Читать книгу The Story of Joe Brown - Rose Doyle - Страница 6

Joe’s days formed a pattern after that.

The dull November mornings dawned a lot brighter in his new room than they had in the hostel. He found it easier to get up and a lot easier to feel hopeful about life.

Every morning he had a breakfast of cereal and toast with the Ryans, mother and daughter. Julia usually had it on the table for him when he arrived down to the kitchen.

“I’m not much of a cook,” she said the first morning, laughing. “If you want boiled eggs, I could just about do them. Anything else you’ll have to do yourself.” She was wrapped in a soft, white towelling housecoat, her face smooth and young looking.

“Toast and cereal are just grand,” Joe said. A coffee on its own was what he was used to. It would have done, but he didn’t tell her that. He liked her fussing about him.

The days in the library, fixing and cleaning, became almost pleasurable now he had the evenings in Copper Avenue to look forward to. It took only a week for him to begin thinking of the house as home.

Most evenings Julia was there when he arrived in. There would be pizzas or TV dinners in the oven and a bottle of wine open on the table.

“Please don’t be embarrassed,” she said the first evening. “I like company for my evening meal and Angie’s never here. You’ll be doing me a favour, eating with me.”

So eating together became part of the pattern too. They talked a lot, about nothing much but easily. Julia never asked him about himself. He never brought up the subject of a Mr Ryan. If he was dead or gone, fine. Better still if he’d never existed.