the interview like they were training him for an Olympic hundred metres, and not just a half-hour chat in a language school on Camden St. Ever meticulous, the night before the interview she even called round to Jake’s flat late one night after work, so she could role play the part of the interviewer and really put him through his paces this last and final time.
‘Right then, so tell me what first made you want to teach English as a foreign language?’ she asked, sitting opposite Jake at the tiny kitchen table, legs crossed, hands neatly on her lap, interrogation style.
‘Funny you asked me that,’ he replied lazily, legs stretched out, yawning. He’d been studying for his looming exams since early morning,