‘Trust me,’ Libby added.
‘I’m trying,’ Jo said. ‘Honest, I am.’
‘Sometimes excitement feels like fear,’ Libby said and Jo looked at her as if she was mad. To her, those emotions were very different and while, of course, she was delighted that Libby was enjoying her book, she couldn’t help but feel unsettled. The thing with taking a risk, she thought, was that it was a risk. Things could go wrong as easily as they could go well.
‘Jojo!’ Clara called. ‘Can we go to the park now and to see Erin? Please?’
Jo was glad of the distraction because she truly didn’t know whether she wanted to hug or thump Libby.
‘Look, I’d best be going. I’m sorry if I’m sounding really ungrateful. I just—’
‘No,’ Libby said, defeated. ‘I’m sorry. I overstepped the mark. It was with the best of intentions, but still…’ Libby looked sad and Jo felt immediately guilty.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ she said before she started to help Clara pack up her things and clear up the tsunami of crumbs her little sister had left on the table. She had started to worry that she and Libby would get caught up in a big apology loop. She took a deep breath and told herself to focus on the positive. Libby had loved her book – actually loved it. And she didn’t think Libby would lie about that.
She was just zipping up Clara’s coat when the bell above the door rang and Lorcan Gallagher, Harry’s grandson, swaggered in like he owned the place.
Jo rolled her eyes and hurried Clara along just as she heard him ask Libby for a skinny caramel latte with two shots. She couldn’t help but smile when she thought of what Harry would think if he heard his grandson’s order. Harry was famously known for his belief that ‘fancy coffee’, which was essentially anything different from black coffee, was just an affectation and that there was absolutely nothing wrong with a jar of instant. If he was feeling particularly chatty, he would also launch into his view on biscuits which were good enough for elevenses and which were just ‘plain biscuits with notions on themselves’. For the record, Biscotti were particularly ‘notiony’.
As she started to bustle Clara out of the door, she heard Lorcan ask for a ‘latte machiatto’ for his grandad. She was so shocked, it stopped her in her tracks and she looked around to make sure it was Lorcan who had asked for it – even though his distinctive English accent stood out in a sea of Derry voices.
‘Ah, are you the famous Lorcan then?’ she heard Libby ask. ‘Are you sure you want this for your grandad? He normally has plainer tastes.’
‘Well he asked me to pick it up for him, so I’ll assume he knows his own mind,’ Lorcan said, with more than a hint of snark about him.
‘Well, if there’s one thing Harry Gallagher knows, it’s his own mind,’ Libby replied, just as Clara tugged on Jo’s coat to hurry her along to the park.
‘Everybody really does stick their nose in everyone else’s business around here, don’t they?’ Jo heard Lorcan say as she opened the door and left the shop.
Nope. She really didn’t think she was going to be a fan of Lorcan Gallagher any time soon.
It was mid-afternoon by the time Jo got home, a very tired Clara at her side. They had indeed gone to the park, and then to Jo’s flat to have lunch with Erin, and after that they had taken Paddy for a walk.
In the end, Clara had pleaded with Jo to take her home as her feet were sore and she was tired. Jo, however, had not been tired, despite her lack of sleep, and had needed to walk off her nerves at the thought of Ewan McLachlan reading her book. This had combined with extreme annoyance at Lorcan for buying a latte for Harry, and then, in a final twist, it had transformed to upset at Erin for falling in love and leaving her homeless.
While lunch at the flat had been very tasty – there were certain perks to living with a chef – it had also been awkward. Jo found it hard to focus on her conversation with Erin, or Clara, when all she could think about was that she would have to pack all of her belongings up and move somewhere else. They’d had so many happy times there. Some awful times too, it had to be said. The occasional row. Nursing each other through a particularly horrific bout of food poisoning and a relationship break-up that had led to many late-night chats and crying sessions. But the majority of her memories of this place were positive.
Of course, Jo had always known the time would come when they would move on with their lives, but she just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. And she expected to have had some sort of control over it. That, she’d realised, as she stomped along the riverbanks with Paddy, was what ate at her most. The absolute, total lack of control. About her home. About her work. Whilst her friends all seemed to be perfectly settled and sorted, with their businesses and relationships and talk of wanting babies.
By the time she got home, the exhaustion had started to wash over her. She was too tired to even worry about Ewan McLachlan reading her book. She slumped down onto the armchair while Clara kicked off her shoes and, her tiredness forgotten, ran to her room to play with her toys.
‘How was she?’ her mother asked, as she carried in two mugs of tea and handed one to Jo.
‘She was fine. We got some new books, had lunch and took Paddy for a walk. Noah said he will call round to see you later – save you going into the pub. She only mentioned her birth mum once or twice and was maybe a little bit more clingy than normal, but she was showered with love and attention,’ Jo said.
‘Oh thank goodness. Thank you, pet. I’ve been so worried about her. I spent this morning on the phone to her social worker for advice. Then I phoned your dad and I had to talk him out of jumping on the first plane back. He’ll be home soon enough and he might as well finish the contract,’ her mum said and took a long sip from her mug and sighed with contentment. ‘He says it’s ridiculously hot there and he can’t wait to get back to the rubbish weather and a cold pint down at The Ivy Inn.’
Jo smiled. She couldn’t wait for her dad to be home either. She loved it when he called into the pub and took residence in his usual seat in the corner and read the papers, spoilt Paddy and was there to chat to during her breaks. The place just wasn’t the same without him. ‘First pint will be on the house,’ she said. ‘And probably most of the rest of them too.’
‘There have to be some perks to having your daughter and son run the local boozer,’ her mum said with a smile.
Jo looked at her mother’s smile, and thought of how warm her voice sounded when she spoke about her husband’s return. It warmed her heart, but at the same time she couldn’t help but feel a little sad. When her dad came home, even more would change, not least in terms of where Jo would live. There was no reason her dad coming home would mean she had to move out, but it just felt as if his return meant her being here was no longer necessary. She’d go from being a helping hand to a third wheel, however much her parents would assure her she always had a home here.
Determined not to give in to her low mood, Jo announced she was going to take a nap. When all else fails, a couple of hours in her own bed, fast asleep, normally did the trick.
She climbed the stairs, slipped off her jeans and sweater, and climbed into bed wearing just a T-shirt and her underwear, socks included. She felt the hairs on her legs bristle against her skin. She needed to shave them, she realised. Or wax them. Or was that all just exceptionally vain for a woman who was likely to be a homeless spinster mocked by a famous writer soon?