‘I know this seems like a huge deal, but it will pass,’ Erin said. ‘Lorcan has to go home sometime, and given his track record, we probably won’t see hide nor hair of him for years. By that stage, you’ll be a hugely successful writer and will have proved him wrong about Ewan McLachlan. But on the off-chance you do need to run away and change your name, can I suggest the name Phoebe made up in Friends. Princess Consuela… Oh, what is it again?’
‘Banana-Hammock,’ Jo said, and she couldn’t help but smile. It was fairly hard to remain grumpy in the face of such silliness.
‘And your backstory will need to be fantastic and mysterious,’ Erin said. ‘Always keep people asking questions. How good are you at Russian accents?’
Jo found herself laughing. ‘Thank you, Erin,’ she said. ‘You always know exactly the right kind of ridiculous thing to say.’
‘It’s a special skill,’ she replied. ‘Try not to let your argument with Lorcan take away from your time with the ridey author. Do what you’re there to do. Don’t be letting someone’s jealous tantrum get in the way.’
‘Jealous tantrum?’ Jo asked, not entirely sure what Erin was getting at. Lorcan couldn’t be jealous of her. It wasn’t as if he wanted to be a writer or that her life was any more stable than his. ‘There’s no way Lorcan is jealous of me.’
‘Jo Campbell, sometimes I despair. He’s not jealous of you. He’s jealous of Ewan. Have you not considered the possibility that he would quite like spending a few days holed up in a hotel with you himself?’
Jo was awake. That weird insomnia that came with sleeping in a bed that was not her own had kicked in. That and of course the questions she had been asking herself about Erin’s assertion that Lorcan was jealous of Ewan. Surely he couldn’t be. He had come to Ireland to heal a broken heart, not to find a new relationship within a couple of days. He’d been with Sophie for years. You don’t just walk away from something like that and fall straight into another relationship. She thought about how long it had taken her after her break-up with Colm to even consider snogging someone new, never mind having a full-blown affair.
No, Lorcan couldn’t be jealous. But there was no doubt he was annoyed, and she in turn was annoyed with him. The only thing about the whole situation that Jo knew for certain was that it made her feel sad. Every time she almost dropped off to sleep, she would see the expression on his face at the beach, prompting her into a new bout of self-pity. He’d looked so hurt, and his accusation that she was the judgemental one cut deep. If there was something that Jo Campbell was known for, it was for her listening ear and her famously non-judgemental attitude.
And yet she couldn’t escape from the fact that he had been right. She had been judging him since Harry started talking about him, and that had only escalated when they had finally met.
She was invested in him. The good and the bad of him.
It was all so messy and she didn’t want any of it.
She swore again as she rolled onto her stomach and buried her head under her pillow desperate for sleep.
There was not a pot of coffee big enough, or a headache tablet strong enough, to make Jo feel human the following morning. At best guess, she had managed seventy-eight minutes of sleep, which, of course, was the seventy-eight minutes before her alarm bleeped loudly to wake her up. She had fallen into the deepest of slumbers and was just in the middle of a dream about McSteamy from Grey’s Anatomy when she had been hauled from the brink of a passionate embrace back to a darkened hotel room in Donegal.
Her eyes were heavy and her limbs ached as she stood under the powerful streams of the shower, hoping it would wake her up. It was only when she jumped awake to the sound of an audible snore from her own face that she realised she had actually fallen asleep again standing up.
As she opened the windows to her hotel room wide, she was thankful for the rush of cool morning air and breathed it in deeply. She had to leave behind everything that had happened the day before and concentrate on the work she wanted to do. She could, and would, be strictly professional with Ewan. She’d be on her best behaviour and drink in all the great advice he could give her.
She would also not think about Lorcan or his sad face. Or about Erin’s jealousy theory.
Today would be all about her work, both hers and Ewan’s. He had planned a busy day for them. They were due to pack up and move on to their next stop close to Malin Head – the most northerly point in Ireland. She wondered whether Ewan would share with her what his next book was about and what part Donegal would play in it. She was intrigued to find out how he kept his writing fresh and original.
See, she told herself as she touched up her under-eye concealer to try and make herself look a little more human, she was already focusing on work and not any other distractions.
Unlike Jo, Ewan looked fresh and unnaturally handsome when she met him for breakfast.
‘Did you sleep well?’ he asked, as she almost begged the waitress to replace her small coffee cup with a mug, or perhaps a bucket.
‘I was a bit wired. A lot to think about. I tossed and turned a bit,’ she said.
‘I hope I didn’t overload you with stuff,’ he replied, genuine concern on his face. ‘I get a bit carried away when I’m really invested in a story. Don’t be afraid to put me in my place. You have to remember this is your book. Your story. Your life. I’m just one writer, who doesn’t necessarily know more than anyone else.’
‘The Sunday Times bestseller title and the successful TV series might say differently,’ Jo said as she took her first sip of coffee and enjoyed feeling the caffeine infuse into her bloodstream.
‘We all have our doubts,’ he admitted. ‘We’re all just chasing the next story. The next big idea.’ He gave a soft, self-deprecating smile. ‘It’s the best industry in the world, and I can’t imagine ever doing anything else, but there are times when it feels a bit overwhelming. I never take success for granted, which is why I want each book to be better than the last. The problem being that every time I finish writing a book, I tend to be absolutely sure that my well is dry and I’ll never write again. Thankfully, most of the time, a new story pops into my head after a few weeks.’
‘I can’t imagine writing multiple books,’ Jo confessed. ‘I mean I have ideas, but this story has been my focus for so long, I haven’t really thought beyond it. I can’t quite imagine another story consuming me in the same way.’
‘Believe me, it will. Another idea will come to you with another cast of characters and another remarkable setting, perhaps when you least expect it. Why don’t we go and grab a plate full of bacon and eggs and we can talk more about it?’ he said.
‘Then we can go on an exhilarating walk on the coast at Malin Head and I can show you where they filmed those scenes from Star Wars,’ Jo replied, surprised by how comfortable she felt in his company again after the awkwardness of the previous afternoon.
‘That sounds like a solid plan,’ Ewan said.
‘But coffee first, so much coffee,’ Jo smiled.
26
The Last Jedi