Six Months Later …
… And Jake and I are still together. I know – no one can believe it, not even me. My longest relationship in … Well, ever. And I have to say, it’s utterly and totally beyond wonderful.
Astonishingly, he and I are still in that loved-up first flush and nothing I seem to say or do is driving him mental. Well, as of yet. Mind you, I’ve always said that Jake is so laid-back, you could wallop the back of his head with a frying pan and still not provoke a row with him. He really, genuinely is that easy to be with, to live with, to love. The perfect guy for someone like me, in other words.
But am I for him? I’m always asking him teasingly in more playful moments and his answer is always the same. ‘Eloise, I love you because of most of your qualities and in spite of some of the others.’
So like I said then, pretty much an ideal man for anyone, never mind me.
He adores the ground Lily walks on and she idolises him too, though like all little girls, still somehow manages to keep him securely wrapped around her little finger. Her big birthday party went ahead in spite of Mama’s being jobless – not only that, but we went all out and gave her a huge party with full honours attached, including a clown and magician, a chocolate fountain, the whole shebang.
My mother surprised me by flying home from Spain for it and even asked me if she could stay on with me for a bit longer. Said she was having such a ball reconnecting with Helen and me, spoiling Lily rotten and getting to just chill out with her family, she wasn’t ready to leave, not just yet. So of course I delightedly said yes, thrilled to have her back.
Funny but although I speak to her on the phone and see her fleetingly at Christmas, to my deep shame it’s been years since I really spent any kind of quality time with her. I always left that to Helen and see now, not for the first time, just how much I was missing out on. Mum’s mellowed a lot over the years too; far less the perma-tanned, cruise-ship blonde I so cruelly had her stereotyped as. Don’t get me wrong, she’s still very much a lady who lunches, immaculately groomed, gel-nailed and impeccably turned out at all times, but to see her playing dress-up with Lily and whirling her off to posh shops that I’d never dream of crossing the threshold of, then buying her the cutest outfits you ever saw, is beyond touching.
Helen and I gently asked her if she’d ever reconsider moving back to Ireland but it’s still a firm no from her. Well, it’s a no, but with a promise from me that my spare room is forever available to her whenever she fancies a good, long visit. And far more regularly from now on, I stress to her. Her friends and her life are all in Spain now, she tells us, but at the same time, I think she appreciates that there’s always a welcome here in Dublin, whenever she wants. And each one of us hopes she’ll be back a lot more regularly than just jetting in once a year for a few days at Christmas.
I think she genuinely enjoyed Lily’s big birthday party too. Have to admit, it really was good to see her after so long and feeling like a daughter again. I honestly couldn’t say which Mum was more shocked at; how big and bold Lily’s grown or what a totally different person I am these days. She more than approves of Jake too, easy to tell. I knew the minute she told him with a sassy twinkle to drop the whole ‘another cup of tea, Mrs. Elliot?’ thing, and to just get her an ashtray and a large G and T in that order. And, her classic line with anyone she really does like, ‘Mrs. Elliot was my mother-in-law, for Chrissakes, my name is Vera.’
Anyway, the birthday party itself was a total triumph and now, six months on, Lily is still talking about it. Basically more little girls than you’d see backstage at auditions for Annie descended on the house and Lily had the best afternoon of her life, Bozo the Clown scoring particularly high in the popularity stakes. But then little did the sugar-rushed three-year-olds know that Bozo was actually someone Jake knew from Wheatfield who’d just been released for good behaviour after six months, and who Jake now reckoned needed a bit of a leg up in life. So clowning became his thing, and after much pleading on Jake’s behalf to stop swearing like a docker with Tourette’s, now he’s a full-time party clown-for-hire and from what I can see, making far more than plenty of junior reporters I knew back at the Post.
Ahh, the Post. Most astonishing news of all to come. After everything that had happened all those months ago, I took a full month off work at Jake’s insistence, something I’ve never done EVER, in spite of phone call after phone call from the T. Rexes requesting a meeting with me, ‘at my earliest possible convenience, to discuss some options that have arisen.’
Initially it puzzled me, ‘Options?’ They’ve already fired me, I figured; they’d done their worst, so why the hell would they want to see me again? Then I thought … Maybe they’re worried that I’ll sue for unfair dismissal? Which I never would or could, but it was the only possible reason I could come up with as to why I was being summoned in. And I took great pleasure in not returning a single one of their phone messages. Let ’em sweat, I figured; God knows I’d sweated buckets enough for them over the years.
Instead, I spent the most fabulous time at home, doing something I’d never allowed myself to do before; being a full-time, stay-at-home mum and loving every second of it. Taking Lily to the park with Jake, or to an afternoon kids’ movie or even just doing all the normal stuff, like cooking for the three of us, chatting, messing about, laughing, then vegging out in front of the TV.
Being a ‘pwroper’ family, as Lily loves to tell us, over and over again.
Then when I was good and ready but not a day before, I sauntered back into work to meet the board, dressed in my mummy uniform of jeans, T-shirt and flip flops. Subliminally telling the lot of them, ‘Ehh, excuse me, just so you know, I had to leave my daughter at home so I could make this meeting, so you’d better keep it quick because frankly, I’ve better things to do.’
Before I left the house, Jake hugged me tight, his warm, solid heart in his big round eyes.
‘Whatever it is they want you for, honey,’ he told me, ‘I know you’ll do the right thing. And you know I’ll stand by you whatever this is about – as long as you know what you’re doing.’
‘Oh don’t you worry,’ I smiled at him, leaning up on tip toe to kiss him. ‘I know exactly what I’m doing.’
And as it turned out, I did. As soon as I stepped out of the lift onto the executive floor, Sir Gavin himself let the posse out to meet me and suddenly I was surrounded by elderly men in suits, all shaking me by the hand and heartily congratulating me on surviving ‘such a trial by media’. (Sir Gavin’s phrase, not mine). Anyway, I was led into the boardroom and bluntly told that although I had utterly messed up by failing to cover the Courtney case to protect my own personal interests, it seems the goalposts had shifted significantly since then.
Seth Coleman, it seemed, hadn’t turned out to be quite the hotshot in my old job he’d automatically presumed he would be. ‘Needs a steady right hand behind him to ease him in a little more and to keep things running as efficiently as they’ve always done,’ seemed to be the general gist of what they were all saying about him. And seeing as how the landscape had changed considerably, their key question to me was this. Would I possibly consider returning?
As Seth had now taken control of the editor’s chair and was contractually obliged to stay there, basically the board are now offering me his old job as managing editor, on a considerably reduced salary, reporting directly to him. So in a nutshell, given that the managing editor is expected to put in even longer hours than the exec editor, it boiled down to this; more work for even less dosh.
‘I would urge you to think long and hard about it, Eloise,’ Sir Gavin pressed me. ‘Because in no way can this be seen as a demotion. We’re prepared to overlook the recent blot on your copybook in light of the fact that you were only protecting your family and also taking into account your sterling record to date. It’s a generous offer, and we need you back.’
‘It’s an incredibly generous offer,’ I tell him back, ‘but I’m afraid it’s a no.’
And it really was that easy. Didn’t even have to think about it.
Well, put it this way; if I gave it a second thought, I certainly didn’t need to give it a third one.
‘Eloise, I would strongly recommend you to take some time out to reconsider. It’s bad business to make rash decisions based on your emotions, you of all people surely are aware of that …’
But the truth was I didn’t even need to. Image after image flashed through my mind; of poor white-haired Robbie Turner, old before his time and still at his desk bashing out stories well past midnight most nights, of Ruth from domestic politics, never, ever daring to take as much as a Sunday afternoon off work, of my long-suffering assistant Rachel almost being driven to a nervous collapse on account of the schedule she’d been expected to put in.
So as generous and all as the offer was, it wasn’t just a ‘no’, it was a ‘no, not on your life’. I’d been there, done all that, and was now ready to leave it all behind and move on.
Except this time, with my family.
I paused for a moment, looked around me and was just about to reassure them my answer was final, when out of left field, Jimmy Doorley the CFO piped up. ‘Just out of curiosity,’ he queried from the far end of the table, ‘if it’s not too personal a question, may I ask what exactly is the present nature of your relationship with Jake Keane? After all, he was at one stage a driver for Courtney with the prison record to prove it. What was it, two years for being accessory to a crime? It’s purely your safety and that of your daughter I’m concerned about, you understand Eloise. Not to mention our reputation as the paper of record, should he continue to be a fixture in your life.’
I distinctly remember taking the deepest breath, eyeballing him and really taking my time to answer. Half of me appalled at the sheer rudeness of him daring to even ask me such a thing, the other half thinking, well, I am dealing with the T. Rexes now. What did I expect anyway? Respect? Sensitivity?
Yeah right, some chance. Thing is though, by then I knew exactly how to handle a comment like that with all the disdain it deserved.
‘Certainly you may ask, Jimmy,’ I eventually told him, as witheringly as I could. ‘But it doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll choose to answer you. Jake Keane, as it happens, is my partner, and I hope will remain so for a long time to come. Yes, he once was a courier for Courtney when he shouldn’t have been, and was caught and paid the price, but we’re all allowed one mistake in life, aren’t we? I certainly made mine.’
I neglect to mention that my one mistake was staying here for approximately six years longer than I should have done. I’m just hoping the subtlety won’t be lost on them.
‘It’s an astonishing story, whatever way you look at it,’ came another voice from the back of the table. ‘Hope for your sake the tabloids don’t drag it all up all over again.’
‘If they do, in the words of the Duke of Wellington,’ I smile as sweetly as I can, ‘publish and be damned.’
Course, news of my turning them down spread like wildfire the way the tom tom’s always went into overdrive at the Post whenever there was hot news afoot and sure enough the next day I got a call from Rachel asking if I’d mind swinging by, ‘to collect some stuff and so we can all say goodbye properly.’
So I did, and was puzzled to find the vast, cavernous, football pitch of an office totally deserted. Not a sinner. Then, just as I was about to turn on my heel and call back later, wondering why the hell the place was like the Marie Celeste, my mobile rang. Ruth from Domestic, screeching at me that they were all waiting for me in the conference room and to ‘hurry the feck up and get my arse in there right away.’
So in I went and it was a party. An actual, proper, surprise farewell party. Just for me. With a giant cake that read, ‘We’ll really miss you Eloise!’ banners, streamers, champagne, the whole works. They’d even clubbed together and bought me a stunning silver Tiffany charm bracelet, with a beautiful disc hanging from it engraved, ‘From all your friends at the Post. We’ll always love you.’ The gang was there in force, every single one of them, and they reduced me to tears more than once with their warm, heartfelt speeches about how much they’d miss me and telling me under pain of death that I was to stay in touch.
Out of nowhere, I had an instant memory flashback to that dreary, dismal night of my thirtieth birthday party, all those years ago, when no one bothered to turn up and I was left to celebrate my birthday utterly alone and totally friendless. And I can’t help beaming at just how miraculously everything has turned around since that nightmarish night. Having Lily, meeting Jake … Who would ever have thought?
Now, every single day of my life, when I think deep and hard about it, I work out that I’m happy. Something that would have been completely inconceivable to me all that time ago. And when I try to remember the person I was back then, I find I can’t.
‘You’re much missed, Eloise,’ Marc from culture told me, sincerity shining out of him.
‘Come off it Marc,’ I teased him, ‘may I remind you that you and I did nothing but bicker the whole time?’
‘Doesn’t matter. You were a boss and a friend. A boss-friend, if you like. You didn’t used to be, but you are now. Well, you were until you told the board to go and shag themselves. Which subsequently made you my personal heroine. If I could only get you to change your hair a bit, that is …’
‘Marc! I get it!’ I laugh at him. ‘Now, would you ever quit while you’re ahead?!’
Anyway, hours and hours and waaaay too much champagne later, as I fall tipsily out the door, with Rachel on one side of me and Kian from sports supporting me on the other I notice one noticeable exception who didn’t even bother coming to say goodbye. From the far corner of the room, I can just make out Seth Coleman’s bony silhouette standing up against the closed blinds of my old office. Looking like some kind of ghoulish spectre at the feast.
And would I go back and trade places with him? Not on your bleeding life.
So now it’s six months on, almost Christmas and so much in my life has already changed. Jake is still working at the language school, except he’s been made full-time now and has effectively been supporting me and Lily with his salary, paying the mortgage, the whole works. Meanwhile, I took my own good time finding another job, sticking at all times to the one set of criteria I refused to stray from.
I will no longer work weekends.
I will not work later than five in the evening.
I will take six week’s holiday every year and that’s final.
Anyway, I was headhunted for several jobs at first, basically all a repeat performance of what I’d been doing at the Post for so long, and I turned each and every one down.
‘Think about what you love to do more than anything else in the whole world,’ Jake advised me late one night, when Lily was tucked up in bed and it was just him and me alone. One of my favourite times of the day, basically.
‘And then see if you can get paid for it.’
And that’s when it came to me; an epiphany. I thought back to how much I used to really love reporting way back in my early days and the huge kick I got out of being out on the road tracking down Jake, all those months and months ago. So I asked The Daily Echo if they’d be interested in hiring me as a freelance journalist and they snapped at it. Kept offering me editorial jobs higher up the food chain, senior editor in charge of this, executive editor in charge of that, all of which I’ve since turned down.
And for the first time in years, I’m really, genuinely loving what I do. I’ve lived side by side with anxiety for so long, now that it’s gone, I almost don’t recognise the new lightness of spirit I feel, skipping into work late mornings, or even better, working from home. Whole days go by when I completely forget to worry, then realise; I’ve nothing to worry about. Best of all, I can carry it off and yet still prioritise mummy-time. Because believe me, nothing on earth will ever change that ever again.
Helen, meanwhile, has still more good news to report. In a stunning development and to much silent whooping from me, she finally dumped the useless, worthless Darren and told him where to shove his B&B in Cobh. Then she reapplied for her old job in telesales and moved lock, stock and barrel back into her old flat in Sandymount. And the minute she was newly single and back in town, the lovely Ben didn’t take too long to ask her out on a proper date. I’m delighted to say that they’re still seeing each other, more and more seriously now it would seem. At least according to Jake, who reckons Helen is the first woman who’s actually made him smile again since he lost his wife. She gets on brilliantly with his little boy Josh too, and he and Lily have become the best of buddies.
Lily now has a far more active social life than any adult I know, bar none. Since Jake came into her life, she’s now acquired the one thing she wanted more than anything, but aside from a dad, she now has a shedload of cousins plus a brand new grandma too. Jake has a grand total of seven nieces and nephews and Lily adores all of them, constantly badgering me for playdates with them, anything to get to spend more time with them. And it’s wonderful to see her playing with them, so happy. Surrounded by her family.
So now it’s Christmas Eve and just as Jake promised us, as a special surprise present, he’s whisked Lily and me off to EuroDisney in Paris for a few days’ break. The child, I think will burst with the sheer happiness of actually being here, and to be perfectly honest, her mother’s not all that far behind her.
As the three of us sit side by side in one of those giant cup and saucer waltzers, being swirled this way and that, screeching and laughing our heads off, loving every second of being together, I look up at Jake and there’s a moment where the two of us grin broadly at each other, unable to believe our story could have ended so happily. But it has; I can scarcely believe it, but it really has.
Happiness I want to last for a delicious eternity.
And suddenly the future stretches out in front of us, like a rolling red carpet, as far as the eye can see.