The Hopes and Dreams of Libby Quinn

by Freya Kennedy

  A glimpse of herself in the hall mirror on the way back to her bedroom did not paint a pretty picture. Her hair was damp with sweat and plastered to the side of her face. A grey pallor gave her a less than attractive look and her eyes were red-rimmed. She hauled herself into her room and on top of her bed, where she fell asleep before her mother came into her room.

  When she woke in the wee hours, her head and her stomach were sore. What had been a scratchy throat now felt as if it was on fire. Her room was uncomfortably hot and when she got up to go and open a window, she felt unsteady on her feet.

  Libby gripped onto the windowsill and pushed open the window, gulping in what little fresh air there was in the dead of night, before making her way back to bed and, without so much as lifting the covers, falling back down on it. It was only then she noticed the fan, but she had no strength to try and stand up again to switch it on.

  She looked to the pint of water on her bedside table, the ice long melted, and wondered if there was any way possible she could get it to her mouth and drink it, without using any physical energy at all? How she wished she was a Jedi – able to summon the power of The Force to levitate it in her direction. Unable to do so, she simply fell back asleep, hoping that a few more hours would make all the difference and allow her to get on with everything on her to-do list for that day.

  When she drifted back into consciousness, it was to the sound of her mother’s voice. ‘Libby, are you okay? I need to go to work, but I don’t like leaving you like this.’

  Painfully, she forced her eyes open – the sun was bright, her head still ached. In fact, her whole body ached. A familiar and very much unwelcome stabbing pain jabbed at her throat, and she struggled to swallow. To add to this abject misery, Libby was also no longer too warm. Instead she was freezing. She shivered as a film of cool sweat clung to her body and tried to haul her duvet across her, with limited success. She was, as her grandad would have said, ‘As weak as water.’

  ‘Close the window, please, Mum. It’s freezing,’ she muttered.

  ‘Libby, it’s the hottest day of the year so far!’ her mum said, her voice thick with concern. Libby felt the gentle touch of her mother’s hand on her forehead. ‘Oh, sweetheart, you’re burning up!’

  ‘It’s my throat,’ she croaked. ‘Again.’

  It was only in her adult years that Libby started to suffer with tonsillitis. And it was guaranteed to hit whenever she was tired or stressed.

  ‘I’ll get you some ibuprofen,’ her mother said. ‘It will help a little.’

  Libby tried to sit up. She really did, but her neck felt as if it was weighed down on the bed.

  ‘You need to get some more sleep. You’re exhausted. You slept through your alarm and everything. Your dad came in and switched it off and you didn’t so much as stir. That was three hours ago.’

  Libby groaned. She should be at the shop. Keith was delivering the shelves. And the new boilers were being fitted to update the long-defunct heating systems in both the flat and the shop. She’d had to scrap the idea of underfloor heating because of the parquet floor, so she desperately wanted to discuss the best way to install discreet heating that wouldn’t impinge too much on her floor space.

  ‘I need to go to the shop,’ she croaked. The words sliced at her throat like razor blades.

  ‘No you don’t. You’re not fit to walk the length of yourself.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Now, listen to me, young lady. There’s no but about it – you’re going nowhere today. Your dad will oversee things today. He knows what your plans are, and what he doesn’t know he can improvise. He’s an old hand at this and there’s nothing that can come up that he won’t be able to deal with.’

  ‘But he has to go to work…’

  ‘Sure, he is at work! He’s working at the shop,’ her mum reassured her.

  ‘But the shelves,’ Libby said, though her eyes were growing heavy again. She was exhausted by a simple conversation.

  ‘They’re grand. They’re in your stockroom. Terry The Spark helped and that fella from across the road? The fella that owns the pub? He saw the van arrive and popped over.’

  ‘Noah?’ Libby asked.

  ‘That’s it. I couldn’t remember there, but I knew it was a biblical name. You didn’t tell me one of the Simpsons was running that pub now.’ There was a tone of concern in her mother’s voice. ‘Dear me, but they had their battles in life.’ She made the sign of the cross as if offering up a prayer for the Simpsons and their battles. No doubt they were linked to Noah going into care at fourteen.

  Libby would ask later, when she didn’t want to cry out in pain. ‘Ibuprofen, Mum,’ she croaked to remind her mother.

  ‘Oh God, yes. One minute. You stay there,’ her mother said before bustling her way out of the room.

  Libby grimaced, but it was hardly likely she’d be moving anywhere anytime soon, even if she wanted to.

  Sick and a little emotional – Libby felt tears prick in her eyes as she allowed them to close against the strong sunlight. She had just enough energy to swallow the two small white pills her mum handed her, but that took all her strength. So much so that she couldn’t shout ‘No!’ when she heard her mum on the phone to Jess, of all people.

  ‘I’m not happy about her, Jess. Not at all. I know you’re very busy, but if you got a chance, at lunchtime or something, could you call round and check on her? She looks like death warmed up. I know it’s probably just tonsillitis again, and a good antibiotic will sort her out, but you read so many horror stories, don’t you? I’d prefer she was looked at. Just to be sure. Just to rule out anything more serious. Aw thanks, pet. You’re a great girl. Great. Look, I have to nip out for a bit. I’ve an appointment myself. But the key will be in the usual place – go on up. And there’s soup on the stove if you don’t get a chance for lunch before you pop over. Okay, pet. Thank you. I’m glad she has a friend like you.’

  Libby cringed, an act that made every part of her, even her very eyelids, hurt. But she didn’t have the strength to argue. She just lay there as she felt her mother stroke her hair gently until she could no longer fight the need for more sleep.

  * * *

  A soft voice cut through Libby’s fevered sleep and she fought to open her eyes.

  ‘Libby? Lib? It’s Jess. Are you awake? Your mum asked me to check in on you?’

  Libby felt the mattress dip as her friend sat down. Straining to open her eyes, she rolled from her side onto her back.

  ‘There was no need,’ she croaked. ‘I’m sure it’s my tonsils again.’

  Jess reached over and placed the digital thermometer in Libby’s ear, waited until it beeped and then informed her she had a fever. It wasn’t exactly news to either of them. It was strange to see her friend in full professional mood. She watched as Jess reached towards her and felt around her neck, seeing if her glands were raised and then asked her to sit up so that she could listen to her heart and lungs with her stethoscope.

  ‘Can I have a look at your throat?’ Jess asked, taking a tongue depressor from her bag and switching on her torch.

  Libby nodded and opened wide. She couldn’t help but see Jess wince as she looked into her mouth at her no doubt rather manky tonsils.

  ‘Yep. Your tonsils are coated. I think both you and your mum were right. And you will definitely need an antibiotic.’

  Libby nodded. She didn’t know what else to say or do. There was so much that she wanted to discuss with Jess, but she felt so absolutely awful, she didn’t know if she had either the physical or the emotional strength to do so.

  By her friend’s cool efficiency, it didn’t seem as if she was much in the mood for talking either.

  ‘I’ll take a swab for the lab,’ Jess said, ‘just to be sure. But I wouldn’t hold off on starting those antibiotics. It looks nasty in there. Apart from that, you know the drill. Paracetamol for pain and fever. Lots of fluids and, most of all, lots of rest.’

  Whether it was because she was sick, or j
ust because she was sick of things not being right with Jess, Libby felt wretched, and there was no warmth in her friend’s expression when she spoke. It made her want to cry. Everything felt off-kilter. It was bad enough she was sick and it would have a knock-on effect on the shop, but having Jess cross with her was unbearable.

  ‘Jess, don’t be like that.’

  ‘Like what?’ Jess said. ‘I’m here, aren’t I? Checking up on you.’

  ‘You know what I mean. You’re being different. Cold.’

  ‘I’m doing my job,’ Jess said. ‘What do you expect? Your mum asked me to come and check on you and here I am. In my lunch break too. So if we can just get on with things, I might actually get the chance to grab something to eat.’

  ‘We both know there is more going on here,’ Libby said, taking a sip of water, which hurt like bejeezus when she swallowed. ‘I’ve not heard from you since the weekend. We never go that long without speaking. I’m sorry if I’ve neglected you. I didn’t mean to.’

  Jess looked at her for a moment and then reached into her bag and pulled out her prescription pad. ‘I’ll nip out and pick this up for you. I think you should start them as soon as possible.’

  ‘Jess, please,’ Libby said, her voice cracking. ‘We need to talk about this.’

  ‘Now’s not the time,’ Jess said. ‘You’re sick and I need to get back to work. We both said some things that were pretty horrible, and you’re right, we do need to talk about this. But not now.’

  Libby wiped away a tear that had crept out of her eye and was sliding down her face. ‘I hate us being like this,’ she said.

  Jess just nodded. ‘I’d better get to the chemists.’

  With that, she stood up and left, and Libby fell back onto her pillows, where she cried herself back to sleep.

  21

  Bridget Jones’s Diary

  Libby hadn’t woken when Jess returned with a box of really large pills and some antiseptic throat spray. She’d found them later, along with a note saying to make sure to take them an hour before food. At least, she thought, Jess had written that she would be in touch. That was something, no matter how small.

  Her throat felt as though she had been eating broken glass and her head still felt heavy and sore. She could feel the sheen of sweat that had pooled then cooled between her breasts, behind her knees, at the back of her neck and anywhere else it could cling on to.

  She lifted her head gingerly, swallowed one of the tablets Jess had left along with some water, wincing as she did so, and then she fell back on her pillows – the exertion of that simple act being too much. Through tired eyes, she looked to the clock on her dressing table and saw the time illuminated as 4.37. She’d been asleep for about three hours – but she felt no better for it. Three hours when she should have been getting a lot done in the shop. This was absolutely the worst time in the world that she could have been sick. She felt her stress levels rise.

  For the first time that day, she reached for her phone. The brightness of the screen hurt her eyes, but she needed to try and stay on top of things.

  She could see a number of messages had been left.

  The first was from her dad, telling her everything was under control.

  There were two from her mum, telling her to stay in bed and to take it easy.

  There was one from Ant – saying he would call her later. That he knew she was sick. Jess had told him. It was formal in nature. No little kisses at the end of it or flirty undertones.

  There were a few voicemails from suppliers. Emails marked urgent that she couldn’t quite focus on.

  Libby felt thoroughly sorry for herself – so sorry in fact that even her mum arriving home with some ice cream for her throat didn’t lift her spirits.

  ‘As soon as you feel a little stronger, we’ll get you in the shower and I’ll change these bedsheets,’ her mum said, happy to have been able to adopt the role of chief carer for her child again.

  Libby knew she must smell. Every now and again, she caught a whiff of something unpleasant. It wasn’t hard to imagine the stuffiness of the room and her sweat-soaked body created a pungent aroma. Her mother fussed around the room, opening the curtains just enough to allow some fresh air from the open window in but not too much so that the brightness burned her daughter’s retinas. Libby watched as she proceeded to light a scented candle. God, she really must smell quite extraordinary – and not in a good way.

  ‘Now there, pet. Sip some water for me. Jess said you’re to keep your fluids up,’ her mum said, as she thrusted a glass of iced water, resplendent with a bendy straw, under Libby’s nose.

  It was nice to have someone care for her, Libby thought. It was nice to feel loved and safe. Much to her chagrin, this was enough to send Libby off into another flurry of tears.

  ‘Libby, darling. What is it? You’ll start to feel better soon, you know. These are strong antibiotics. Give it twenty-four hours and you’ll be on the road to recovery. I know you feel rotten, but there’s no need to cry.’

  Her mother sat on the bed beside her and pulled her into a hug. She even kissed the top of Libby’s greasy head, which proved the selfless nature of maternal love.

  ‘Oh, Mum,’ Libby sobbed. ‘Things are a bit of a mess.’

  ‘Ah now, pet. What’s happened? I’m sure it’s not that bad.’

  ‘I’m sick. I’m going to be sick for a few days at the very least, and the shop needs so much work. And the flat – I’ve not even started on the flat and I can’t see me finding the time. You and Dad have been so good to me, letting me stay here. But we all need our own space, and I don’t want to take advantage.’

  Her mum made soothing noises and held her just a little bit closer. ‘You always have a home here, Libby. The flat will get sorted, probably sooner than you think. There’s nothing there that isn’t insurmountable. The shop will be fine. It’s in safe hands with your dad in your absence. The important thing is, you rest and get better properly. Once the shop opens, you won’t get that chance. It’s not a mess, darling. It’s just another hurdle.’

  ‘But Jess,’ Libby sobbed. ‘We’ve fallen out, and, Mum, I’m sure she hates me. We never fall out, but she thinks I’ve been a rubbish friend. And maybe I have. I don’t know any more. We said such absolutely horrid things to each other, Mum.’

  ‘I’m sure she doesn’t hate you. How could she? You two are like sisters, and, you know, sometimes sisters fight and say horrible things to each other. You should have seen me and your auntie Joan. We’d batter each other until your granny stepped in to stop us. Jess came to see you today, didn’t she? Brought you medicine. There’s nothing on earth that could split you two up.’

  ‘Ant,’ Libby muttered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ant. He could come between us.’

  Her mother pulled back and looked at Libby. ‘Oh no. She hasn’t been having a fling with him behind your back? Oh God. I wouldn’t have thought that of her.’

  Libby shook her head, a movement which caused her so much pain she almost cried out. ‘No. Nothing like that. I don’t think. No. But they have made friends, and they have – well, it’s like they’ve ganged up on me. I know that sounds really childish. Jess says I’ve been a neglectful friend – putting Ant before her. And now the shop, which she says I put ahead of both her and Ant.’

  ‘And what does Ant say?’

  Libby blushed. She wasn’t sure her mother was quite aware of the full casual nature of her relationship with Ant.

  ‘Not a lot, as it happens. But he’s become more distant since work started at the shop. And last week he met Jess on the beach and, it seems they spent a good deal of time talking about me. She was there when I went to see him last Saturday and they were getting on like a house on fire. They chatted about more things in those few hours than I think Ant and I have ever discussed. I might as well have not been in the room.’ Libby’s head throbbed and pulsed. Her throat felt dry and swollen.

  Her mum pulled her into a hug again. ‘They met
on the beach?’

  ‘It was just a coincidence, they said. I do believe that. I think. But, Mum, it’s just showed me how messy things are. Ant and I – we don’t really have much in common, if I’m honest. We get along, but it’s not love. As for Jess, she’s lonely and I let her down. I know I did. Seeing her so animated with Ant, well, I suppose it made me realise it’s been a while since I’ve seen her that way. Happy and confident. She’s not been herself and I’ve been too wrapped up in my own life to notice.’

  ‘Libby Quinn, I can see why Jess might feel a little put out – but she’s a grown-up. You’re not responsible for fixing the problems in her life and you’ve always been a good friend to her. But neither you, nor anyone else, is perfect. People don’t always get things right, but it doesn’t make them bad people. And surely Jess understands just how much you have invested in the shop, and not just financially. As for Ant? Well, I don’t know a lot about relationships. I was very blessed that I met your dad when we were so young. He was the only man for me, and we’ve been lucky over the years. That’s not to say it’s always been easy. Relationships require a lot of work, and even more patience. That said, I could work at things and be patient with him because deep in my heart I have always known he is the love of my life. You deserve that big love too, darling. And more. So much more. So if Ant isn’t the love of your life, if he doesn’t share your enthusiasm for your hopes and dreams, then it’s okay to walk away. And, actually, for the pair of you, it’s the right thing to do.’

  Libby couldn’t help but cry. Again. Because she knew her mother was right, and just hearing someone else say it – and tell her it was okay – had made it all very real.