‘Tough day?’ her mum asked, as she carried a load of washing into the kitchen to put in the machine.
‘Meh,’ she replied and shrugged. ‘I’ve had better, but I’ve had worse. Erin’s moving in with Aaron. So I’ve a tough decision to make about the flat.’
‘There’s always a bed for you here,’ her mother replied.
‘Ach, I know, Mum, and that’s good to know, but much as I’ve loved being here with you and Clara, once Dad is back, you will want your space, and it’s not exactly a good life plan for a twenty-nine-year-old to move back home permanently.’
‘Clara would love it,’ her mum said with a wry smile.
‘And I love spending time with her, but God… Mum, have you ever felt as if your life was just on hold? Everyone else is chasing their dreams and getting hooked up and married, and I’m wondering whether to move back in with my parents and six-year-old sister?’ Jo sighed.
‘You make a good point. But you’ve chased your dreams. You’ve travelled, and you have the business with Noah?’
‘Mum, you know that’s more Noah’s dream than mine. I mean, I love it, but I never thought it was going to be my whole life.’
In fact, until Noah had raised the idea of her investing in the pub and coming on board to work with him she had never really seen herself as someone who would ever be a business owner. As it had happened, it had saved her sanity during a particularly difficult time in her life but it wasn’t her dream. It wasn’t how she thought her life would pan out.
‘Tell me this,’ her mum said, ‘what did you think your whole life would be?’
Jo felt her face redden. Could she find the strength in herself to say it out loud? She took a deep breath… ‘I want to be a writer. A proper writer.’ She thought of how brave her friends had been and she closed her eyes. ‘I want to write things.’
‘You do write things! You’ve so many notebooks full of writing. And you’re at Libby’s every Thursday.’
‘But I want to write things people will actually read!’
With more than a hint of frustration, her mother replied: ‘I’m always offering to read your work, darling.’
‘No, I mean… God, I’d just love to be published.’ Her face now blazed. As if she had admitted to some horrible seedy secret.
‘So get published,’ her mum said.
‘But what if I’m not very good?’ she asked, her voice small and quiet. She could barely even look at her mother, afraid she’d see her fears reflected back at her.
‘Then learn how to be very good. If you want it, then do it. I know you, Josephine Campbell. I know you better than you know yourself and you have never been a person to look for the easy route or run from a challenge. You’re the girl who went to university in Scotland, not knowing a single other person who was going and who had the best time and got a great degree to boot. Then you wanted to travel, so you did. You worked your arse off and you were good at it and then, when you came home, you helped your brother set up in business.’
‘He’s the brains behind the operation,’ Jo said.
‘Jo, I love my boy. I am so very proud of him. He has a heart of gold, but if Noah was the only person behind that business he’d give away the profits to the needy, serve Pot Noodles for lunch and the toilets would be a health hazard. You keep the place running. You got him to hire Erin, a proper chef. You oversaw the refurbishment of the function room. And suggested the beer garden. Give yourself some credit.’ She paused. ‘And I remember the young you, who always wrote stories and made me read them. Even then you had something. So use it. Chase it and work at it. You don’t think every published author in the world didn’t almost kill themselves learning their trade? Do it. Don’t just sit and wish for it to happen. Make it happen.’
Jo felt a wave of love wash over her for her mother, who knew the right thing to say even when that right thing involved a verbal kick up the bum.
‘I love you, Mum,’ she said. ‘You’re right. I’ll try.’
‘None of this try nonsense,’ her mother said, as she switched the washing machine on. ‘Do it. Change your thought patterns. Auntie Mags is mad into these affirmations these days. We’re not allowed to say anything negative. We’ve to say it like we’ve already achieved it. Like, I’m losing weight, instead of I’m trying to lose weight. That kind of thing.’
Jo smiled. Auntie Mags went through phases of obsessions with new hobbies. She had done almost every evening class the community centre at Pilots Row had offered and could turn her hand to sewing, glass painting, pottery and car maintenance to varying degrees – although Jo wasn’t sure she’d entirely trust her godmother to change a tyre. Now she was in a positivity and empowerment phase.
‘How is Auntie Mags anyway? Did you have a good night last night?’
‘I did. It was such a laugh. You know, just silly stuff, but my sides were sore from laughing. Auntie Mags was in great form, telling us all her stories. I keep telling her she should write them down some time. You wouldn’t think she was a woman in her sixties – the life she leads. She’s always up to something, and she rarely behaves. She has me roaring laughing. But, fun as it was, I’m paying for it today. Never again!’ she declared, shaking her head.
‘Yeah right,’ Jo said. ‘It will be the same next Thursday.’
‘You’re probably right, love,’ her mother replied. ‘But it will be an early night for me tonight. What about you?’
Jo revealed her own plans for a long soak, a glass or two of wine and a family bag of Maltesers. She didn’t mention that she’d read over some of her book again. Her mum was right. She needed to be brave. How could she ever know if she was any good if she didn’t show her work to someone?
6
Coyote Ugly
Saturdays were, by far, the busiest day of the week at The Ivy Inn. And they were traditionally Jo’s favourite days to work. She’d happily pull a twelve-hour shift and not think anything of it. Saturdays never seemed to drag. From lunchtime to last orders, they would be packed – at first with the Saturday lunchtime crowd, groups of shoppers calling in for soup and sandwich, family groups grabbing some lunch or brave souls who decided to start their evening festivities early.
By mid-afternoon, there would be a buzz of conversation and laughter around the place that always lifted Jo’s spirits. Yes, they had a wide clientele, but they also had a core bunch of regulars who she loved to catch up with and spend some time chatting to.
The mid-afternoon crowd would give way to the pre-drinkers who would go on somewhere more raucous and the regulars who enjoyed the live music Noah always insisted upon for a Saturday night.
Jo often found herself singing along loudly, and not necessarily in tune, while she poured pints and waited tables. Occasionally she’d even have a quick dance to her favourite songs.
It was a tradition when the bar was emptied and everyone had gone home that Jo and Noah, and, more often than not these days, Libby too, would enjoy a drink or two after cleaning up. Jo would sleep over in Noah’s flat above the bar, allowing them to continue their party into the wee hours before collapsing into bed with little extra effort. It was at those times that secrets were spilled, alliances were made and plans hatched. This, Jo realised, was her downtime.