In Pursuit of Happiness

by Freya Kennedy

  She pulled herself up to sitting and stretched. Her eyes were tired and dry from staring at her Kindle all night and her body screamed to be allowed to rest, but Clara and her desire for waffles with strawberries and maple syrup for breakfast screamed louder.

  ‘Would you not just have a bowl of porridge? It will set you up for the day?’ Jo asked her little sister, who gave her a ‘are you serious’ glare in return.

  ‘Mammy always makes me waffles and syrup on a Monday before all week at school,’ she said, her brow furrowed in determination.

  ‘Okay, so waffles it is, with extra strawberries,’ Jo said.

  She knew there was little point in arguing with Clara, so Jo pulled on her kimono and slippers, tied her hair into a messy topknot and yawned her way down the stairs. The first thing she did was put on a very large pot of coffee. As she was up, she might as well let her mum enjoy a proper lie-in and take care of the school run too. And, she supposed, she could nip to the supermarket and stock up on some essentials. The kind of essentials that Harry didn’t have in his shop because he had taken against them for some reason. Energy drinks weren’t the only things on his blacklist. He didn’t sell dishwasher tablets (‘only shirkers have dishwashers, nothing wrong with a bottle of Fairy Liquid’), kitchen roll (‘whatever happened to people just using dishcloths to clean up after themselves. What a waste’) and wholemeal bread (‘I’ve never had a slice of brown bread in my life and I’m here and grand, aren’t I?’). She wondered how he would react if someone asked for avocado or quinoa, or if he would even know what they were.

  While she was at it, she might as well walk past The Ivy Inn and take Paddy out for his morning walk. It would help her reach her blasted 10,000 steps for the day, which was a struggle on the days she didn’t work in the pub. Without setting a target she knew she’d happily spend the day slumped on the sofa.

  Maybe she’d get a nap later. If she was lucky.

  ‘You’re going to burn the waffles!’ she heard Clara shout, and she realised she had been half-asleep standing up. She definitely needed coffee, and quickly.

  Once caffeinated, she set about getting Clara ready, but it was clear something was still off with her little sister. As Jo ironed her school uniform, helped her brush her teeth and put her shoes on, she was asked a hundred questions about orphans and mums and babies with no mums and what would happen if her birth mum decided she wanted her back and what if she had to leave and go back to her old home and how could Jo be sure that would never happen.

  By the time Jo was trying to put Clara’s packed lunch into her school bag, Clara herself was sitting on the kitchen floor, hugging Buttercup, borderline hysterical.

  ‘I don’t want to go back to my old house,’ she wailed. ‘But is my other mammy all alone?’

  She looked up and Jo saw her little face was twisted with pain and worry. Tears were cascading down her cheeks, which had turned a fairly dark shade of red. The pain that Clara was in felt as real to Jo as if it were her own. She’d have given everything in the world to be able to take it away.

  She sat down on the floor and opened her arms wide, pulling Clara into a tight, squeezy hug as she rocked her on the floor. ‘I promise you, wee dote, you will always be here with us. We are your family. Lots of very important people all got together to talk about what would make you the very happiest in the world. And Mammy and Daddy went and spoke to them and told them how they love you to the moon and back and you were their wee girl and everyone decided that you belonged here, so they wrote it down in a big book in ink that can’t be rubbed out.’

  ‘And my other mammy? Did she not love me to the moon and back?’

  Jo’s heart cracked and she had to steady herself before she spoke again. ‘Of course she loves you very, very much and she will always love you very, very much. She just couldn’t look after you the same way as Mammy and Daddy and she wanted you to be happy and safe too. Sometimes, no matter how much people love someone, and how hard they try, they can’t manage to look after them the very best.’

  Clara blinked, her big eyes extra vibrant for her tears. Her bottom lip wobbled. How on earth was a child supposed to try and understand the reality of what had happened while also being protected from the truth? Clara’s mum wasn’t a bad person, but she was an addict who had more than her fair share of woes. It was too much for Clara to wrap her head around.

  Jo took Clara’s hand and continued. ‘And sometimes the best way to show someone how much you love them is to make sure they’re okay by living with someone else who makes them very happy, even if it makes you a little sad. And your other mammy loved you very, very much.’

  Underneath it all, Jo was sure that Clara’s birth mother did love her daughter in her own way. The little girl was much too young to learn all the details of how she came to live with the Campbells, but Jo was determined she’d never doubt that she was loved.

  ‘What if Mammy and Daddy can’t look after me the very best? Will I have to get another new mammy and daddy?’ Clara’s eyes were wide.

  ‘Oh goodness no. Sure you have me, and Noah, and Libby, and Auntie Mags. And Erin too. And even Paddy. We’re all just here to look after you for ever and ever and ever.’

  That seemed to be enough to quiet Clara’s sobs and she sat in Jo’s arms, hiccupping as she tried to regulate her breathing to normal. She rested her head against Jo’s chest and Jo just sat there, and rocked her, and told her she was loved until finally – one school shoe on and one school shoe off – Clara drifted into a nap.

  That was how her mum found them when she came downstairs fifteen minutes later.

  Her eyes widened at the sight of her two girls on the floor. ‘What on earth happened?’ she asked.

  ‘A lot of questions and a lot of worry about us and having a mammy and being loved. She got very upset. I figure just let her have a quick nap to sleep off the storm, and I’ll take her in to school later,’ Jo said.

  ‘Maybe she’d be better off at home today? We can shower her with a little extra love and let her ask all the questions she needs to,’ her mother said and Jo had to agree that was probably the best idea. Maybe she’d do something really fun with Clara while her mum spoke with Noah and with their social worker for some advice on how best to handle this.

  So, she wouldn’t get back to sleep as quickly as she’d hoped, but the little girl asleep in her arms was worth one hundred sleepless nights and more.

  9

  Kindergarten Cop

  By 10.30, Clara was sitting on one of the chairs in the coffee bar area of Once Upon A Book drinking a tall glass of milk from a paper straw and nibbling on a blueberry muffin. Looking at her, you would see no signs of the storm that had raged earlier. She had been changed out of her uniform into a pair of denim dungarees with her pink, zipped hoodie and her favourite sparkly trainers. Her mood had lifted as soon as she’d realised she was to spend the day with her beloved Jojo, and now she was as happy as she could be with a Peppa Pig storybook open in front of her and she was engrossed in the pictures. That book, and two others, had been purchased by Jo and she hoped at least one of them would give her a break from the endless rereads of Guess How Much I Love You.

  ‘It must be really hard for her all the same,’ Libby said as they both stood and looked over to where Clara was laughing at whatever funny picture was on the page. ‘It’s a lot to get your head around, and she’s so young.’

  ‘Mum’s going to see if Noah will talk to her. You know, about how he came to live with us and all.’

  ‘That’s a good idea. You know he adores her. Between ourselves, he’s more than a little broody at the minute.’

  Jo’s eyes widened in surprise. The thought of Noah wanting a baby, and actually being in a position to start a family, was a little scary. It felt grown-up. And sensible.

  ‘Don’t worry! It’s not happening. Not yet anyway. We’ve the wedding to get through and I want to make sure the shop is on solid ground. Although my parents have already offered to step i
n and run the place if I do have a baby and need some maternity leave. Could you see it? They’d be like the Lord and Lady of the manor in here.’ Libby smiled.

  Jo couldn’t help but smile too. Libby’s parents were lovely, lovely people. Although they didn’t live or work on the lane, they were very much considered honorary Lane residents. There was rarely a day when one or both of them wasn’t seen in the bookshop. They’d be the very best people to take over.

  ‘Anyway,’ Libby said. ‘Speaking of babies. I got your book last night. I’m surprised you can’t see the bags under my eyes.’

  Jo swallowed down the wave of nausea that washed over her. With all the drama that morning, she had pushed all thoughts of her book to the back of her mind, but now here was Libby, standing in front of her, telling her she had read some of it.

  ‘Remember, be honest,’ Jo said, inwardly hoping that Libby wouldn’t be too honest.

  A flush of colour started to rise up Libby’s neck to her face and Jo thought that the nausea might just soon turn into full on vomiting.

  ‘Oh God, you hated it,’ she muttered. ‘Look, forget I showed it to you. Say nothing. We’ll just move on and pretend it never happened.’

  ‘No!’ Libby protested. ‘It’s not that at all. I’ve not finished it, but that was only because I fell asleep. It’s good, Jo. I mean, really good. I don’t understand why you’ve been hiding your talent away.’

  ‘You don’t have to say that just because you know me,’ Jo blushed, sure Libby must have been trying extra hard to make her feel good about herself.

  ‘I’m not just saying that,’ Libby protested. ‘It’s a great read.’

  Jo felt a strange mixture of pride and extreme embarrassment at the compliment. Irish people don’t take compliments well and this was especially true of Jo. She didn’t know what to say. Part of her wanted to run away. Part of her wanted to hug Libby. A really big part of her wanted to pump her friend for more information. Wanted to know what Libby liked about it. What she thought of her characters. And the setting. And the pacing. Was the pacing okay?

  But Jo did none of those things, she just stood, mute, not sure whether she was going to laugh or cry. Before she did either though she noticed the look on Libby’s face and felt the nausea rise up once more. Libby was looking decidedly shifty.

  ‘Look, I did something,’ Libby said. ‘And I don’t want you to be mad, because I think it was the best thing to do and I’m not sure you’d ever do it yourself.’

  Jo stood, scared to asked what Libby had done but knowing that she needed to know. And now.

  ‘Noah agreed it was a good idea,’ Libby said, her voice quiet and cautious.

  ‘What was it?’ Jo asked, as she tried to push down the feeling that Libby and Noah had overstepped the mark. Jo wasn’t ready to do anything other than have Libby read it. She certainly didn’t want anyone else to read it. At that moment, one of the A3 posters of Ewan McLachlan caught her eye. He stared out at her, in moody black and white. Jo looked from him to Libby and back again. ‘Oh, Libby, please tell me you didn’t…’

  ‘It’s too good an opportunity to pass up. I emailed him first thing to ask if he would be interested. He emailed me back within fifteen minutes and said of course he would like to read it. And it is that good, Jo. This could change your life.’

  ‘But… you haven’t even finished reading it. How can you possibly say it’s good?’ Jo said, panic clawing at her.

  ‘Because it is.’

  ‘Maybe the ending is shite,’ Jo said, her voice loud enough for a little voice from a nearby table to pipe up.

  ‘Jojo, I heard that bad word.’

  ‘Sorry, Clara,’ Jo said, and turned her head to Libby, who was now winning the flushed face competition. If Jo wasn’t mistaken, there were tears sitting in Libby’s eyes.

  ‘I didn’t want to upset you,’ Libby said. ‘I just wanted to help. It really is very good. You need to believe in yourself.’

  ‘But I wasn’t ready!’ Jo protested limply.

  ‘I’ll say this with love in my heart,’ Libby began. ‘I don’t think you’d ever be ready. If it was left to you, then I think this book would sit on your computer forever and that would be a waste of a damn good book.’

  ‘You really think it’s good?’ Jo asked.

  ‘Oh my God! Do you really think I would send it to Ewan McLachlan if I didn’t think it was good? I have him coming to my bookshop to do a reading. I want to create a strong working relationship with him and other authors. Do you think I’d send him any old toot to read and wreck that? Imagine if he told every one of his author friends that I had a habit of trying to pin ropey writing friends on them?’

  Libby, Jo had to acknowledge, had a point.

  ‘It’s just…’ she began.

  ‘Scary,’ Libby cut in, finishing Jo’s sentence for her. ‘I know it is. A lot of the things that are worth doing are scary at first. But I know you, and Noah knows you more. He told me you’ve been writing on and off for years. I’ve seen you tapping away on your laptop. There comes a time when you have to take the next step. Even if it makes you want to puke. Actually, especially if it makes you want to puke.’

  Jo was not convinced. Nausea was not something she enjoyed. Fear was something she enjoyed even less.

  ‘Trust me,’ Libby added.

  ‘I’m trying,’ Jo said. ‘Honest, I am.’

  ‘Sometimes excitement feels like fear,’ Libby said and Jo looked at her as if she was mad. To her, those emotions were very different and while, of course, she was delighted that Libby was enjoying her book, she couldn’t help but feel unsettled. The thing with taking a risk, she thought, was that it was a risk. Things could go wrong as easily as they could go well.

  ‘Jojo!’ Clara called. ‘Can we go to the park now and to see Erin? Please?’

  Jo was glad of the distraction because she truly didn’t know whether she wanted to hug or thump Libby.

  ‘Look, I’d best be going. I’m sorry if I’m sounding really ungrateful. I just—’

  ‘No,’ Libby said, defeated. ‘I’m sorry. I overstepped the mark. It was with the best of intentions, but still…’ Libby looked sad and Jo felt immediately guilty.

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ she said before she started to help Clara pack up her things and clear up the tsunami of crumbs her little sister had left on the table. She had started to worry that she and Libby would get caught up in a big apology loop. She took a deep breath and told herself to focus on the positive. Libby had loved her book – actually loved it. And she didn’t think Libby would lie about that.

  She was just zipping up Clara’s coat when the bell above the door rang and Lorcan Gallagher, Harry’s grandson, swaggered in like he owned the place.

  Jo rolled her eyes and hurried Clara along just as she heard him ask Libby for a skinny caramel latte with two shots. She couldn’t help but smile when she thought of what Harry would think if he heard his grandson’s order. Harry was famously known for his belief that ‘fancy coffee’, which was essentially anything different from black coffee, was just an affectation and that there was absolutely nothing wrong with a jar of instant. If he was feeling particularly chatty, he would also launch into his view on biscuits which were good enough for elevenses and which were just ‘plain biscuits with notions on themselves’. For the record, Biscotti were particularly ‘notiony’.

  As she started to bustle Clara out of the door, she heard Lorcan ask for a ‘latte machiatto’ for his grandad. She was so shocked, it stopped her in her tracks and she looked around to make sure it was Lorcan who had asked for it – even though his distinctive English accent stood out in a sea of Derry voices.

  ‘Ah, are you the famous Lorcan then?’ she heard Libby ask. ‘Are you sure you want this for your grandad? He normally has plainer tastes.’

  ‘Well he asked me to pick it up for him, so I’ll assume he knows his own mind,’ Lorcan said, with more than a hint of snark about him.

  ‘Well, if there’s one
thing Harry Gallagher knows, it’s his own mind,’ Libby replied, just as Clara tugged on Jo’s coat to hurry her along to the park.

  ‘Everybody really does stick their nose in everyone else’s business around here, don’t they?’ Jo heard Lorcan say as she opened the door and left the shop.

  Nope. She really didn’t think she was going to be a fan of Lorcan Gallagher any time soon.

  It was mid-afternoon by the time Jo got home, a very tired Clara at her side. They had indeed gone to the park, and then to Jo’s flat to have lunch with Erin, and after that they had taken Paddy for a walk.

  In the end, Clara had pleaded with Jo to take her home as her feet were sore and she was tired. Jo, however, had not been tired, despite her lack of sleep, and had needed to walk off her nerves at the thought of Ewan McLachlan reading her book. This had combined with extreme annoyance at Lorcan for buying a latte for Harry, and then, in a final twist, it had transformed to upset at Erin for falling in love and leaving her homeless.

  While lunch at the flat had been very tasty – there were certain perks to living with a chef – it had also been awkward. Jo found it hard to focus on her conversation with Erin, or Clara, when all she could think about was that she would have to pack all of her belongings up and move somewhere else. They’d had so many happy times there. Some awful times too, it had to be said. The occasional row. Nursing each other through a particularly horrific bout of food poisoning and a relationship break-up that had led to many late-night chats and crying sessions. But the majority of her memories of this place were positive.

  Of course, Jo had always known the time would come when they would move on with their lives, but she just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. And she expected to have had some sort of control over it. That, she’d realised, as she stomped along the riverbanks with Paddy, was what ate at her most. The absolute, total lack of control. About her home. About her work. Whilst her friends all seemed to be perfectly settled and sorted, with their businesses and relationships and talk of wanting babies.