The Hopes and Dreams of Libby Quinn
Page 25
Harry had come home from hospital after ten days, but was on strict orders to take it easy. His sons had been forced to go back to England, to their jobs and families, but they had ensured a care package had been put in place for their father. Harry, however, was proving to be exceptionally stubborn and said there was no way a ‘little thing like a heart attack’ was going to force him into retirement. In the end, to stop him doing an injury to himself, it was agreed he could spend a couple of hours a day in the shop, along with a shop assistant to do any actual work. Harry could just sit on his newly bought chair and oversee his kingdom.
Of course, now it was the day in which Libby would oversee a kingdom of her own. The doors to Once Upon A Book were due to open at 11 a.m. Libby almost had to pinch herself that it was actually opening day. When she had climbed the stairs to bed the previous night, she had left the shop in waiting – the shelves stocked, the coffee machine finally mastered. She had even managed to figure out how to work the cash register, which would automatically stock-take for her. Bookings had already been taken for the writing nooks and she was well on her way to organising her first open night event. All she really had to do that morning was get up, get dressed, and make sure the champagne glasses currently sitting on the tables in the shop were filled with fizz or orange juice for the non-drinkers. She would take an order of freshly baked pastries at 10 a.m. and the caterers would also deliver some hors d’oeuvres. She had roped Jess into taking pictures of the opening and posting them on Facebook and Twitter and she had invited as many people as she felt could reasonably fit into her shop. Including, of course, the residents of Ivy Lane. At close of business, Noah had promised a ‘bit of a knees-up’ in the pub and Jo had arranged some live music to play, among other songs, ‘Paperback Writer’ at the big moment.
A buzz of the doorbell jolted Libby from her reverie and she padded downstairs, still in her pyjamas, to open the door to a massive bouquet of flowers being thrust in her direction by a cheerful delivery man. ‘You’re a well thought of lady,’ he said as she sniffed their aroma.
‘Thank you,’ she smiled. ‘These are gorgeous!’ As she made to close the door, he put his hand to it. ‘Hang on, that’s not the only bouquet for you today!’
He went back to his van and came back with a further two bouquets, both as gorgeous as the first.
Libby grinned, feeling very much like the luckiest girl in the world. Until, that is, she had to try and find enough receptacles to put them in. In the end, they were split between her one good vase and a jug and one of the bouquets was simply left resting in a sink filled with water. Reading the cards, she felt even more emotional. The first was from her mum and dad, telling her how proud they were of her. The second was from Jess and Ant (she made a mental note of the joint signature!), wishing her all the very best – and the third? Well, that was addressed to ‘Bookshop Libby’ and was signed on behalf of all the residents of Ivy Lane. Her heart full, she dressed and carefully did her make-up, before going downstairs to spend a quiet half hour in the shop before the fuss of the day began.
In the morning light, she breathed in the smell of the books and the wooden fixtures, and the vague aroma of coffee. She watched the sun start to stream in through the windows, casting shadows into each corner. She switched on the cash register and powered it up, running through a trial transaction or two to make sure it was working and then she took a seat at one of the little café tables and thought about how far she had come. She tried her best to swallow down any fears she might have about the future, simply enjoying the fact she had done what she had said she would do. She had kept her promise to her grandfather and she hoped that he was watching over her from wherever he was and that he was proud of her.
Whispering ‘I love you’ into the stillness of the shop, she brushed away a tear, determined it would be the only one she would shed that day, and opened the door to wait for the delivery of chilled champagne and delicious refreshments. Today would be a good day.
* * *
When there was a knock on the door, Libby assumed it would be one of the caterers arriving. She was surprised, but in a nice way, to see Noah looking at her through the glass panel. He looked less sure of himself than ever before. He was gazing down at his shoes, one hand thrust deep into his pocket, the other holding a parcel wrapped in brown paper and string. There was no denying he was a handsome man – but there was more to him than physical attractiveness, she thought as she walked to the door. He was a good person and that counted for so much more.
‘I wasn’t expecting to see you until later,’ she said as she opened the door, smiled and invited him in. ‘But since you’re here, you can have the inaugural coffee from my brand-new coffee machine. Sadly, the pastries haven’t arrived yet, so if you want a treat with it, you’ll have to make do with some chocolate biscuits Harry donated.’
‘Out of date?’ Noah said with a cheeky smile.
‘No! Would you believe it? These ones have a whole nine months left until they expire. I think the hospital addled his brain a little.’
Libby did her best to work the coffee machine, running through all the steps she had been taught at her training course. Even though her heart thumped loudly and her hands shook, she managed to make a very respectable latte.
‘What brings you across the road at this hour anyway?’ she asked as she handed him his drink. He sat down at one of the bistro tables and Libby sat down opposite him.
‘Just wanted to make sure you weren’t melting down under the pressure.’ He laughed.
She turned and put her hands out in front of her so he could see how they were shaking. ‘I’m perfectly calm, can’t you see?’ she said with a wry smile.
‘Yes, of course,’ he smiled. ‘You do know it’s going to be brilliant, don’t you? You’ve done something special here.’
‘I hope so, but we’ll see,’ she said and watched as he brought the coffee cup to his mouth and took a sip. No grimace, that was a good sign.
‘That’s good coffee,’ he declared. ‘But you should know I didn’t really come here to see if you were okay. I knew you would be. And nor did I come here to con you out of a free cup of coffee.’
‘Who said it was free?’ Libby teased, sitting down. ‘I’m putting it on your tab!’
Noah laughed before his face grew serious again. ‘Look, I wanted to do this now. Before the shop opens. I was thinking of doing it when everyone was here, but I didn’t want to upset you. I figured it might be a bit emotional.’
She felt her heart sink. What was he at? Was he about to tell her he was seeing someone else?
‘Don’t look so worried!’ he said, seeing her face drop. ‘Look, I hope you like this and appreciate why I did it.’ He pushed the brown-paper-wrapped parcel in her direction. Flat and A4-sized, she wondered, had he bought her a book, as if she didn’t have enough books as it was.
She blinked up at him.
‘Open it,’ he said.
Slowly, nervously, she untied the string and folded out the corners of the parcel – pulling back the paper to find a picture in a frame. If her heart could have exploded with every emotion, it would have done at that moment. Grief, sadness, pride, love, joy. It was all there.
‘I saw the picture in your parents’ house when I came to visit,’ Noah was saying as she couldn’t take her eyes from it. ‘I thought it deserved to be here, behind your counter. He deserves to be here.’
Libby couldn’t speak through her tears. So much for promising she wouldn’t shed another tear that day! Framed and ready to hang behind her counter was one of her favourite photos of all time. She must have been about six when it was taken, sitting on her grandfather’s knee, both of them staring into the pages of a book, smiling broadly, discovering a love of the written word, realising what love really meant.
It was perfect.
She looked up, tried to compose herself, just as she saw Noah stand up. ‘I’ll see you later, Bookshop Libby,’ he said softly. ‘This is your day. Enjoy
it.’
33
Guess How Much I Love You
Slipping off her leopard-print pumps, Libby rubbed her tired feet and gratefully accepted the glass of wine Jess had just put in front of her.
‘This one’s from Harry,’ Jess said, and Libby raised the glass in the direction of Harry, who was holding court in the corner, his usual pint replaced with a glass of red wine.
‘If people keep buying me drinks like this, I’ll be seven sheets to the wind in no time at all,’ Libby said, gratefully taking a large sip from her glass. ‘But, boy, have I earned it.’
‘You most certainly have,’ her dad said, a proud smile on his face. ‘That was a brilliant day, Libby. Just brilliant. You’ve done yourself proud and all of us proud.’
‘I’ll second that,’ her mum said, sniffing back a tear as she started to drink her third glass of wine, which had her a little giddy.
Despite her aching feet, Libby was deliriously happy. The day had indeed exceeded all her expectations. Everyone had oohed and aahed appropriately and she had shifted enough stock to make her feel fairly confident in the shop’s future. She’d also taken a number of bookings for the writing nooks – including one from Jo, who said she wasn’t going to put off writing a book any longer.
Still, she was delighted to be able to sit down and relax and, yes, to celebrate. The Ivy Inn was buzzing with customers, all of whom seemed intent on buying her a drink and wishing her well. It felt a little like a wedding, and she tried to make sure she spoke to everyone to thank them all for their support.
But there was, of course, only one person she really, really wanted to speak to. Looking across the bar, she could see him now, chatting to a customer as he took their order. Her eyes were continually drawn to him and while she tried to make it less than obvious, she knew she was making a very poor job of it.
That was confirmed by Jo, who, sitting down beside her a short time later, whispered in her ear: ‘A bit like writing my book, sometimes you have to make things happen. Find the time. Steal the time if you have to.’ Jo nodded in the direction of Noah and, feeling emboldened by two large glasses of wine, Libby told her she was absolutely, one hundred per cent right.
She wriggled out from behind the table and walked towards the bar, getting as close to Noah as possible.
‘Your order?’ he asked her, his eyebrow raised.
‘Actually, I need a word. Would you mind if we had a quick chat?’
‘Of course not,’ Noah said, lifting the hatch on the bar to allow her through and directing her towards the office, where Paddy immediately jumped up to show her he was happy to see her. That was enough to break the ice. This all felt natural and normal. All nerves were gone.
She didn’t even feel nervous as she closed the office door and found herself alone with Noah. He leant back against his desk, just a few feet from her.
‘Well, Bookshop Libby, what can I do for you?’ There was a cheeky smile on his face, one that made the butterflies in her tummy take flight.
‘Well, Ivy Inn Noah, I’ve been thinking about this a lot. And I do mean a lot. What you can do is take a chance on me, with me. You can help me find proper happiness. You can keep on making me laugh. You can keep on being a good friend and a damn good businessman. You can keep on taking me for road trips in your van. You can keep being you.’
Noah glanced briefly downwards before he looked right back at her, his eyes twinkling – his face more serious. ‘Anything else?’
‘Just one little thing,’ Libby said, taking her future entirely in her own hands. She started to walk towards him. ‘Ivy Inn Noah, you can kiss me.’
And he did.
Epilogue
Six months later
Libby sat back on the ercol rocking chair she’d picked up for a song at the latest Belfast market. At her feet a group of children, ten of them in total, sat on coloured cushions and beanbags, their eyes were very firmly on her.
Her Saturday morning Reading Club was proving to be extremely popular, not only with the children but also with their parents who could relax with a coffee while she took their children on a magical journey each week – opening their minds to new worlds, new stories and a love of reading.
This week was a little different though. This week she was going to start telling a very special story – and she only hoped it would keep the attention of the children in front of her.
‘How do we begin a story?’ she asked the children.
They smiled before parroting in unison: ‘Once upon a time!’
She grinned back at them. She loved starting her sessions just like this, inviting the children into the story with her.
‘Good job!’ she told them. ‘So, once upon a time there was a very wise and caring king called Ernie. And he had a very inquisitive, and sometimes a little messy, granddaughter called Princess Libby.’
The children giggled at the use of her own name.
‘Together King Ernie and Princess Libby decided that every child in the land should have no homework ever.’
The children cheered.
‘But instead, they would get to read as many stories as they wanted and their parents absolutely had to read them a bedtime story at night!’
The children cheered again.
‘They worked very hard to make sure everyone obeyed their rules. They worked so hard that Princess Libby very rarely had time to go out and play with her friends. Or, as she got older, to meet a handsome prince. Then one day, quite unexpectedly, a visitor came to their castle. Princess Libby didn’t have very much time for him at first because she was so very busy tidying her books and writing stories for the children of the land to read. But very slowly, their visitor, Prince Noah, nudged his way into her heart…’
Libby knew the story was a bit cheesy, but she had always believed in happy endings and six months after Once Upon A Book had opened she was fairly sure she had finally found hers.
The bell above the door of the shop tinkled and all eyes turned to look at Noah walking in – coming over for his morning coffee as he normally did. A few of the children giggled when they saw him. They all knew Noah well by now. He was a frequent visitor to the bookshop, just as Libby was a frequent visitor to the Inn.
‘Ah!’ Libby said. ‘Here is our brave prince, come to tell you how he slays dragons and wins the princess.’
Noah stood proudly, his hands on his hips in a superhero pose. ‘Prince Noah at your service,’ he said. ‘Or I will be, just as soon as I get a cup of coffee!’ He pulled a silly face, before walking across to Libby and giving her the softest of kisses on the cheek. The children made ‘ooooh’ noises and laughed, before Libby guided them back to the story of the princess who found her happy ever after.
Acknowledgments
With thanks to Caroline Ridding and Nia Beynon and all at Boldwood for taking a chance on Libby Quinn and her hopes and dreams. I’m delighted to have joined such an innovative and passionate publishing house. Special thanks go to Jade and Shirley for their insight during copy-editing and proofing.
Thanks also to my agent, Ger Nichol, who insisted this book did not rest in a drawer but instead was sent out to the world to find an audience. It has been lovely to delve into the world of romance again.
Writing this book was initially an exercise in distraction at a time when it was nice to write about nice things happening to good people. It was also written with the encouragement of many writer pals, most notably Fionnuala Kearney, who is my most trusted beta reader. Thank you, Fionnu – as always x
Thanks also to Michelle Gorman, Marian Keyes, Melissa Hill, Louise Beech, Sheila O’Flanagan and John Marrs and all the many writers who make this business nicer. There are too many lovely writers to mention, so I hope this is seen as a catch-all.
Thanks to all the bloggers, readers, reviewers, booksellers, Twitter friends and media champions who prove time and time again that women’s fiction is still as strong as it ever was, and without whom writers would be lost.
This book is dedicated to the original Grandad Ernie – who passed away in 1993 when I was just sixteen. He was the special kind of grandparent who could find magic in the mundane, who encouraged silliness and ambition and who I’d like to think would be proud as punch of all of his grandchildren. These stories are for him.
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About the Author
Freya Kennedy lives in Derry, Northern Ireland, with her husband, two children, two cats and a mad dog called Izzy. She worked as a journalist for eighteen years before deciding to write full time. When not writing, she can be found reading, hanging out with her nieces and nephews, cleaning up after her children (a lot) and telling her dog that she loves her.
She has met Michael Buble and even kissed him. It was one of her best ever moments.
She believes in happy ever afters.