Wondering if it would be considered bad manners to eat it directly from the lasagne dish, Jo fished in the drawer for a fork – still wearing her coat and with her bag still slung across her shoulder. If she ate it from the dish, it would at least give her one less dish to wash afterwards, she thought. No, not even she would be that lazy. She’d enjoy her meal properly, with her coat off, a plate on the table and while sitting down.
She poured a glass of water and served herself a large portion, listening to the sound of her mother trying to control Clara’s displeasure at having to get out of the bath. Chances were that there had been a similar battle not that long before to get Clara into the bath in the first place. Six-year-olds are notoriously fickle in nature, Jo had learned.
If her sister didn’t settle down shortly, she’d go upstairs and bribe her with promises of an extra bedtime story, maybe even a couple of episodes of Peppa Pig. Jo wasn’t above the occasional adoption of an ‘anything for a quiet life’ bribery policy when it came to childcare. A fact, she figured, Clara knew only too well.
Thankfully, the cacophony of raised voices from upstairs quietened and Jo was able to eat her dinner before she heard the thundering of footsteps hurtling down the stairs and across the hall. Jo couldn’t help but smile – Clara had all the grace of a baby elephant and zero ability to hide her excitement at the knowledge her big sister was home.
She burst through the door just seconds later, in fresh pyjamas, her long red hair brushed straight and her well-loved and threadbare teddy bear, Buttercup, in her arms.
‘Jojo! You’re home! It’s Clara and Jojo night!’
Jo pulled her little sister into a tight hug. ‘Yes, it is! Will we pick a book to read together, or would you like to choose?’
Clara stood and scrunched her face up as if she was thinking, when Jo knew full well what book her sister would choose. It would be the same one she wanted read to every single night, even though she knew the words by heart and could recite it from memory.
‘How about…’ Clara said, eyes wide with excitement. ‘How about Guess How Much I Love You?’
‘Absolutely, little brown hair!’ Jo nodded. ‘And how about we have hot chocolate before bed too?’
‘With marshmallows?’ Clara asked.
‘Of course with marshmallows! You can’t have hot chocolate with no marshmallows. You just have to promise to brush your teeth with extra care afterwards,’ Jo replied.
‘Oh! Jojo! I have a wobbly tooth. See!’ Clara opened her mouth extra wide and pushed at one of her front teeth with her tongue. There was the smallest of wiggles and Jo had to concede that she might just be on her way to losing her first tooth. That thought made Jo feel more than a little wobbly herself. However, she managed to bite back her emotion.
‘Well, that is super exciting. And it means you have to brush your teeth extra, extra well, because the tooth fairy doesn’t take dirty teeth.’
The look of horror on Clara’s face at the thought of the tooth fairy assessing the cleanliness of her teeth was enough to make Jo laugh.
‘Don’t worry, Clara! I know you do a great job of looking after your teeth. I’m sure you will be absolutely fine. Now, why don’t you go and watch some Peppa while I clean up?’
Clara didn’t need asking twice and she skipped off to the living room to watch some illicit TV before bed.
Jo, meanwhile, stood up and started to wash up her dinner dishes, interrupted a short time later by the sound of her mum coming into the kitchen.
‘I heard about the wobbly tooth,’ she told her mum. ‘She’s so excited. Wouldn’t it be great to be able to get so excited about a part of your body falling out again?’
‘God forbid,’ her mother said, making the sign of the cross. ‘I’ll be happy with no more bits falling off or out for the rest of my life – unless it’s a couple of inches off my waist. Have you seen my crochet bag?’
Maureen Campbell saw her Thursday night Crochet Club as the social highlight of her week, even if she very rarely produced anything for her efforts. Jo long believed that it was more of a ‘Stitch ’n’ Bitch’ club, light on the stitching and heavy on the gossiping, The fact that her godmother, the very formidable Auntie Mags, was one of the other members, and that her mother frequently slipped a bottle of gin into her crochet bag before going out, did little to challenge her belief.
Jo reached behind her chair and retrieved the bag, which already held a bottle of tonic water.
‘Thanks, love,’ her mother said, sitting down at the kitchen table and taking a deep breath. ‘I’m tired tonight,’ she said. ‘I thought I’d be cruising towards retirement by now, not discussing who the best princess in Frozen is. I’m on Anna’s side, if you’re wondering.’
‘Clara’s very lucky to have you, Mum,’ Jo said. ‘We all are.’
‘Ach, I’m blessed to have her. She’s a light in my life, but sometimes I just wished that light came with a dimmer switch,’ her mother said with a small smile. ‘I’m blessed to have you all. I guess I’m just having one of those days where I’m missing your daddy. You know I can feel all at sea when he’s away.’
An engineer by trade, Jo’s dad had taken on a lucrative contract in Dubai – one which would allow him, and Maureen, a degree of financial security as they headed into retirement. The big catch, of course, being that Dubai wasn’t exactly in easy commuting distance of Northern Ireland. This was Paul Campbell’s last extended trip to the East and he had already been away for two months. There was still a month to go until he came home.
‘It won’t be long, you know. It will go in quick,’ Jo said.
‘Ach, I know. I’m just feeling sorry for myself and I’ve no need to. I’ve a lot to be thankful for. Not least your Auntie Mags arriving in a taxi any minute now with a bottle of gin in her bag.’
‘Well, you enjoy yourself. I’m not in the pub until twelve tomorrow, so I can take Little Miss Bossy Boots to school and you can have a well-earned lie-in.’
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 sta
y 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.
Tomorrow, she thought, tomorrow – or next week at the latest, because she knew the weekend would be busy – she was going to go for it. She’d show her writing to someone. She’d send it out into the world. She’d take a huge chance. Jo Campbell was finally going to stop being a big cowardy pants.
3
Working Girl
Paddy, the resident dog at The Ivy Inn, bounded across the room to Jo, his tail wagging so fiercely that his rear end couldn’t help but shake about with it. ‘How’re you doing, Paddy?’ Jo grinned, allowing him to jump up on her and put his paws on her chest. She couldn’t stop herself ruffling the fur around his neck and showering him with kisses.
Although technically he belonged to Noah, and he lived in the flat above the pub with his owner, Jo felt as much an ownership of Paddy as her foster brother did. She liked to tell herself that Paddy liked her more than Noah, and it wasn’t just because she kept some treats in her coat pocket ready to hand out whenever she greeted him.
A Border collie, who was never seen without his red bandana, Paddy had stolen her heart the day she had accompanied Noah to the animal rescue centre to pick him up. He was a smart dog who knew, with the right tilt of his head and plenty of hugs, he had Jo in his pocket.
The Inn wasn’t due to open for another fifteen minutes, so Jo allowed herself a few minutes to play a quick game of catch with Paddy in the beer garden, but as raised voices from the kitchen carried out of the open window, Jo realised she needed to get to work and give Erin the support she had promised her.
She led Paddy back through to the office, where she rewarded him with a treat before she hung her coat and bag up and slipped her apron around her waist.
She was just grabbing her order book and pen when she felt two heavy hands on her shoulders, which made her both swear loudly and jump, dropping her pen and book to the floor.
‘Sorry!’ Noah said. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you’d have heard me coming.’
Jo turned to look at Noah, who couldn’t quite manage to hide the mirth in his voice or on his face.
She pushed him away playfully, before bending to retrieve the pen from where it had rolled under the desk. ‘You’re a bad shite, Noah,’ she said. ‘I bet you knew full well you were creeping up on me. Watch yourself or I’ll tell Mum on you!’
‘You’d grass me up?’ he asked, his hands up in mock surrender. ‘Please don’t.’
‘Then no more sneaking up on me.’ She winced as she stood up again, her injury from the previous night making itself known.
‘You okay?’ Noah asked.
‘I’m fi
ne,’ she said. ‘Had a fight with a pair of shoes last night and my ass is worse off for it. I’ll live though, and we’ll be so busy today I won’t have time to think about it.’
‘Erin’s in fine form,’ he said with a grimace.
‘Leave her to me. I’ll calm her down and talk her round. It’s what I do best,’ she said.
‘No, it’s the thing you do second best. First place goes to being an easy target for my jump-scares.’
‘I’m just biding my time until I can get you back, Noah. Watch your back,’ Jo warned. ‘I can’t tell you when it will be, but it will be spectacular. Maybe I’ll jump out of the cake at your wedding.’
Noah smiled. ‘You’ll never get me, Jo. Accept it and move on.’
‘Whatever,’ she said, with a roll of her eyes. ‘You’ll see, Noah Simpson. Trust me. Now, work time.’
‘Yes, boss,’ he said.
‘Oh, and Noah, Mum says she’d appreciate a visit at some stage this weekend. She has a few wee jobs for you around the house since Dad is away.’
‘I’ll text her and tell her I’ll be round tomorrow,’ he said. ‘How is she anyway? And Clara?’
‘Clara is great, but our darling mum is hung-over this fine day.’
Noah smirked. ‘Is Mags to blame?’
‘Partly,’ Jo answered.
‘Yikes. I think I might call over today then. Bring some bacon sandwiches and get in the good books,’ Noah said.
‘Not until after the lunchtime rush. Which won’t happen if we don’t get those doors open and get Erin nice and calm.’
‘Anything Erin-related is your domain, as well you know. Good luck.’
‘She’s a pussycat really,’ Jo said, but she suspected she would have her work cut out for her.
It wasn’t long before those suspicions were confirmed. Erin was in full extreme-focus mode. Her face was red with exertion and Jo could see that Phil and the other kitchen staff were more than a little intimidated. Most of the time, Erin had the respect and friendship of her staff, but sometimes she pushed a little too hard and instead of making her staff work harder, she could make them feel demoralised. Keeping everyone happy when Erin was in one of those moods was hard going. And, of course, it was further complicated for Jo by their friendship and their flat-share.
In Pursuit of Happiness Page 2