In Pursuit of Happiness

by Freya Kennedy

  By the time she got home, the exhaustion had started to wash over her. She was too tired to even worry about Ewan McLachlan reading her book. She slumped down onto the armchair while Clara kicked off her shoes and, her tiredness forgotten, ran to her room to play with her toys.

  ‘How was she?’ her mother asked, as she carried in two mugs of tea and handed one to Jo.

  ‘She was fine. We got some new books, had lunch and took Paddy for a walk. Noah said he will call round to see you later – save you going into the pub. She only mentioned her birth mum once or twice and was maybe a little bit more clingy than normal, but she was showered with love and attention,’ Jo said.

  ‘Oh thank goodness. Thank you, pet. I’ve been so worried about her. I spent this morning on the phone to her social worker for advice. Then I phoned your dad and I had to talk him out of jumping on the first plane back. He’ll be home soon enough and he might as well finish the contract,’ her mum said and took a long sip from her mug and sighed with contentment. ‘He says it’s ridiculously hot there and he can’t wait to get back to the rubbish weather and a cold pint down at The Ivy Inn.’

  Jo smiled. She couldn’t wait for her dad to be home either. She loved it when he called into the pub and took residence in his usual seat in the corner and read the papers, spoilt Paddy and was there to chat to during her breaks. The place just wasn’t the same without him. ‘First pint will be on the house,’ she said. ‘And probably most of the rest of them too.’

  ‘There have to be some perks to having your daughter and son run the local boozer,’ her mum said with a smile.

  Jo looked at her mother’s smile, and thought of how warm her voice sounded when she spoke about her husband’s return. It warmed her heart, but at the same time she couldn’t help but feel a little sad. When her dad came home, even more would change, not least in terms of where Jo would live. There was no reason her dad coming home would mean she had to move out, but it just felt as if his return meant her being here was no longer necessary. She’d go from being a helping hand to a third wheel, however much her parents would assure her she always had a home here.

  Determined not to give in to her low mood, Jo announced she was going to take a nap. When all else fails, a couple of hours in her own bed, fast asleep, normally did the trick.

  She climbed the stairs, slipped off her jeans and sweater, and climbed into bed wearing just a T-shirt and her underwear, socks included. She felt the hairs on her legs bristle against her skin. She needed to shave them, she realised. Or wax them. Or was that all just exceptionally vain for a woman who was likely to be a homeless spinster mocked by a famous writer soon?

  She drifted off to sleep with that thought in her head.

  10

  Clueless

  The following morning, had she not booked some time off, Jo would have been due a catch-up with the admin at The Ivy Inn. Tuesdays were normally dedicated to totting up the accounts from the weekend before – a task Jo generally enjoyed more than she was willing to admit. But instead she found herself on the second day of a break to work on the book Libby had already sent on to Ewan McLachlan.

  She didn’t know what way to approach the day. Was there any point in reworking the book before she got feedback from one of the best crime writers in the business? Should she work on something new? She felt on edge and jittery. She doubted she would be able to concentrate enough to write anything which made sense.

  Maybe, she thought, she should spend her time doing something productive – like looking for somewhere new to live. But, no, she didn’t think she was ready to do that yet.

  With a huge sigh, she pulled the duvet back over her head and listened to her mother chatting to Clara downstairs.

  ‘Is Jo not getting out of bed?’ she heard Clara ask.

  ‘I think she must be very tired this morning,’ her mother replied, ‘so she’s going to have a rest.’

  ‘Is she a lazybones, Mammy?’ The earnest way in which Clara asked the question made Jo smile. It was enough to remind her, for now, that she had a lot of good things in her life – Clara being chief among them.

  When she heard them leave for school, and realised she had no chance of getting back to sleep, she sat up and picked up her phone. She typed a quick text message to Erin and Libby to apologise for being a little tetchy the day before. Then she messaged her dad to say she couldn’t wait to see him in a few weeks. Her phone rang minutes later and when she saw it was an international number calling, she smiled.

  ‘Dad!’ she said as she answered. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Very hot!’ he laughed. It was only on hearing his voice that she realised just how much she missed him. Of course, she always knew she was a daddy’s girl, but she kept herself so busy she didn’t give herself time to miss him. But now, as she felt she’d lost control over her life, his was the only voice she wanted to hear. ‘How are you, my love?’ he asked. ‘Are you not working today?’

  ‘I’ve taken a few days off,’ she said. ‘I’m fine, Daddy. I just miss our chats.’

  ‘Me too, darling. But listen, it won’t be long until I’m home and we can catch up properly. With a big hug and everything and I promise I’m not going away again. Your mum was telling me about Erin…’

  ‘It’s great for her,’ Jo said. ‘But not so great for me.’

  ‘Well, you know you always have a bed under our roof. Always. We’ll sort something out. We always do. You keep your chin up, Jo. I promise it will be okay.’

  There was something in the way her dad spoke that calmed her. If he said it would be okay, she knew it would be okay.

  When she finished the chat, she felt infinitely better and decided that she might as well make the most of the day.

  Having showered and dressed quickly in black skinny jeans and a grey sweater, Jo left the house, grabbing her bag, phone and keys on the way out.

  It was a bright, sunny morning. There was still a nip in the air, early spring being more of a promise than a reality, but it was a nice day for a walk and it would do her good to clear her head.

  She’d walk along the river to the city centre and maybe she’d treat herself to a delicious coffee, or something nice to wear. She might pop into the library for an hour, and think about her next big story. Whatever she’d do, it would be something just for her.

  Having slipped her earbuds in, she scrolled through her Spotify to find her ‘feel-good’ playlist and walked out to Jackie Wilson singing about love lifting him higher. She could feel her mood lift in harmony with the music. It would be okay. She knew it. And even if Ewan McLachlan didn’t love her work, she’d just use that to try harder. Of course, she would cry and swear a bit first, but it wouldn’t put her off writing. Her dream was to be published, but she got so much joy just from the process of writing that, no matter what, she wouldn’t be giving it up.

  Lost in her own world, listening to Beyoncé’s ‘Love On Top’ and daydreaming about being able to sing and dance with half the style of Queen Bey, Jo was not expecting the tap on her shoulder which pulled her out of her reverie and made her swear.

  Startled, she spun around to see who was behind her and was momentarily flummoxed to see that it was Lorcan Gallagher, his blonde, floppy hair floppier than ever, his head tilted to one side and his hands raised as if in surrender.

  He started to speak, but Beyoncé had just hit one of her many impressive key changes and was bellowing in her ears loudly. Jo pulled her earbuds out, somewhat reluctantly.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, his hands still raised. ‘I did try calling you, but you were clearly listening to music.’ He glanced at her earbuds. ‘Vintage Beyoncé, I’m digging the retro vibe.’

  She gawped at him. Did he really just say ‘digging the retro vibe’? Did he really think any of Beyoncé’s songs were old enough to be described as vintage?

  ‘You startled me,’ she said. ‘You’re lucky I didn’t kick you in the shins and make a run for it. And Beyoncé is very current, I’ll have you know.’
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  He smiled. ‘I’m not judging. It’s a great song,’ he said. ‘But I didn’t stop you to talk about Beyoncé. I noticed you must have a hole in your bag, or it’s open or something, because you dropped a couple of things.’

  It was only then she noticed that in his hand he held her favourite MAC lipstick (Russian Red, if you must know), the spare key to Libby’s flat, which was on a Derry Girls-themed key ring and, to her utter embarrassment, a tampon.

  She blinked at him. She willed her brain to find something smart, or witty, to say that would distract both of them from the embarrassment of the tampon in his hand. Something that would save her from coming across as a complete eejit, or a total weirdo. That ship, however, she realised, had well and truly set sail and she was its only passenger.

  ‘Oh, right, okay,’ she mumbled, and grabbed for her bag, realising that, thankfully, there wasn’t a hole in it, but, unfortunately, she had not zipped the small pocket on the front closed and she must have been walking at such a determined pace, empowered by Beyoncé, that the contents had been shaken loose. She quickly checked to see if anything else was missing. Everything seemed present and accounted for.

  ‘I don’t actually make much of a habit of accosting strangers, but I recognised you from Grandad’s shop and those MAC lipsticks aren’t cheap to come by. My girlfriend wore them. My ex-girlfriend that is.’ It was his turn to look flustered, as he glanced down at the tampon in his hand. Thankfully he passed no comment on it as he pointed it at her.

  Jo took it from him, mumbling a quiet thank you. She didn’t want or need to know if they were the same brand his girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend, used.

  ‘Well thank you,’ she managed to say through her crucifying embarrassment. ‘That’s very good of you.’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘No problem.’

  It was then Jo realised they had just landed very firmly in that uncomfortable little territory where they had said what they needed to say and now needed to say goodbye and go about their business while acknowledging that both were walking in the same direction.

  Lorcan looked down to his feet – he wore old-school Vans, which he scuffed about in a manner that reminded her of a shy schoolboy. She wondered whether it would look odd to suddenly start walking back in the direction she came from just to avoid him.

  ‘How about you thank me with a coffee?’ she heard him say.

  When she looked up, he was grinning at her, a proper cheeky-chappy smile. She was thrown a little. It seemed very endearing, but she thought of all the things Harry had told her about him. The things that Harry didn’t seem to have a problem with but which had always struck Jo as the actions of someone spoiled and selfish. The biggest action, or inaction, being his failure to come and see his grandfather when he was gravely ill the year before.

  ‘You’re not a bit shy, are you?’ she asked him.

  ‘What’s the point? It doesn’t get you anywhere in life. Look, I’m new in town. It’s been a while since I’ve spent any length of time in Derry – those long summers visiting my grandparents are a distant memory. It might be nice to have a local show me around.’

  ‘You have your grandad to show you around,’ she replied. ‘Isn’t he who you came to visit?’

  ‘Yeah, well, that much is true and I love him to bits, but his idea of what needs to be seen here and what I want to see don’t always marry up. I asked him about the mural that’s been painted of the characters from the Derry Girls TV series and he looked at me as if I had three heads. Told me there are other Derry girls who should have their pictures painted. Which reminds me, do you know who Dana is? It seems Grandad is a fan.’

  Jo scoffed. ‘Yes. She won the Eurovision Song Contest for Ireland in the seventies, I think. Bit before my time.’

  ‘Well, Grandad thinks she’s a great wee girl altogether,’ he said, putting on a Derry accent that wasn’t actually that far off the mark. Jo couldn’t stop herself from laughing, and it was a proper laugh, bubbling right up from inside.

  ‘Well, that sounds like Harry for sure,’ her antipathy towards Lorcan mellowing as he spoke so fondly of his grandfather. ‘How about I show you the Derry Girls mural and we get that coffee? You can buy the buns,’ she said.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t have somewhere to be?’ he asked, his eyebrow raised. ‘You were powering along there like a woman on a mission. I assumed you were going to work or somewhere important.’

  ‘Ah no. I was just out for a walk. My work is in entirely the other direction – in Ivy Lane as it happens. I’m one of the owners of The Ivy Inn.’

  ‘And you help Grandad out too from time to time?’ Lorcan asked.

  ‘When needed, yeah. But at the moment I am on some unexpected leave from all responsibilities, so I have ample time to show you the mural and grab a coffee.’

  She wasn’t sure it was the right move, but she figured she might as well try and see if Harry’s faith in Lorcan was warranted after all.

  ‘You know what? I think that sounds perfect,’ Lorcan said. ‘I am a huge fan of the show. My ex used to love it to. Called me her wee English fellah, even though she’s English too.’ His face clouded a little. ‘To be honest, I don’t think I can face going back to Grandad’s just yet and wrestling with his archaic TV to try and find something worth watching.’

  ‘He’s not a big man for the TV,’ Jo said with a laugh, having listened to Harry wax lyrical about the appeal of the ‘wireless’ over the TV many times. ‘All those channels and on every single one of them they’re all talking a load of nonsense,’ she mimicked.

  ‘That’s pretty much it,’ Lorcan laughed. ‘So do you want to lead the way?’

  Jo nodded, made sure her bag was properly zipped up and turned to walk back in the direction of the city centre. As promised, she’d take him to see the Derry Girls mural – a painting of the four main characters of the comedy show which had become a global hit – and then for a coffee in the Pickled Duck – a quirky café beside the city’s Guildhall.

  Sure, she had nothing better to do with her day and she was getting a feeling that he wasn’t quite as annoying as she’d first thought.

  11

  A Dog’s Purpose

  Lorcan proved to be a bit of a dark horse and Jo was surprised to find that, despite her first impressions of him, he was actually quite entertaining. They had taken selfies at the mural as if they were tourists, and then Lorcan had paid for some sausage rolls, complete with the Pickled Duck’s renowned ‘ding’ – a home-made brown sauce – and even insisted on covering the cost of the coffee as well.

  The conversation between the two of them flowed easily. He told her of the summers he spent holidaying in Derry as a child with his parents and two younger siblings, and she told him how she’d always thought it was strange anyone would choose to come to Derry to spend their summer.

  ‘You don’t appreciate what’s on your own doorstep,’ Lorcan said. ‘No one does. You take it for granted – but for us it was something different. And it was near the beach and the mountains and it felt otherworldly. We were always spoiled rotten when we came to stay too. I think we ate half of Grandad’s sweetie stock in the summer months. He always saved some for us, brought it home at the end of the day.’

  Jo smiled. She knew Harry’s ways well enough to know that his actions were not always as altruistic as they seemed. ‘Did you ever think to check the sell-by date on them, by any chance?’ she asked, and Lorcan raised an eyebrow.

  ‘No, I don’t think I did. Why?’

  ‘Spend enough time with your grandad now, and you’ll learn,’ she said with a laugh.

  After they’d eaten, and as Jo started to see her opinion of Lorcan may not have been a fair one, they decided to make the most of the sunny day and opted for a walking tour of the city with one of the city’s many well-informed, and entertaining, guides. To her shame, it was as much of an education to her as it was to Lorcan. They walked the historic walls which surrounded Derry city centre, calling into St Columb
’s Cathedral, the Craft Village and the Tower Museum, and heard stories of Derry’s darkest and brightest days.

  When that finished, Jo found they still hadn’t run out of conversation, so Lorcan suggested they grab a quick drink. She said that sounded like a great idea.

  ‘How about that pub you work in? The Ivy Inn?’ he asked.

  Jo shook her head. ’No. No, it’s my day off. I would end up getting dragged in to help out, pull some pints or walk the dog…’

  ‘Walk the dog?’

  ‘Paddy. He’s a rescue. A big soppy dote of a dog who likes to take me for very long walks.’ A wave of affection for her big furry friend washed over her.

  ‘I love dogs,’ Lorcan said with a smile, but Jo saw his face cloud over almost as soon as he spoke. ‘I had the best dog in the world. Scraps. A mutt of a thing. Rescue too, but gives so much love.’

  ‘You don’t have him any more? What happened to him?’ Jo asked, her voice suitably solemn.

  ‘My ex happened. She got full custody in the split.’ He looked bereft.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Jo said, wrong-footed by the unexpected show of emotion.

  Lorcan shrugged. ‘Yeah, it sucks. He’s a great boy, the best – no offence to your Paddy. If the truth be told, he’s probably the reason I stayed as long as I did. The relationship hadn’t been working for a while.’

  ‘Were you together long?’ Jo asked.

  ‘I was with Sophie since college. So nine years and seven months, as it happens.’

  Jo’s eyes widened. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘That’s a long time.’

  ‘Yeah, you know what they say, I’d have got less for murder.’ Lorcan laughed, but it was hollow. ‘Anyway, I’m here to clear my head, so why don’t we do that, by drinking until our heads are far from clear? You’re on your holidays from work. I’m escaping a broken heart and also work. The world is our rather shitty oyster!’