The Hopes and Dreams of Libby Quinn

by Freya Kennedy

  31

  The Go-Between

  The room was dark, save for a small swivel angled lamp above the bed. The only noise to be heard was from the corridor outside. Footsteps. The occasional beep of an alarm. A snippet of conversation between nurses. Life was going on, while in this hospital room it was frozen in time.

  It was some time in the very early hours of the morning. Noah was sleeping in a chair, his body angled just like the lamp above Harry’s bed. Libby marvelled at how young he looked when he slept, then chided herself for even daring to have such thoughts while they were here with Harry.

  She was holding Harry’s hand, delighted and relieved that it was still warm. ‘You keep doing that, Harry,’ she whispered. ‘Keep that blood pumping and your hands nice and warm. No more scares. No more drama. Promise us.’

  Harry hadn’t yet regained consciousness. His colour was what her mother would have described as the same as ‘boiled blooter’. Libby wasn’t sure what boiled blooter was, but she knew enough to know it obviously wasn’t something very pleasant or that anyone would want to be the same colour as.

  Wires and tubes ran into him, and wires and tubes ran out of him. His heart rate hit its peaks and troughs on the monitor beside the bed, but they weren’t to be fooled that the steady red lines meant everything was okay. Harry was, in the words of the tired-looking doctor who had spoken to them, a ‘very sick man indeed’. He’d suffered a major coronary episode. In fact, it was probably only the quick thinking of Mrs Doherty and her CPR skills that had kept him alive at all. He would require a bypass, but for the moment was stable. He was, however, facing a long recovery and he would simply have to slow down a bit. No more 6 a.m. starts in the shop. No more up to fourteen-hour days, six or seven days a week. He needed to take it easy.

  He was very much not out of the woods yet, but Libby hung on to the fact that Harry was clearly a fighter. He had made it past the first hurdle and she was going to do her very best to make sure he made it past all the others too.

  Both she and Noah had agreed to stay overnight, taking it in turns to grab an hour’s sleep on the uncomfortable chair. Harry’s children would be arriving in the morning, and Jo had already rounded up a host of neighbours only too willing to keep the shop open, albeit on reduced hours.

  The entire experience had left Libby exhausted and wrung out and desperately wishing that the hugs she was sharing with Noah had lasted a little longer.

  At times, they slipped back into their easy manner of conversation and gentle teasing and her heart would soar, but Harry’s bedside was not the place to confess her feelings. Especially when Harry was still so ill.

  By the time morning came and Mrs Doherty arrived to take over bedside watch, both Noah and Libby were beside themselves with exhaustion. Struggling to keep her eyes open, Libby drove back to Ivy Lane, where Noah said he would try and grab a couple of hours’ sleep before the lunchtime rush in the pub. She in turn glanced over at the shop and the windows of her flat above it and wished her furniture was all in and fitted and she could simply climb the stairs and fall into bed herself.

  She couldn’t even go home. She needed to stay close to the shop in case of any problems arising with the fittings.

  ‘Come into my place,’ Noah urged. ‘No ulterior motive. Just get some sleep – I’ll kip on the sofa. You can have my bed. We’ve both had a tough night, Libby. We don’t have to make the day any more arduous than it needs to be.’

  Too tired to argue, she nodded and followed him up the iron spiral staircase at the side of the bar into his flat, which was surprisingly cosy and, even more surprisingly, nicely decorated.

  ‘The bedroom is through to the back, second door on the left,’ he said. ‘Unless you want a decent cup of tea or anything first.’

  ‘I think I’m too tired to even think about drinking tea, never mind going to the effort of actually drinking it,’ she said.

  ‘Thank God for that,’ Noah replied, ‘because I’ve far from the energy to make it.’ He was already sitting on his sofa, taking his shoes off and pulling the teal knitted throw from the back of it over himself. The sofa was much too short to afford him the luxury of stretching out fully, but it would be wrong to invite him into the bed beside her. Wrong and far too tempting.

  ‘Why don’t I just take the sofa?’ she asked.

  ‘Shush, woman,’ he said in a gently teasing voice. ‘I’m already asleep here.’

  She smiled and turned, walking into his bedroom, kicking off her own shoes and climbing into his bed, where tiredness and the smell of his cologne on his sheets lulled her off to sleep.

  * * *

  It felt a little strange to be woken by the sound of a man’s voice. Libby struggled to open her eyes, desperate for just five more minutes – or five hours, if she was honest. The room was hazy, the bed warm and comfortable, but she couldn’t ignore the sound of her name being called by a vaguely familiar voice. Willing herself into consciousness, she looked up to see Noah, bleary-eyed and ridiculously handsome, standing in the doorway, his clothes crumpled, stretching and urging her to wake up.

  ‘Much as I hate to wake you, Jo just said Craig’s been looking for you at the shop and I thought you might want to freshen up a bit first?’

  It dawned on Libby that she must look a state, and she must smell quite rank too, after the hours spent in a hot hospital, the lack of a shower, or even access to a toothbrush. Her make-up from the day before was still somewhere in the vicinity of her face, she was still in her paint-splattered clothes and she doubted her deodorant was working at an acceptable level.

  ‘I must look a mess,’ she muttered.

  ‘Well, to be honest,’ Noah smiled, ‘you’ve looked better. Some of us can work that twenty-four hours on the trot look and some of us can’t. Don’t be jealous.’ He sniffed his armpits and pulled a disgusted face before laughing. ‘See, I’m fresh as a daisy?’

  Libby couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Do you mind if I freshen up here? Maybe get a shower? The shower’s not connected across the street, and I don’t have any towels, come to think of it.’

  He blushed a little. ‘Of course. Take a shower. There are fresh towels on the rail. If you open the bathroom cabinet, you’ll see some of Jo’s smellies too. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you using them. And there are spare toothbrushes as well. Help yourself.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Thanks, Libby. For staying last night.’

  ‘It was nothing,’ she said.

  He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t nothing. It will have meant a lot to Harry, but it meant a lot to me too. I’m not a big fan of hospitals,’ he said. ‘Too many memories, and none of them good. My family, you know. How they died…’

  Libby felt shame wash over her. She’d been so wrapped up in remembering her grandad, she’d never even thought about the trauma Noah must have been living – the unspeakable tragedy in his life. ‘You’ve been through a lot,’ she said, feeling there was nothing she could say that was adequate to provide comfort after such a loss.

  ‘Yeah, you could say that,’ he said. ‘But, anyway, thank you. Now, hurry up and get in that shower!’

  She so wanted to say something more, but she couldn’t find the words, so she just nodded and headed to the bathroom.

  * * *

  Craig had worked miracles with the shop fitting. He had secured the shelves she’d bought in Belfast to the walls as she wanted, and installed a series of new units in different sizes to suit different books. There was even a small colourful corner which had been designed just for children. Libby had plans to bring her grandad’s old chair into the shop, reupholstered and refurbished, and leave it in the children’s corner so that parents and carers could read to their own children.

  The shelving had been installed for the coffee bar too, along with a food display cabinet, and the small kitchen had been fitted with units which matched those she had in the flat.

  It wasn’t finished, but it was close, and it made h
er heart swell.

  Most of all, Craig seemed really happy with the job himself, telling her it had been one of his favourite jobs of recent times. And although only an occasional visitor to Ivy Lane, he seemed as stunned by Harry’s illness as anyone else and said he would do whatever he could. He even offered his teenage daughter’s services to man the shop at the weekend. ‘She’s a good girl. Good with numbers, and she won’t spend all her time chewing gum and staring at her iPhone. She’ll be glad of the work experience,’ he said, while Libby had vowed to slip the youngster a few pounds for her troubles and inwardly thought if she was good enough and interested she may even rope her in to help at the bookshop.

  The realisation that her flat would be ready sooner rather than later, and that the wider community was rallying around Harry so much, brought tears to Libby’s eyes and as she worked in the shop at a greatly reduced pace due to her tiredness, she thought about how quickly life could change and how nothing was ever promised forever. Not money. Not your health. Not love.

  At around 3 p.m., her phone buzzed to life and she swore to herself when she saw the name flash on-screen. Jess! She had promised she would call her back as soon as she got back to Derry yesterday, but in all the fuss and fear of the night before, and with the utter exhaustion of today, she had forgotten to do so. She swore under her breath. What if Jess thought she was being selfish or angry about Ant asking her out? She couldn’t stand it if, on top of everything else, she fell out with her best friend again.

  Feeling more than a little nervous, she hit the answer button and said hello before launching into an immediate and heartfelt apology.

  ‘Jess, I’m so, very, very sorry. You see, when we got back, well, Harry was sick and we had to go to the hospital with him, because his family is all away and I was there all night and my phone was dead and then today, well, today has just been strange and I’m so tired. But I wasn’t avoiding you or ignoring you, I promise.’

  ‘Libby, calm down!’ her friend said. ‘I knew there would be a good reason. And Harry? That’s the wee old man in the shop, isn’t it? Is he okay?’

  ‘He’s in surgery undergoing a bypass. He’s lucky to be here, Jess. Oh, it was awful and scary and how on earth do you do this every day? Deal with life and death and serious illness?’

  ‘Well, thankfully general practice has its fair share of mundane appointments, rashes and manky toes, and then some happy times, like new babies, so it’s not all bad.’

  ‘It reminded me of grandad,’ Libby confessed, almost in a whisper.

  ‘Oh, pet, that must have been tough for you. But it sounds like Harry’s in good hands. If he is in surgery, they must have hope for him.’

  ‘Oh I hope so. He’s such a lovely man. It would be hard to imagine the street without him. But, Jess, I need to tell you about his wife…’ Libby was just about to launch into the sad saga of Mary when she realised it was unlikely that Jess was calling her to find out about the tragic death of her neighbour’s wife, but was more likely to be calling to share news of her own. Libby could have thumped herself for being so stupid. ‘But, look, enough about that. You and Ant? Coffee? Did you say yes?’

  ‘I did. I’m seeing him later and I’ve just been having a bit of a panic that it might upset you.’

  ‘I’m not at all upset. Meet him. See where it goes. If he starts telling you any of my secrets, then, of course, dump him, but I don’t think he’s like that,’ she added.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ Jess asked, and Libby could hear the anxiety in her voice.

  ‘I really don’t mind,’ Libby said and realised she really, really meant it. The last twenty-four hours had brought that all into focus. ‘Life’s too short to wait for the right timing for things. Especially nice things. And things being awkward shouldn’t stop you taking a risk either,’ she said confidently.

  ‘Physician heal thyself,’ Jess muttered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Libby, my friend, did you ever think sometimes you need to listen to your own advice?’

  32

  Beloved

  The weeks passed quickly in the run up to the grand opening. They managed, just about, to get everything – including the flat - ready on time. Libby stretched and yawned and slowly opened her eyes, and smiled at just how far she had come. Here she was, having survived, and in fact enjoyed, her first night in her new home. Yes, the flat still needed a few finishing touches, a picture here and there, and her kitchen could be better stocked with kitchen-y things, but she would get a garlic press and a colander in due course.

  She’d forgotten just how comfortable her own bed was and was surprised at just how well she had slept. She’d been convinced she would spend the night tossing and turning and worrying herself silly. Instead, once she had enjoyed a soak in the bath and had spent an hour pampering herself in her new boudoir (tastefully decorated in pale grey colours with accents of pink), she’d drifted off under her brand new sheets in her brand new pyjamas and had only woken once in the night to grab a glass of water from her new, beautifully fitted kitchen.

  It had been a bit like Christmas Eve, the excitement had verged on overwhelming. But she was delighted to find that when she woke properly, the daylight doing its level best to peek in around the edges of her blackout blinds, she felt calm. Sitting up, she stretched again and enjoyed the feeling of the day’s sunshine warming her windows. Summer was still in full bloom.

  Pulling the blinds up, she opened her window and inhaled the morning air, her breath catching just a little as she saw Noah standing at his own bedroom window, looking crumpled and sleepy and gorgeous.

  The last few weeks had been mad. Insanely busy. Between trying to get the shop ready, the flat sorted, working the occasional shift at Harry’s shop and visiting him in hospital, she had run herself ragged. She and Noah had become ships that passed in the night, but she absolutely longed to speak with him, properly.

  She’d visited Harry the day after his operation and while he was still quite weak and poked and prodded with tubes and wires, he had smiled broadly when he saw her approach.

  ‘Bookshop Libby,’ he’d said. ‘It’s nice to see you.’

  ‘It’s nicer to see you, Harry,’ she’d replied. ‘You gave us quite a fright there.’ To her surprise, she had felt tears prick at her eyes.

  ‘Well, sure, I have to keep you all on your toes,’ he’d said, nodding his head towards the chair beside his bed.

  Libby had reached over and kissed his scratchy cheek and then she’d taken the seat and his hand in hers.

  ‘Well, we’re so on our toes, we could be ballerinas at this stage,’ she’d said gently. ‘But, sure, as long as you’re okay. Jo and Noah have told you you’ve not to worry about the shop?’

  ‘They have,’ he’d said. ‘You are good people.’

  ‘Takes one to know one,’ she’d answered.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough, you know,’ he’d said, his voice cracking.

  ‘Harry, don’t be upsetting yourself, it’s okay. We’re neighbours. We look out for each other.’

  ‘Now, Libby, let me say my bit. Humour an old man! My sons have told me that you and Noah stayed with me here all night. That you never left my side. That means a lot, an awful lot, to an old curmudgeon like me.’ He’d sniffed and Libby had felt the tears that were threatening to fall start to slide down her cheeks.

  ‘We wouldn’t have left you,’ Libby had said. ‘We had to make sure someone was with you.’

  ‘You’re very good. You’re what my Mary would describe as a good egg.’

  At the mention of Mary’s name, Libby had felt her heart constrict a little, but if it gave Harry comfort to talk about his beloved wife as if she was still here, she was happy to let him.

  ‘Smart woman, your Mary,’ Libby had replied. ‘Why don’t you tell me more about her? How did the pair of you meet?’

  Libby and Harry had talked for about half an hour until tiredness had started to overwhelm him again. She had told him
she would leave him to sleep but would be back the following day and would check with his sons if there was anything he needed or that she could help with. Harry had nodded sleepily and Libby had stood up to leave. But just as she made to go, he’d squeezed her hand.

  ‘Libby,’ he’d said, ‘as you know, I’m not one to interfere, but you and Noah? You’d be good together, you know. And I know it can be scary. I’m not a silly old man. I know you young people have a lot on your plate, but I’ll tell you this now, you’ll never regret taking a chance on the person who could be the love of your life. You never know what time you have with anyone in this world – don’t risk losing precious days, weeks or months.’

  Libby had placed another kiss on his scratchy cheek and had left, her head spinning.

  Later that afternoon, Jess had called her to fill her in on the big coffee date with Ant. She had excitedly told her friend how they had met, talked a lot, flirted a little and decided to make a go of things.

  ‘We’re going to take things really slowly,’ Jess had told Libby. ‘He says he wants to do this properly. So we will.’

  ‘Sounds like a solid plan,’ Libby had said.

  Within a couple of days, she had vowed to talk to Noah, to ask him out on a date. If Jess could take a leap of faith, so could she. Even though she felt disgustingly nervous at the prospect, she couldn’t deny she had butterflies in her stomach. She had watched how the entire community had rallied together for Harry and she knew that Noah wouldn’t let her get distracted from achieving her dreams even if they were dating.

  It was just unfortunate that no matter how much she tried, the appropriate moment didn’t seem to arrive. It wasn’t that they were avoiding each other, just that they didn’t seem to find themselves in the same room for more than five minutes at a time. She wanted to talk to him properly; not over a quick five-minute chat in the pub, or while discussing marketing in the bookshop or over the slightly out-of-date biscuits in Harry’s.