While she worked incredibly hard, she thrived in the atmosphere. It was fun. It was raucous at times. It allowed her to be among happy people enjoying themselves, but, in truth, it still wasn’t ultimately where she saw herself. Her mother had been one hundred per cent correct when she had told her that to achieve her dream she had to go for it full throttle. She couldn’t continue to cower in her little safe space, bopping along to ‘Sweet Caroline’ in the bar on a Saturday night. She had to stop with the half-arsed approach to being a writer. She had to go full-arsed at it.
The first step in that process, she realised at 3 a.m. on Sunday morning, while sitting in an empty bar drinking a bottle of beer with Noah and Libby, was to stop feeling weird about her aspirations. She had to own them, just like Auntie Mags had explained to her mum. She had to declare that she was a writer. She absolutely had to let other people read her work, even if it made her feel sick to contemplate it. She had to feel the fear, possibly even throw up, but do it anyway.
The soft fugue of intoxication – caused by both the cold beer she had been drinking and the feeling of sweet relief that washed over her when she took her shoes off and cooled her tired feet on the tiled floor – gave her the bravery she needed.
‘So,’ she said, interrupting a discussion about wedding favours, ‘I have something to tell you both.’
Libby looked at her, her soft blue eyes wide with concern.
Noah tilted his head. ‘Is this to do with you being so upset yesterday?’
‘Sort of, but not really,’ she said.
‘Are you sick? Please tell me you’re not sick?’ Libby blurted.
‘Oh God, no. I’m not sick,’ Jo said. ‘Noah said you had both been worried about me. There’s nothing to be worried about. But I’m going to put it out there now. I’m a writer. I’ve written a book. I think it’s good, but I’m not sure if anyone else will think it is. But the thing is, I want to have that book published. That’s my dream, just like the bar was your dream, Noah, and the bookshop was yours, Libby. So I’m going to do it. I’m not sure how, but I am going to do it. And, actually, Noah, you know how I’m owed about a million days off, I was thinking I could take the next ten days to work on that dream.’ Jo had no idea where that declaration had come from, and she most certainly hadn’t planned to say it before she did. But once the words were out there, she realised it wasn’t a bad idea at all.
There was a moment’s pause while Jo waited for their reaction. Even though she knew them both to be very supportive and lovely, she worried they’d laugh in her face, or tell her to calm down. It would be very unlike them, admittedly, but still she worried there’d be some manifestation of her inner demons.
‘Well,’ Libby spoke first. ‘If you ask me, it’s about time. You’ve been squirrelled away in that nook for a year, writing and dreaming. Noah tells me you’ve piles of notebooks bursting with ideas. I see it in you, you know. You have the heart of a writer and I’ve been dying to read what you’re working on. Do you think you could show me?’
Before Jo could answer, Noah spoke. ‘You know having time off isn’t a problem,’ he said. ‘I always wondered how much of the bar was your dream or if I was just dragging you along into it all.’
‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Jo said. ‘I love the bar. I don’t want to leave. You absolutely didn’t drag me along and I’m so happy to be a part of it. It’s very special to me, but it’s not my everything. It’s not what I dream about when I put my head on the pillow at night.’
‘You dream about writing?’ he asked.
‘Not just writing, but being successful at it. Having people read it and like it. And Tom Hardy. I dream of him too, but I think I probably have more chance of being a writer.’
‘Why not aim for both?’ Noah said with a wink. ‘You are single after all? Tom Hardy would be lucky to have you.’
Jo laughed. Already her fears were being washed away. No one had told her she was mad. Not her mum. Not Libby. Not Noah. ‘You’re very kind, Noah,’ she said. ‘But I think Tom Hardy can probably do better. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s married, or else I’d be in there like a shot.’ She turned to Libby. ‘Okay, this is taking every ounce of courage I possess, but I’d love you to read it. As long as you promise to be honest. If I’m going to be serious about it, then I need that from you.’
Libby reached out to Jo, and Jo let her take her hand. ‘I promise,’ Libby said. ‘I will be honest and constructive. I’m so excited for you.’
‘Oh please don’t get too excited,’ Jo said. ‘Not until you’ve read it, at least.’
‘Tell us more about it,’ Noah said as he opened another bottle of beer and sat back in his chair. ‘I want to know what goes on inside your mind. All these years I’ve seen you scribbling in notebooks or losing yourself in a daydream. But you’ve never let me in to that part of you. So let me in. Pitch me the book as if I’m a red-hot agent and you have five minutes to sell yourself to me.’
Jo took a deep breath. This was the first time she was going to say all this out loud, although she was sure if Noah really was a red-hot agent and she really did have five minutes to sell herself, she would throw up with nerves and disgust the agent from the very beginning. ‘Right, okay. Don’t laugh. Or, actually, can I do this with my eyes closed, or can you face the other way?’
‘Jo, would an agent look in the other direction or allow you to do this with your eyes closed?’ Noah asked, his eyebrow raised.
‘Well, probably not. But I’m nervous and kind of afraid you will laugh at me and, c’mon, give me a break!’
‘Yes, Noah. Give the woman a break.’ Libby nudged her fiancé and he responded by raising his two hands in surrender.
‘Okay. I cave. Although I want to make it known that I’m much, much more scared of you than you could ever be of any agent,’ Noah said.
‘Very funny,’ Jo said. ‘But here goes. It’s called The Lies We Tell, and it sort of, well…’ Her face reddened. She willed herself to calm down and own the moment. Own her dream. ‘Well, it’s a crime novel. But over two generations. So, I suppose it’s a bit of a family saga. It’s about a family who live a really basic, uncomplicated life in a cottage on the Irish coast. They’re removed from everyday life and shun modern advances. It all feels very idyllic, but the younger sister in the family isn’t even aware that a different life exists outside of their home. And she definitely isn’t aware that they are actually in hiding – and the very worst thing that could happen would be for people to find out where they are.’
Jo allowed herself to look at both Noah and Libby, at the expressions on their faces, and, to her surprise, they weren’t cringing, or laughing or looking as if they would rather be anywhere else but exactly where they were.
‘Oh, Jo, that sounds brilliant,’ Libby said, sounding genuinely excited.
‘I’d read it,’ Noah chimed in. ‘And you know me, I don’t read. Not much anyway.’
‘And I’m just thinking,’ Libby continued, ‘you know how Ewan McLachlan is coming into the shop this week for a reading and signing? I’ve heard he’s really personable. I bet I could ask him to give you some advice? He might even read some of it?’