‘Well, I can’t help you if you’re going to be fussy.’ Libby laughed, suddenly putting her hand to her tummy as it rumbled loudly. ‘Time for tea and sandwiches, I think,’ she said. ‘This spot will do nicely.’
Jess nodded in agreement and pulled a picnic blanket from the bag and spread it on the lush green grass. Reaching in to her insulated picnic bag for the flask of tea, she swore. ‘Oh for the love of God, this is just great.’
Libby, who was now feeling almost faint with hunger, had a feeling this ‘for the love of God’ was not a good ‘for the love of God’. Her fears were confirmed when Jess lifted one sodden hand out of the insulated bag.
‘I mustn’t have sealed the flask properly,’ she said, reaching in and picking out sandwiches which had turned to mush in their kitchen paper wrapping. ‘I don’t think these will be edible – and what’s left of the tea – which can’t be much given the crumby tea soup in the bottom of this bag – has gone cold.’
Knowing that Jess was feeling a little emotionally fragile that day anyway, Libby plastered a ‘ah well, never mind’ smile on her face, even though she felt a little emotionally fragile herself at the thought of the lost lunch. ‘We’ll just eat something else,’ she said. ‘It’s okay, Jess. Don’t worry about it. It’s the gesture that counts.’
‘Not when we’re starving with hunger,’ her friend countered. ‘But I suppose we could always go to the pub for lunch? Just think of it – something warm and tasty and a dirty big chocolatey dessert after?’
‘Are you feeling quite well?’ Libby asked. ‘Lunch and dessert?’
‘Pre-menstrual,’ Jess said. ‘I might even have a starter. Don’t judge me!’
Ah, so that explained Jess’s extra emotional behaviour.
Jess blinked her large, blue eyes and a single, self-pity filled tear rolled down her cheek. While Libby had hoped not to darken the door of The Ivy Inn again until her wet T-shirt introduction had been well and truly forgotten, she thought of how Jess’s face had lit up on seeing Noah the day before. And, if she was honest, she also thought about how hungry she was.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and get fed.’
Jess smiled so brightly that Libby couldn’t help but smile too as they packed up the wreckage of what had been their lunch and started to walk back down the hill towards Ivy Lane.
7
The Outsiders
The buzz of conversation and the delicious aroma of lunch greeted the girls as they walked into the bar. Unlike the day before, the bar was completely packed – with each and every table filled with happy punters enjoying their day off.
Libby looked to Jess and shrugged her shoulders. ‘Seems we won’t get a table,’ she said, partly relieved that she had a legitimate reason to leave and partly disappointed because the food smelled so incredible.
She noticed Jess was looking all around, standing up on her tiptoes to add some height to her 5’4” frame so that she could see as much as possible. ‘Looks like that table over there is almost finished,’ she said, nodding to a family of four who were tucking into bowls of ice cream. ‘We could just take a seat at the bar and wait? Or eat at the bar?’
At a prime spot to make small chat with Noah, Libby realised. Even though Libby didn’t want to – Jess had already grabbed her by the arm and was dragging her towards the bar, where, to her huge relief, Noah was nowhere to be seen.
Instead, two women, neither of them Jo, were serving; smiling and chatting happily with customers. Libby relaxed a little and pulled herself up onto a bar stool, while Jess ordered two glasses of red.
‘This will have to be it,’ Libby said, clinking her glass with her friend’s. ‘We’re both driving.’
‘More’s the pity,’ Jess sighed. ‘When was the last time we had a nice afternoon drinking session?’
Libby tried to think back – it had been a while. Possibly even pre-Ant, she thought with a degree of shame. Had she become one of those friends who suddenly became unavailable when there was a man on the scene?
‘When the shop is up and running, we’ll make it a priority,’ she said.
‘Or just get a taxi next time we finish working across the road? In a few weeks you will be living there anyway – no excuses then.’
‘I suppose,’ Libby conceded – but also wondered how she would balance Ant’s need to have her each and every weekend to himself, Jess’s increased loneliness and the work that needed to be done in the shop. Taking a large gulp of her wine, she vowed to actually put all of it out of her mind to enjoy her lunch and this time out with her best friend. Living in the moment – isn’t that what it was called? It was something Grandad Ernie had tried to encourage her to do.
‘Most of us never know what’s coming, petal,’ he had told her. ‘So make the most of every moment. Don’t waste them worrying about the next.’
‘Let’s choose what to eat before I faint with hunger!’ she said to her friend.
Jess lifted the menu from the bar and scanned it. ‘It all looks so good, I’m just not sure what to choose.’
‘I’d definitely recommend the warm chicken salad, followed by the chocolate fudge brownie with home-made vanilla ice cream,’ a deep voice said from behind them.
Libby jumped – and her glass wobbled perilously close to the edge of the bar. Noah’s hand reached out and steadied it.
‘Sorry,’ he said with a smile. ‘Didn’t mean to startle you.’
‘It’s in danger of becoming a habit,’ Libby said drily.
He laughed. ‘I suppose so. I’ll try harder. Sorry. Another hectic day?’
Libby was suddenly acutely aware that she probably looked almost as dishevelled as she had the day before. At least she wasn’t soaked through this time.
‘What gave it away?’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘The dust in our hair, the dirt on our clothes?’
‘Maybe the grotty smell,’ Noah said, and Libby blushed. Between the dirty carpets and the sweaty lifting work, she probably did smell less than fragrant. ‘Oh, I’m only teasing,’ Noah said. ‘Honest. You don’t smell that bad.’ He laughed and Jess laughed too. One of those forced laughs that was a little bit too enthusiastic and screamed that she clearly fancied Noah and his sense of humour. It reminded Libby that she hadn’t introduced them yet.
‘This is my friend, Jess,’ she said. ‘She’s been helping me. We’re just doing some clearing out before the heavy lifting starts on Monday. We were going to have a picnic, but there was a bit of an incident with a flask of tea.’
Noah raised an eyebrow and reached his hand out to shake Jess’s. ‘Nice to meet you,’ he said. ‘If you aren’t too traumatised by whatever the incident was, we also do serve tea here.’
Jess shook his hand and smiled. ‘I think we’re good with wine for now,’ she said.
‘And I think we’re more traumatised by the loss of our lunch, so we really do want to order something to eat.’
‘Well, I’ll leave you to peruse the menu. But as I said, warm chicken salad and the chocolate brownie afterwards.’ He made a chef’s kiss gesture. ‘Just wave when you’re ready to order or speak to one of the girls.’
‘Thanks,’ Jess said as he turned to walk away.
Libby muttered a quieter ‘thanks’ too, before turning her attention back to the menu. She didn’t know why, but she felt rattled. Quite possibly because she felt as if she was one beat behind with his sense of humour.
‘Well, he’s lovely. And, he’s not wearing a wedding ring, although I know in this day and age that doesn’t mean anything,’ Jess said. ‘I wonder, is that other barmaid working – the red-headed one?’
‘I don’t see her,’ Libby replied, not raising her head to look around.
‘Hmmm,’ Jess said, her attention going back to the menu. ‘You know, I think might just go with his recommendation.’
‘Because you fancy him?’ Libby asked, raising an eyebrow. By the blush that immediately coloured Jess’s cheeks, she knew she was right.
‘Not
just because of that,’ Jess answered. ‘It does sound appealing.’
Libby had to agree that it did and they both put an order in, adding a portion of chips to share as well because they figured they’d earned it with all their hard work.
* * *
Libby’s parents were watching TV when she got home – perched on their usual spots, side by side on the sofa, holding hands. They were lost in some Saturday night drama in which, from what Libby could see, there was a scandal breaking in The White House and the President was gearing up for a press conference. On hearing Libby walk into the living room, her father paused the TV.
‘Hello, love,’ he said. ‘You look worn out. Are you feeling more settled about everything?’
Libby reached up and rubbed her neck. ‘I think so,’ she said. ‘But I ache in places I didn’t know I had. We made a good start though, and Ant is sending in a crew on Monday to help rip all the old stuff out.’
‘That’s very kind of him,’ her mother said with a warm smile. Linda Quinn was a quiet woman, content to be a home bird and to tend to her nest. She loved having her only daughter under her roof again, even if Libby herself found it a little claustrophobic to be back with Mammy and Daddy after years of living on her own.
‘It is,’ Libby told her, with a smile.
‘Shame he won’t get his hands dirty himself,’ her father interjected.
‘Ah now, Jim, come on. Not everyone’s as good with their hands as you are. The man works long hours in that fancy job of his. He probably wouldn’t know the first thing about working on a building site,’ Linda said.
‘It doesn’t take a degree to work out how to use a brush,’ her father replied, and Libby couldn’t help but snort. She loved watching her parents banter like this. Between this and her exhaustion, she suddenly found herself getting a little tearful. Libby knew she was lucky, in so many ways.
‘Are you okay, pet?’ her dad said, cutting through her thoughts.
She looked at him, could see how much he resembled his own father, more so now than ever. Maybe it was the greying hair, the glasses that he needed to wear more and more these days, or maybe the slightly more-than-middle-aged spread, but he was looking more and more like the man who had raised him single-handedly after her grandmother had passed away. Libby’s breath caught in her throat.
‘I’m fine, Dad,’ she said. ‘Maybe a bit overwhelmed. But fine.’
‘Go get yourself a nice bath or a shower,’ her mother chimed in. ‘I’ll iron some fresh pyjamas and leave them on your bed. Get a good sleep and you’ll feel better in the morning.’
Libby smiled and nodded. That sounded perfect. She was suddenly grateful she had no plans to see Ant. All she wanted to do now was curl up under the covers with a good book and lose herself for a while.
8
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
After her shower, Libby selected Little Women from the rickety bookcase in her room. The bookcase Grandad Ernie had lovingly made for her. He’d been so proud the day he carried it up to her room. He told her that he’d buy her a book a month until there was no space left on it. And he was true to his word, filling the dark wooden shelves with a selection of classic tales.
It was now among her most treasured possessions – with each book not only containing its own story, but also holding a memory of when and how and why they had chosen that particular title together. It was a library of her childhood as much as it was of the classics.
Grandad Ernie was a man who had been both her nearest and dearest childhood friend and her hero, rolled into one. She loved him as much as she was in awe of him – with his larger-than-life personality. He had the ability to spin stories into something truly magical and to turn the most seemingly mundane of tasks into wonderful adventures. The walk home from school was never simply a walk – instead there would be imaginary monsters to outrun, streams to cross, mountains to climb and horses to climb on and ride – skipping up the street and shouting ‘Wooooaaahhh there, horsey’ without caring who was looking on and laughing. Time in the garden turned into lessons in botany, mixed with stories of fairies and little folk and the making of a fairy door to pin to a tree so that any of their cast of mythical friends could visit.
As Libby grew up, she outgrew many things, but she never outgrew spending time with Grandad Ernie. If anything, they became closer. How she loved spending time with him – listening to the almost lyrical way he would tell his stories. Playing draughts with him. Confiding in him about her crushes and her broken hearts. Simply sitting side by side in silence sometimes, eating an ice cream at the beach or enjoying a cup of milky tea.
After he died, Libby’s father had told her how it was her birth that had softened her grandad – made him believe in love and good things again. He had closed his heart to happiness after the death of his wife, when Jim was just five years old.
‘It wasn’t that he didn’t show me love as a child – he did – in his own way, but so much of my childhood was spent watching him grieve for your granny. It was like he didn’t want to get too close – even to his own child because, I suppose, he was afraid he’d lose me too, the way he lost her. He did everything he had to do to care for me – there wasn’t a child in the world cared for more, he never let me down in terms of my physical needs – but with you? It’s like he was the person he was always meant to be – the soft, silly, loving bear of a man who made your childhood magical.’
There had been no hint of bitterness in her father’s eyes – but her heart had ached all the same for the man who lost his mother at a young age, who had missed out on the innocence of a childhood.
As if he saw her thoughts, her father had said: ‘Don’t you feel sorry for me, girl. My heart was healed watching the two of you together.’
But as they had sat and talked, the two of them knew that both their hearts were broken.
Back in the present, Libby read until her eyes drooped, then reached to put the book on her bedside table. Her eyes caught sight of the photos in the frames which sat on it. A selfie with Jess, both in oversized sunglasses, brandishing ice cream cones and grinning at the camera. One with her parents at her graduation. Another when she was just a child, standing, smiling proudly beside her grandfather in the garden she had loved so much. They made her smile.
Just as she was drifting off, her phone pinged with a message. Squinting in the darkness at the screen, she saw it was from Ant.
I missed you today. Missed our sexy Saturdays. I need to see you soon. I need to have you soon.
While normally she would feel her very core tighten deliciously at a suggestive text from Ant, this time she just sighed. She was not in the mood for a booty call. He hadn’t even asked how her day had gone and that nipped at her. Did he really not get how important this was to her?
Missed you too x
She’d typed back – hoping it would be enough to settle him, then she switched her phone off altogether and fell into a deep sleep.
* * *
After a Sunday spent totting up all the quotes so far, talking over the best options with her dad, and trying to ignore any attempts from Ant to get her to forsake work and come and see him again, Libby was itching to get back to Ivy Lane on Monday morning. Yes, she felt guilty fobbing Ant off and, yes, he was being generous with his help, but she couldn’t just down tools and run to him. Not now. There was simply too much to do.
This was a fact she was reminded of again when she unlocked the door to the shop at just after eight. The sun was gloriously warm already, and the stale, malodorous smell greeted her as she walked in. She therefore made a decision to leave the door open to let some fresh air seep in – and perhaps to let some of the bad smell seep out.
Pest control were due just after nine to check the traps and lay more bait if necessary. Libby didn’t want to think about what might, or might not, be filling the traps they had laid on Friday. Ant’s team were due to arrive at ten, and Terry The Spark was due to arrive ‘around ten’ himself – bring
ing his own labourers to help get the basics in place. Libby had, rather optimistically she now realised, arranged for a shopfitter to come and look around the place at 10.30. That was before she realised it would be quite a while yet before the shop would be ready for finishing touches, such as shelves and floors and counters.
‘Don’t cancel him,’ her dad had said. ‘Just take it as having more time to talk about what you really want. Get him to do a good design job for you.’
‘That’s the bit I’m looking forward to most,’ her mother said. ‘All the wee knick-knacks.’ Libby had smiled indulgently at her mum. It was as if Linda had some sort of transformation fantasy in her head. An image of Libby dancing around the shop singing ‘A Woman’s Touch’ from Calamity Jane and the place magically turning from a bomb site to a boutique. Libby realised this was probably not too far from the fantasy she’d held herself, until she’d first laid eyes on the interior of the shop and the flat.
Making a mental list of all she wanted to achieve that day, Libby yawned and realised she would really love a coffee. Yes, she had already downed a large latte on the drive over, along with a bacon bap for extra energy, but the efforts of the weekend were catching up with her and she felt fuzzy-headed. There was a small convenience store just down the road, a few doors down from The Ivy Inn. It was one of four other shops on the lane, including a butchers, a florists and a charity shop. It was the only one however, apart from her own, which looked as though it was caught in a time warp. Faded decals advertising long-defunct newspapers still gripped the windows and everything inside looked faded, as if it were behind an Instagram filter which gave everything an eighties vibe.
She decided to take her chances and walked to the shop, pushing open the door to hear the tinkle of a bell. The inside of the shop, though meticulously clean, had a dated feel. Each item was still priced with a sticker from a gun, the shelves stocked with every kind of household essential from fresh bread to Brillo pads. A poster hung on the wall with ice lollies from the eighties on it and by the looks of it, the till on the counter was older than the one in the bookshop.
The Hopes and Dreams of Libby Quinn Page 6
