Robert Wilson - Eureka Street - A Novel of Ireland Like No Other

`You're still not getting it right,' I said.

`What?'

I pointed to his imperfect graffiti.

`Hey, Jake.'

'What?'

'Have you got a Postgraduate Certificate in Education?'

'No.'

'You can fuck off, then.' He smiled happily at me.

`Come on,' I said. `I'll give you a ride home.'

It was nearly midnight, the street was full of drunks. It looked like that twelve-year-old was going to debate the point but I think he recognized I was getting all adult there. We walked back to the Wreck.

Roche had continued to hang around after Chuckle's departure for America. The kid was everywhere. Luke Findlater told me that he was around Chuckie's offices most of the day and I often saw him lurking in Eureka Street when I went calling on Peggy Lurgan. He must have forgotten what school looked like. I taxed him about his education one day and he suggested that I should eat his bollocks. I liked Roche. He had some imagination.

He was also a handy errand boy to have around Eureka Street. Chuckle had left a shitload of cash in a box in the kitchen and I used that to get the kid to stock the house. He had very high wage expectations. I don't know what Chuckie had been paying him but I never saw any change.

As we drove up West, Roche told me that he had seen the OTG man again. He had noticed something else this time. Every time the man wrote on walls he would write some kind of sentence before and after the legend OTG then he would simply paint over everything but those three letters. Every time I'd seen OTG written in the city it had been preceded and followed by bands of paint, the first band slightly shorter than the second. I'd thought it was merely a decorative conceit.

'What does it say before he paints it out?'

I turned off the Westlink and Roche murmured something into his chest.

'What?'

'I don't know,' he muttered.'It's hard to make it out before he paints over it.'

I stopped at some traffic lights. `Listen, kid. So you don't read too well. It's no big deal. I was slow at school. All the best people were.'

`You haven't speeded up much,' Roche replied defiantly.

I drove the little prick home in silence. Just as we turned into Beechmount, he asked me to stop the car. `Let me out here,' he said.

`I can take you up to your door just as easily.'

`Here's fine,' he said, too loudly.

I stopped the car. The kid got out. `Thanks,' he said insincerely.

I watched him as he walked off. He kept looking back at me. I knew what the score was. I swung the car across the street just as he turned a corner out of sight. I stopped the car. I got out and followed.

As I suspected he might, he walked past the street where he lived. He ducked down a few side-streets and ended up back on the Falls Road. I had an idea where he was going. I went back and fetched the Wreck. I drove to the Grosvenor Park, a dilapidated and tiny concrete and grass esplanade with a few dingy swings and a clapped-out bandstand. I parked and walked slowly up to the bandstand. The bench there was unoccupied. I was surprised. Then I bent down and looked underneath. Roche lay there, his head propped on his schoolbag, a tarpaulin pulled over his shoulders.

I waited for the quip that didn't come. Amazingly, the boy said nothing. He stared at me mutely, with something like shame in his eyes. For once, he looked like he was twelve years old.

`What's wrong?' I asked. `A bit of bother chez Roche?'

`What?'

`Forget it.'

I was squatting on my haunches. It was growing uncomfortable. I lit a cigarette. He stared at me. I offered him one. He lit up greedily.There was silence and the air felt warm and magical on my face. It wasn't such a bad night on which to sleep rough. Still.

`Come on,' I said, standing up, `you can sleep at my house.'

Roche stuck out his head from underneath the bench and opened his mouth to protest.

'Relax,' I said.'I'm not going to try to have sex with you.'

The boy shut his mouth, satisfied. He gathered up his meagre stuff and scrambled to his feet. He looked expectantly at me.

'Hey, kid,' I said,'I think I should tell you something!

`What?'

'You're much less sexually attractive than you believe.'

That night I dreamt a year's worth of dreams.

Six a.m. Roche ended up pulling me out of bed by my hair. I chased the persistent little shit downstairs but I hadn't a chance of catching him. My cat looked on with interest as I chased the boy round the kitchen.

'The phone,' he bellowed.'It's your fat friend from America'

I stopped, suddenly calm. I picked up the receiver while Roche made mutinous noises in the background.

'Chuckie?'

'Jake. Hi.'

'Do you know what fucking time it is?'

Chuckie knew what time it was. Chuckie didn't care. If he'd been in Eureka Street, I might have driven round to beat the shit out of him but he knew it wasn't worth an international flight.

Chuckie had called me for two reasons. First, he wanted me to give up my job and start working for him. He told me he was worried about Luke Findlater. He was a nice guy and good at his job but Chuckie wanted someone he could trust on the inside there. Besides, Luke kept saying things like sot;Qne and egregious. It was getting on Chuckle's nerves.

I told him wearily that I didn't know anything about busi ness or money. He refuted my objections. I was so tired and pissed off that I said I'd work for Chuckie for a grand a week. I was astonished when he said yes. It wasn't that he'd agreed, it was that he'd barely noticed.

`What was the other thing?' I asked fuzzily.

`What?'

`You said you'd called me for two reasons.'

`Oh, yeah.' He paused.

The line burred and chirped. It wasn't very atmospheric but I wondered what Chuckie was working up to.

`I'm going to be a dad.'

`What?'

`Max is pregnant. We're gonna get married.!

`I took a deep breath. `That's great. Congratulations, Chuckie.'

'Yeah. Listen, don't tell my mum. I'll tell her when I get back. How's she doing?'

'Ah, fine,' I said vaguely.

`Good. I'm really grateful for what you've been doing with her, Jake.'

`What do you mean by that?' I snapped nervously.

`Looking after her. It means a lot to me.'

`Oh, yeah, right. Don't mention it.'

`I gotta go,' said Chuckie.

I felt a surge of affection for him. I was even beginning to wake up. `Hey, Chuckie. I'm openly jealous.'

`Of what?'

`Fatherhood, Chuckie. Fix that short-term recall. It's fine news.

`Thanks'There was a slight tremble of emotion in Chuckie's voice. He hung up.

I found my eyes had grown misty. Chuckie a father. I wasn't sure what I felt.

`Did he give you the grand a week?' asked Roche.

`Yeah.'

'Fuck. Put it there,' said the awestruck boy.

Roche held out a grimy paw. I groaned and headed for the kitchen. I made some coffee, lit some cigarettes and fed the cat. It was 6.15 a.m. I don't think I'd ever woken up this early. I was surprised to find it quite so beautiful. The light was exquisite, somehow energizing. Even Roche didn't look so bad. I made the kid some breakfast, we sat at the table and I apologized for chasing him round the flat.

'I don't suppose you'd consider the possibility of going to school today?'

Roche munched his toast implacably. `What do you think?'

'Thought so.'

`What, are you like my dad now or something?'

The cat vaulted onto my lap. He'd finished his breakfast. I seemed calm so he started purring. I felt like some kind of respectable patriarch there, cat and kid at six in the morning. I quite liked it.

`What's the deal with your old man? Does he knock you about?'

The boy lodged a large slice of toast in his mouth. He stood up and lifted his shirt over his head, toast and all. He swivelled slowly.