So, she wouldn’t get back to sleep as quickly as she’d hoped, but the little girl asleep in her arms was worth one hundred sleepless nights and more.
9
Kindergarten Cop
By 10.30, Clara was sitting on one of the chairs in the coffee bar area of Once Upon A Book drinking a tall glass of milk from a paper straw and nibbling on a blueberry muffin. Looking at her, you would see no signs of the storm that had raged earlier. She had been changed out of her uniform into a pair of denim dungarees with her pink, zipped hoodie and her favourite sparkly trainers. Her mood had lifted as soon as she’d realised she was to spend the day with her beloved Jojo, and now she was as happy as she could be with a Peppa Pig storybook open in front of her and she was engrossed in the pictures. That book, and two others, had been purchased by Jo and she hoped at least one of them would give her a break from the endless rereads of Guess How Much I Love You.
‘It must be really hard for her all the same,’ Libby said as they both stood and looked over to where Clara was laughing at whatever funny picture was on the page. ‘It’s a lot to get your head around, and she’s so young.’
‘Mum’s going to see if Noah will talk to her. You know, about how he came to live with us and all.’
‘That’s a good idea. You know he adores her. Between ourselves, he’s more than a little broody at the minute.’
Jo’s eyes widened in surprise. The thought of Noah wanting a baby, and actually being in a position to start a family, was a little scary. It felt grown-up. And sensible.
‘Don’t worry! It’s not happening. Not yet anyway. We’ve the wedding to get through and I want to make sure the shop is on solid ground. Although my parents have already offered to step in and run the place if I do have a baby and need some maternity leave. Could you see it? They’d be like the Lord and Lady of the manor in here.’ Libby smiled.
Jo couldn’t help but smile too. Libby’s parents were lovely, lovely people. Although they didn’t live or work on the lane, they were very much considered honorary Lane residents. There was rarely a day when one or both of them wasn’t seen in the bookshop. They’d be the very best people to take over.
‘Anyway,’ Libby said. ‘Speaking of babies. I got your book last night. I’m surprised you can’t see the bags under my eyes.’
Jo swallowed down the wave of nausea that washed over her. With all the drama that morning, she had pushed all thoughts of her book to the back of her mind, but now here was Libby, standing in front of her, telling her she had read some of it.
‘Remember, be honest,’ Jo said, inwardly hoping that Libby wouldn’t be too honest.
A flush of colour started to rise up Libby’s neck to her face and Jo thought that the nausea might just soon turn into full on vomiting.
‘Oh God, you hated it,’ she muttered. ‘Look, forget I showed it to you. Say nothing. We’ll just move on and pretend it never happened.’
‘No!’ Libby protested. ‘It’s not that at all. I’ve not finished it, but that was only because I fell asleep. It’s good, Jo. I mean, really good. I don’t understand why you’ve been hiding your talent away.’
‘You don’t have to say that just because you know me,’ Jo blushed, sure Libby must have been trying extra hard to make her feel good about herself.
‘I’m not just saying that,’ Libby protested. ‘It’s a great read.’
Jo felt a strange mixture of pride and extreme embarrassment at the compliment. Irish people don’t take compliments well and this was especially true of Jo. She didn’t know what to say. Part of her wanted to run away. Part of her wanted to hug Libby. A really big part of her wanted to pump her friend for more information. Wanted to know what Libby liked about it. What she thought of her characters. And the setting. And the pacing. Was the pacing okay?
But Jo did none of those things, she just stood, mute, not sure whether she was going to laugh or cry. Before she did either though she noticed the look on Libby’s face and felt the nausea rise up once more. Libby was looking decidedly shifty.
‘Look, I did something,’ Libby said. ‘And I don’t want you to be mad, because I think it was the best thing to do and I’m not sure you’d ever do it yourself.’
Jo stood, scared to asked what Libby had done but knowing that she needed to know. And now.
‘Noah agreed it was a good idea,’ Libby said, her voice quiet and cautious.
‘What was it?’ Jo asked, as she tried to push down the feeling that Libby and Noah had overstepped the mark. Jo wasn’t ready to do anything other than have Libby read it. She certainly didn’t want anyone else to read it. At that moment, one of the A3 posters of Ewan McLachlan caught her eye. He stared out at her, in moody black and white. Jo looked from him to Libby and back again. ‘Oh, Libby, please tell me you didn’t…’
‘It’s too good an opportunity to pass up. I emailed him first thing to ask if he would be interested. He emailed me back within fifteen minutes and said of course he would like to read it. And it is that good, Jo. This could change your life.’
‘But… you haven’t even finished reading it. How can you possibly say it’s good?’ Jo said, panic clawing at her.
‘Because it is.’
‘Maybe the ending is shite,’ Jo said, her voice loud enough for a little voice from a nearby table to pipe up.
‘Jojo, I heard that bad word.’
‘Sorry, Clara,’ Jo said, and turned her head to Libby, who was now winning the flushed face competition. If Jo wasn’t mistaken, there were tears sitting in Libby’s eyes.
‘I didn’t want to upset you,’ Libby said. ‘I just wanted to help. It really is very good. You need to believe in yourself.’
‘But I wasn’t ready!’ Jo protested limply.
‘I’ll say this with love in my heart,’ Libby began. ‘I don’t think you’d ever be ready. If it was left to you, then I think this book would sit on your computer forever and that would be a waste of a damn good book.’
‘You really think it’s good?’ Jo asked.
‘Oh my God! Do you really think I would send it to Ewan McLachlan if I didn’t think it was good? I have him coming to my bookshop to do a reading. I want to create a strong working relationship with him and other authors. Do you think I’d send him any old toot to read and wreck that? Imagine if he told every one of his author friends that I had a habit of trying to pin ropey writing friends on them?’
Libby, Jo had to acknowledge, had a point.
‘It’s just…’ she began.
‘Scary,’ Libby cut in, finishing Jo’s sentence for her. ‘I know it is. A lot of the things that are worth doing are scary at first. But I know you, and Noah knows you more. He told me you’ve been writing on and off for years. I’ve seen you tapping away on your laptop. There comes a time when you have to take the next step. Even if it makes you want to puke. Actually, especially if it makes you want to puke.’
Jo was not convinced. Nausea was not something she enjoyed. Fear was something she enjoyed even less.