The Hopes and Dreams of Libby Quinn

by Freya Kennedy

  ‘I’m sorry, I’ve been crap. My head has been all over the place since Grandad died. I feel as if I’m stuck in some strange world where everything looks the same as before but it’s all changed. It all feels different. Duller. Numb, I suppose. Empty, and it’s only now I feel as if I’m waking up and I’m scared and confused, but excited too. Does that make sense?’

  Jess nodded. ‘Grief does strange things to us,’ she said. ‘Maybe I should’ve realised you were struggling more before now. I am a bloody doctor after all. All I could feel was my own hurt.’

  ‘I’ve pushed you away,’ Libby said.

  They both stopped talking and looked at each other, seeing the mix of hurt and love in each other’s eyes.

  ‘I don’t like it when we fall out,’ Jess sniffed.

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘And that was a spectacular falling out,’ Jess said. ‘Have we ever gone that long without speaking before?’

  Libby shook her head. ‘Never.’

  Jess reached for her hand and squeezed it. After a minute, she spoke again. ‘Libby, there’s something else we need to talk about too.’

  Libby knew exactly what her friend was going to say before she even opened her mouth. ‘I know. My reaction when I found you with Ant.’

  Jess nodded. ‘It hurt me, Libby. It was as if you could actually believe that I would go behind your back. You looked at me so strangely. It was just a coincidence,’ she said. ‘That meeting on the beach. At first, I didn’t even recognise him. I’d my earbuds in and my head down. I felt his hand on my shoulder and he very nearly got a slap on the face.’

  Libby could just imagine Jess, who had insisted they both attend self-defence classes in their twenties, striking out at Ant.

  ‘I know you were disappointed neither of us went to Belfast with you. And I know arriving to see that I was at his house must have been a bit of a surprise, but really, you’ve nothing to worry about. We’d just got talking and, to be honest, I didn’t even realise how much time had passed. It was great to have the company, you know. To talk to someone without it ending up with them listing their symptoms or asking for medical advice. But it wasn’t that we had lied to you or had anything to hide. We were just chatting.’ Her friend’s gaze fell to her knees, and Libby watched as she picked a bit of invisible fluff off her linen trousers. She couldn’t help but feel that Jess was holding something back, but she had to trust her. She did trust her. She’d trust Jess with her life.

  ‘That’s not what affected my mood,’ Libby replied. ‘Seeing you there. Yes, it was strange and, yes, I was hurt about Belfast. But… seeing the two of you together made me realise more clearly than before that there’s no future for Ant and I together.’

  Jess looked stricken. ‘But we didn’t do anything!’

  Libby gave a sad smile. ‘I’m not saying you did. But, Jess, you two? You just gelled. There was something in the way you were together that has never been there between Ant and I. And I want that, I suppose. Someone to chat to and laugh with and who I have shared interests with.’

  ‘He’s a decent man, Libby,’ Jess said and her face coloured. ‘I can see why you’ve held on to him so long.’

  Libby wondered, did she see a spark of something else in her friend’s eyes when she spoke of Ant?

  ‘He is a decent man,’ she agreed. ‘But he’s not the decent man for me. I don’t see a future for us and I don’t think that will come as a surprise, or a disappointment, to him. We had a good time, but it was never going to be forever.’

  Jess responded by pulling her friend into a big, tight hug and telling her that everything would work out. Libby allowed herself to believe that with her best friend at her side once again, it might just.

  * * *

  Libby was wiped out by the time Jess left. She didn’t think all their issues had been resolved, but she did feel they had made significant progress. Their rift would not be fatal to their friendship after all.

  She was tired and craved a sleep, but she realised that she could no longer put off the conversation she had been dreading.

  Scrolling through her phone, she hit Ant’s number, coughed to clear the worst of the huskiness from her voice, and waited for him to answer. The nausea in the pit of her stomach seemed to be rising.

  After three rings, she heard his deep Donegal-accented voice. ‘Libby,’ he said (not babe, or hon, like he may have done at other times), ‘I thought you were still at death’s door. Are you back in the land of the living?’

  ‘Not quite, I think I’m maybe in some sort of purgatory – you know. Halfway between here and there,’ she coughed.

  There was a silence. Awkward.

  ‘I suppose you won’t be up for getting together? We need to talk,’ he said.

  ‘We do,’ she said, hearing an unexpected wobble in her voice. ‘But I’m not well enough to go out.’

  ‘Are you well enough for a visitor?’

  Libby thought about how tired she felt. She weighed it up with how much she wanted to get this conversation over and done with. It could wait just that little bit longer until she was feeling more rested.

  ‘I don’t think I am,’ she said. ‘Jess just left and I need to sleep. But can you do tomorrow? Could you come here?’

  There was a pause. ‘Tomorrow evening, after work?’ he asked. ‘We’ll talk then.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll look forward to it,’ Libby said before hanging up. Although she was baffled as to why she’d used those words. Who really ever looks forward to breaking up with someone?

  23

  The Secret

  Monday morning – and when Libby woke, she found she could swallow without leaving herself feeling like she had been through the wars. The room didn’t spin as much when she got up and there was a colour other than ‘deathly pallor’ about her. She showered without needing to do it in stages and found she had the energy to dress in a T-shirt and a pair of linen trousers afterwards. She was even able to brush through her hair and spritz on some sea salt spray to add a little wave to her look. Though, admittedly, she was exhausted when she was done and had to lie on top of her bed for a good thirty minutes before she had the energy to move again.

  She padded downstairs to where her parents were sat at the kitchen table finishing their breakfast. On seeing her, Libby’s mother jumped to her feet. ‘Libby Quinn! You should be in bed! You’re sick.’

  ‘I’m feeling a bit better, Mum,’ she said, ‘and I just needed out of my room for a little bit before cabin fever set in.’

  She made herself a cup of tea and sat down, trying not to think about Ant’s impending visit.

  ‘Is anyone at the shop today?’ she asked her dad, who looked between her and her mother before speaking.

  ‘We decided to give everyone the day off,’ he said. ‘They’ve all been working around the clock and this good weather isn’t going to last forever. Your mum has even taken the day off to enjoy it and you know how little that happens. And besides, with a little help from your pal Noah, we got through much more yesterday than we’d hoped for.’

  Libby felt her heart thud at the mention of his name. No, she was being silly. Her palpitations were not about Noah Simpson. They were at the thought of her lovely shop sitting empty – no work at all being done.

  ‘He’s a nice fella,’ her dad said. ‘You’re lucky to have good neighbours. That one has his head screwed on. There’s a man who knows what’s really important.’

  ‘Well, with his background, it’s no wonder,’ her mother said and Libby couldn’t hold in her curiosity any more.

  ‘His background? What about his background? You said before his family had their share of troubles.’

  Her parents shared a glance. ‘Do you not remember the Simpsons?’ her mother asked. ‘God, it was such an awful tragedy. Some families have so much to deal with. I remember thinking I’d never complain again.’

  Libby furrowed her brow. ‘No, I don’t remember them, but I do know Noah went into foster care when he w
as fourteen or so.’

  ‘Well, let me think, it would have been at least twenty years ago, or more. You’d only have been a child yourself. First, his poor mother died, God rest her. Cancer, I think it was. And then, his father and grandparents all killed in a car accident. Black ice. On the Letterkenny Road. It was devastating. I remember it so well. The coverage at the time. The Derry Journal ran a picture of him, a wee lost soul, at the funeral. He was fourteen, but he looked so much younger. A wee skinny thing. It would have taken tears from a stone. His other set of grandparents had died years before that, and his mum’s sister was living in America at the time. There was no one to take him in, so foster care it was. I don’t think anyone would’ve blamed him if he’d gone off the rails a bit, but no, he kept his nose clean and now look at him…’

  Libby thought of Noah. Tall, toned, so strong and so passionate about helping people. He seemed so in control of his life, of his emotions. It broke her to think of him as a devastated young teenager having to start over after so much unspeakable tragedy.

  But it did explain a lot. It explained why community and family were so important to him. It explained why he seemed to warm to waifs and strays, from Paddy the dog, to the stubborn young woman opening a bookshop just across the street from him.

  He was like that with everybody, she realised. She was stupid to think it was anything to do with her personally. Not that she needed the complications of any more men in her life. Especially now. Especially when she had to concentrate on her shop. Especially when she was, technically, still seeing Ant, although she was under no illusion that both of them knew it was over.

  The timing was so very wrong to even allow fleeting romantic feelings towards Noah into her mind. Because, yes, she was having romantic feelings towards Noah. She finally admitted it to herself. Admitted that he got under her skin, but not just in the way Ant had. This was more than an attraction based on chemistry. This was about the person he was. His sense of humour. His protective nature. His shared values. God, she was stupid not to have admitted it to herself before now.

  But what was the point? Nothing could come of it. She could not do anything that would risk the happy equilibrium of Ivy Lane and the success of Once Upon A Book. Taking a chance on the man across the road was too much of a risk.

  And, she reminded herself yet again, she did still have a boyfriend. A boyfriend who was coming to see her today.

  She brought her mug to her lips to sip and realised both her parents had been staring directly at her.

  ‘Libby,’ her dad said, ‘are you sure you’re feeling okay? We’ve been chatting away to you and you’ve been off in your own world altogether. We were about to ask you if you minded us kicking you out of your room today, just to see if it provoked a response.’

  ‘God, yes. Well, not better, but I’m okay. Just a lot on my mind. Poor Noah,’ she offered. ‘That’s a lot of tragedy.’

  ‘It is. But he’s a good man. He’s made the best of things. And, I’ll tell you this, that pub sells the best pint of Guinness in Derry,’ her father said.

  ‘You were drinking?’ her mother asked, eyebrow raised. ‘You were telling me how hard you were working. Not a moment to rest.’

  ‘A man has to have his lunch,’ her father replied. ‘And Noah offered me a pint and a big bowl of Irish stew, it would’ve been rude of me to refuse, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Aye, I’m sure your arm was twisted up your back,’ her mother said, laughing.

  Her dad just shrugged and laughed and Libby couldn’t help but once again be reminded about what relationships should really be like. This soft, gentle ribbing. The accepting of each other’s flaws. The joy in mundane things like talking about dinner, or what was on TV, or what they needed to get from the garden centre.

  A feeling of immense love for her parents washed over her. She was incredibly lucky, and after hearing about Noah’s sad past, she appreciated just how much.

  When she had finished her breakfast, she realised she didn’t feel quite as if she wanted to go directly back to sleep. In fact, she doubted she would be able to fully relax until after Ant had called. She figured she might even feel up to doing some work. Nothing physical, but she could do a little on her marketing. She wanted to get the shop social media feeds up and running, perhaps share some pictures of the refurbishment process. She quite probably needed to update her accounts too – not that examining her budget filled her full of joy. As long as there were no more hidden expenses, she was hopeful she would actually have money to stock the shop with books in the first place.

  She cursed herself when she realised she’d left her laptop in the shop, not only because she needed it to do the work, but also because a building site was hardly the safest environment for a laptop.

  ‘I think I might pop over to the shop,’ she said. ‘I want to pick some stuff up.’

  ‘You will not be going near that shop!’ her father said defiantly, and her mother nodded. ‘Dear God, Libby, but you are only just finding the energy to get out of bed without the need to get immediately back in. You’ll need another few days at the very least.’

  Libby reached out and rubbed her daddy’s hand. ‘No need to worry, Dad,’ she soothed. ‘I really only want to pick up my laptop, and I left the catalogues for the coffee machine there too. I need to get the order in, and book some training on how to use the thing if it’s all to be up and running on time. And I probably need to start advertising for another staff member. But I need my laptop to do all that.’

  ‘We can go and get it for you,’ her mum said.

  But Libby really wanted to go herself. As much as she trusted her dad and Noah, she wanted to just double-check everything was going as well as they’d told her. If she was really honest, despite her decision just minutes before that having any romantic feelings for Noah was a bad idea, she also hoped she might just bump into him there too.

  ‘I’ve cabin fever,’ she said. ‘I just need to get out for a bit. Not to mention, you don’t need to spend your day off running errands for me. That’s not the best way to enjoy a day off in the sun. I’ll be back before you know it. Ant is calling over later.’

  Her parents exchanged glances.

  ‘If you insist on going,’ her mum said, ‘then we’ll take you. Won’t we, Jim? And that’s an end to it. Sure, we can leave the garden centre to later.’

  ‘Perfect,’ her dad said, and both of them nodded.

  The deal was done. She knew enough about how they operated to know there was no use in arguing with them.

  ‘I’m excited to see it,’ her mum said. ‘And besides, I can cast a woman’s eye over the place.’

  ‘Erm, Mum, I have a woman’s eye myself. Two of them in fact,’ Libby said, trying to decide whether to laugh at her mother or be mortally offended.

  ‘All right then, a mammy’s eye, if you want to be fussy about it. Now, just let me get this wash out on the line before we go.’

  ‘Do you want me to hang them out? You can get that other load in the machine. It’s a great drying day after all,’ her dad said, the pair of them slipping into their old familiar roles.

  Libby watched as they set about their tasks, continuing their banter as if she wasn’t even in the room or part of the conversation. It was comforting in its own way.

  * * *

  Libby felt every bit the teenager as she sat in the back of her dad’s Vauxhall Astra as they arrived in Ivy Lane. She had tried to persuade them to put the radio on as they drove, but her father had said no, it would be a distraction.

  Her mother had, occasionally, turned around and wafted a bag of barley sugars under Libby’s nose as if they were on some fancy day trip rather than the fifteen-minute drive across town to the bookshop. It surprised Libby just how many times a person could be offered, and refuse, a boiled sweet in such a short space of time.

  ‘Have you got your keys?’ her father had asked as he directed her into the back seat. She had told him she had, but still that didn’t stop him askin
g her again to check and prove to him that she had by showing him. She tried to feel comforted by his concern rather than irked by his refusal to believe she was capable of leaving the house without his guidance. Just because, one time, when she was sixteen, he had driven all the way to Belfast Airport, only for her to announce she had forgotten her passport. (Thankfully, it was still in the days when people arrived at airports four hours too early and there was time for a quick dash home and back again, but not before she had been lectured on the price of petrol and the importance of forward planning.) After hearing what she had about Noah, she had vowed not to let her parents’ quirks annoy her too much.

  From the outside, the shop on the corner of Ivy Lane looked not too dissimilar to how it had done when she’d first seen it. The real transformation would come with the new doors and windows, and the re-rendering of the cracked and peeling façade. A bright new sign would add the finishing touch. But for now? Now it looked like a survivor of the Blitz.

  ‘Here, Linda,’ her dad called back to his wife. ‘Come here so I can show you the floor. I can’t believe they covered it with lino. It’s brilliant.’

  It was clear her dad was in his element and it made her smile. He looked animated in a way she hadn’t seen since her grandfather had died, and proud too of how much had been done.

  Libby followed them inside, while her dad waxed lyrical about the parquet floor, and she gasped. Okay, there were still a few wires here and there. And the lighting hadn’t gone in yet. Or the radiators. But she could see the exposed brickwork that had been treated, the floor that had been uncovered and walls that had the beginnings of plaster on them.

  ‘Libby, come and see this,’ her father called, taking her hand and leading her behind the counter to the two doors which led off from the shop floor. One led to the stockroom, and the other to what would be the customer toilet and had hitherto been a cupboard, which offered nothing more than a dark space in which rodents could run free.