She watched as her mum’s smile transformed into one that was entirely genuine. ‘You’re a good girl, Josephine Campbell. You know that, don’t you?’
Embarrassed at the show of affection, Jo did what she always did in such situations – she brushed it off with a laugh. ‘Aye, of course I do. I’m the best,’ she said as she rolled her eyes.
‘You are! And don’t forget it,’ her mother said, before the sound of a car horn outside alerted them both to the arrival of Auntie Mags in the taxi. Jo shooed her mum out of the door.
Her Auntie Mags rolled the car window down and waved enthusiastically at Jo. Mags never seemed to drain of energy. She was in her mid-sixties but had a better social life than Jo, who was only twenty-nine. She also dressed more like a twenty-nine-year-old than Jo did, and the purple streak in her blonde hair screamed that she was not at all intending on adopting the cardigan and slippers look any time soon. Jo loved her madly for it.
‘How’s it going, Jo? Are you well?’ Mags shouted.
‘I am. Ready for a quiet night in.’ Jo smiled back as her mother got in the taxi. ‘You two can live the wild life for me tonight instead.’
‘That’s the plan!’ Mags called and, with a flamboyant air kiss, she and Jo’s mum were gone.
Only once the house was quiet did Jo realise how much she was looking forward to her quiet night in with Clara. The weekend was set to be crazy busy at The Ivy Inn and her Thursday nights off gave her the best opportunity to relax before the madness. That’s not to mention it was just lovely to cuddle up in her double bed and have Clara snuggle with her. How she’d manage when her dad returned home and she moved back to the flat she shared with Erin would remain to be seen. Over the last two months, she had adapted beautifully to life back in her childhood home and to spending almost all of her free time at the beck and call of her beautiful, slightly crazy sister.
Clara had been a member of the Campbell family on and off for the past five-and-a-half years. She was just six months old when she first came to stay with them for a few days – Maureen and Paul being among the most beloved and experienced of foster carers on the books.
For three years, she flitted in and out of their lives, sometimes just for a night or two. Sometimes for a few weeks at a time. When she arrived full-time two years ago, when it was clear she would not be returning to her birth family, Maureen Campbell was determined she would have no more upset in her life. Instead of passing her on to another new family to get to know, Maureen had persuaded her husband – not that he needed too much persuasion – to make Clara a permanent fixture in their home. Within the year, Clara’s adoption had been finalised.
Jo had been ecstatic. To the outside world, Clara looked very much like a Campbell and was often mistaken for Jo’s daughter. Both had curly red hair and startling blue eyes. Both had a silly sense of humour and could be a little too noisy at times. They had bonded instantly, despite their twenty-three-year age gap. They had bonded even more over the last two months and Jo had never once regretted her decision to come back home while her father worked away. Maureen had resisted Jo’s offer at first. Said she would manage well enough with Clara on her own. But Jo knew her mother well enough to know that while she was hale and hearty, Clara could be a handful and life would be easier for them all if Maureen had some support.
She wasn’t quite expecting to fall more and more in love with this unstoppable force of nature. But as she did, she realised it had been no sacrifice to leave her flat temporarily and spend time at home. In fact she had started to wonder how she would manage when she shared digs with Erin again and not Clara.
A sleepy-headed figure with Buttercup, her teddy, still in her arms, walked into the hall. ‘Jojo, I’m sleepy. Is it bedtime?’
‘I think it might be,’ Jo replied. ‘Hot chocolate?’
Clara nodded, before she yawned widely. Jo made a cup of hot chocolate that was mostly just warmed milk and sat at the table, while Clara recounted her day at school with such enthusiasm for the little details, it helped Jo remember how marvellous life seems when you’re young.
They brushed their teeth together – Clara making sure to show Jo what an excellent job she was doing – and just as they did every Thursday night, Jo changed into her own pyjamas and allowed Clara to climb into bed beside her. Together they read through Guess How Much I Love You until Clara’s eyes grew heavy and she started to drift off to sleep. It was only then that Jo reached for one of her notebooks, with the intention of doing some free writing while her little sister slept. The only thing was that the notebooks were just that little bit out of reach and Jo had to stretch while trying not to disturb Clara. It was, in hindsight, always destined to be a disaster.
Not only did she fail to reach the notebooks, but she also managed to fall from the bed, and landed with an unceremonious thump on the floor, her bum narrowly avoiding being impaled on the heel of one of her discarded high-heeled shoes.
The pain was real and intense, but Jo clamped her hand over her mouth while she screamed muffled expletives. When she noticed that she had also knocked over her teetering pile of notebooks and they were now lying in a haphazard bundle on the ground beside her, she swore some more.
As she checked her bum for bruising – and found it already quite impressive – she lifted the first notebook on the pile.
It was the book she had started the year before – on the day that Once Upon A Book had opened. On the first page, she had written a letter to herself; something she vaguely remembered doing, given the volume of alcohol she had consumed that night.
As she sat on the ground and waited for the pain to dissipate she started to read:
Dear Jo,
Today you watched your friend achieve her dream. And then you watched your brother get the girl.
Both acts took bravery, but look at the pay off.
What are you waiting for? What is stopping you from being brave? You want to write, then WRITE. Finish the book. Write more. LET SOMEONE READ IT BECAUSE IT IS GOOD, YOU KNOW.
I LOVE YOU, but I know you can be happier. You deserve to be HAPPIER.
Just STOP BEING A BIG COWARDY PANTS.
All my/our/your love,
Me (Us) Jo. Xxx
It was a little garbled, and funny in places, but as Jo read the words she had scrawled while three sheets to the wind, she felt tears prick at her eyes. And it wasn’t just because the bruise on her bottom was no doubt spreading and turning an even darker shade of purple. It was because she had spent every day since then promising that she would be braver the next day, or next week, or next month. She had failed spectacularly.
That’s not to say Jo was unhappy as such. She had a good life. A lovely flat with Erin. A loving family. Good friends. Great neighbours. She had part-share in a successful business – one she enjoyed working in. She had travelled, spent her early twenties as a holiday rep in warmer climes. The kind of rep that encouraged young holiday-goers to drink shots from each other’s belly buttons and who subsequently became immune to the sight and smell of vomit. She had Clara and, she noted wryly, nice high heels. But she had always felt as if she was trying on life for size. She’d yet to find her place. She watched Erin with her obsession for creating amazing food, Noah with his commitment to the community of Ivy Lane, Libby and her books, her parents and how they had devoted so many years to fostering, and wanted to find that sense of fulfilment herself.