She drifted off to sleep with that thought in her head.
10
Clueless
The following morning, had she not booked some time off, Jo would have been due a catch-up with the admin at The Ivy Inn. Tuesdays were normally dedicated to totting up the accounts from the weekend before – a task Jo generally enjoyed more than she was willing to admit. But instead she found herself on the second day of a break to work on the book Libby had already sent on to Ewan McLachlan.
She didn’t know what way to approach the day. Was there any point in reworking the book before she got feedback from one of the best crime writers in the business? Should she work on something new? She felt on edge and jittery. She doubted she would be able to concentrate enough to write anything which made sense.
Maybe, she thought, she should spend her time doing something productive – like looking for somewhere new to live. But, no, she didn’t think she was ready to do that yet.
With a huge sigh, she pulled the duvet back over her head and listened to her mother chatting to Clara downstairs.
‘Is Jo not getting out of bed?’ she heard Clara ask.
‘I think she must be very tired this morning,’ her mother replied, ‘so she’s going to have a rest.’
‘Is she a lazybones, Mammy?’ The earnest way in which Clara asked the question made Jo smile. It was enough to remind her, for now, that she had a lot of good things in her life – Clara being chief among them.
When she heard them leave for school, and realised she had no chance of getting back to sleep, she sat up and picked up her phone. She typed a quick text message to Erin and Libby to apologise for being a little tetchy the day before. Then she messaged her dad to say she couldn’t wait to see him in a few weeks. Her phone rang minutes later and when she saw it was an international number calling, she smiled.
‘Dad!’ she said as she answered. ‘How are you?’
‘Very hot!’ he laughed. It was only on hearing his voice that she realised just how much she missed him. Of course, she always knew she was a daddy’s girl, but she kept herself so busy she didn’t give herself time to miss him. But now, as she felt she’d lost control over her life, his was the only voice she wanted to hear. ‘How are you, my love?’ he asked. ‘Are you not working today?’
‘I’ve taken a few days off,’ she said. ‘I’m fine, Daddy. I just miss our chats.’
‘Me too, darling. But listen, it won’t be long until I’m home and we can catch up properly. With a big hug and everything and I promise I’m not going away again. Your mum was telling me about Erin…’
‘It’s great for her,’ Jo said. ‘But not so great for me.’
‘Well, you know you always have a bed under our roof. Always. We’ll sort something out. We always do. You keep your chin up, Jo. I promise it will be okay.’
There was something in the way her dad spoke that calmed her. If he said it would be okay, she knew it would be okay.
When she finished the chat, she felt infinitely better and decided that she might as well make the most of the day.
Having showered and dressed quickly in black skinny jeans and a grey sweater, Jo left the house, grabbing her bag, phone and keys on the way out.
It was a bright, sunny morning. There was still a nip in the air, early spring being more of a promise than a reality, but it was a nice day for a walk and it would do her good to clear her head.
She’d walk along the river to the city centre and maybe she’d treat herself to a delicious coffee, or something nice to wear. She might pop into the library for an hour, and think about her next big story. Whatever she’d do, it would be something just for her.
Having slipped her earbuds in, she scrolled through her Spotify to find her ‘feel-good’ playlist and walked out to Jackie Wilson singing about love lifting him higher. She could feel her mood lift in harmony with the music. It would be okay. She knew it. And even if Ewan McLachlan didn’t love her work, she’d just use that to try harder. Of course, she would cry and swear a bit first, but it wouldn’t put her off writing. Her dream was to be published, but she got so much joy just from the process of writing that, no matter what, she wouldn’t be giving it up.
Lost in her own world, listening to Beyoncé’s ‘Love On Top’ and daydreaming about being able to sing and dance with half the style of Queen Bey, Jo was not expecting the tap on her shoulder which pulled her out of her reverie and made her swear.
Startled, she spun around to see who was behind her and was momentarily flummoxed to see that it was Lorcan Gallagher, his blonde, floppy hair floppier than ever, his head tilted to one side and his hands raised as if in surrender.
He started to speak, but Beyoncé had just hit one of her many impressive key changes and was bellowing in her ears loudly. Jo pulled her earbuds out, somewhat reluctantly.
‘Sorry,’ he said, his hands still raised. ‘I did try calling you, but you were clearly listening to music.’ He glanced at her earbuds. ‘Vintage Beyoncé, I’m digging the retro vibe.’
She gawped at him. Did he really just say ‘digging the retro vibe’? Did he really think any of Beyoncé’s songs were old enough to be described as vintage?
‘You startled me,’ she said. ‘You’re lucky I didn’t kick you in the shins and make a run for it. And Beyoncé is very current, I’ll have you know.’
He smiled. ‘I’m not judging. It’s a great song,’ he said. ‘But I didn’t stop you to talk about Beyoncé. I noticed you must have a hole in your bag, or it’s open or something, because you dropped a couple of things.’
It was only then she noticed that in his hand he held her favourite MAC lipstick (Russian Red, if you must know), the spare key to Libby’s flat, which was on a Derry Girls-themed key ring and, to her utter embarrassment, a tampon.
She blinked at him. She willed her brain to find something smart, or witty, to say that would distract both of them from the embarrassment of the tampon in his hand. Something that would save her from coming across as a complete eejit, or a total weirdo. That ship, however, she realised, had well and truly set sail and she was its only passenger.
‘Oh, right, okay,’ she mumbled, and grabbed for her bag, realising that, thankfully, there wasn’t a hole in it, but, unfortunately, she had not zipped the small pocket on the front closed and she must have been walking at such a determined pace, empowered by Beyoncé, that the contents had been shaken loose. She quickly checked to see if anything else was missing. Everything seemed present and accounted for.
‘I don’t actually make much of a habit of accosting strangers, but I recognised you from Grandad’s shop and those MAC lipsticks aren’t cheap to come by. My girlfriend wore them. My ex-girlfriend that is.’ It was his turn to look flustered, as he glanced down at the tampon in his hand. Thankfully he passed no comment on it as he pointed it at her.
Jo took it from him, mumbling a quiet thank you. She didn’t want or need to know if they were the same brand his girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend, used.
‘Well thank you,’ she managed to say through her crucifying embarrassment. ‘That’s very good of you.’