In Pursuit of Happiness

by Freya Kennedy

  Her eyes were heavy and her limbs ached as she stood under the powerful streams of the shower, hoping it would wake her up. It was only when she jumped awake to the sound of an audible snore from her own face that she realised she had actually fallen asleep again standing up.

  As she opened the windows to her hotel room wide, she was thankful for the rush of cool morning air and breathed it in deeply. She had to leave behind everything that had happened the day before and concentrate on the work she wanted to do. She could, and would, be strictly professional with Ewan. She’d be on her best behaviour and drink in all the great advice he could give her.

  She would also not think about Lorcan or his sad face. Or about Erin’s jealousy theory.

  Today would be all about her work, both hers and Ewan’s. He had planned a busy day for them. They were due to pack up and move on to their next stop close to Malin Head – the most northerly point in Ireland. She wondered whether Ewan would share with her what his next book was about and what part Donegal would play in it. She was intrigued to find out how he kept his writing fresh and original.

  See, she told herself as she touched up her under-eye concealer to try and make herself look a little more human, she was already focusing on work and not any other distractions.

  Unlike Jo, Ewan looked fresh and unnaturally handsome when she met him for breakfast.

  ‘Did you sleep well?’ he asked, as she almost begged the waitress to replace her small coffee cup with a mug, or perhaps a bucket.

  ‘I was a bit wired. A lot to think about. I tossed and turned a bit,’ she said.

  ‘I hope I didn’t overload you with stuff,’ he replied, genuine concern on his face. ‘I get a bit carried away when I’m really invested in a story. Don’t be afraid to put me in my place. You have to remember this is your book. Your story. Your life. I’m just one writer, who doesn’t necessarily know more than anyone else.’

  ‘The Sunday Times bestseller title and the successful TV series might say differently,’ Jo said as she took her first sip of coffee and enjoyed feeling the caffeine infuse into her bloodstream.

  ‘We all have our doubts,’ he admitted. ‘We’re all just chasing the next story. The next big idea.’ He gave a soft, self-deprecating smile. ‘It’s the best industry in the world, and I can’t imagine ever doing anything else, but there are times when it feels a bit overwhelming. I never take success for granted, which is why I want each book to be better than the last. The problem being that every time I finish writing a book, I tend to be absolutely sure that my well is dry and I’ll never write again. Thankfully, most of the time, a new story pops into my head after a few weeks.’

  ‘I can’t imagine writing multiple books,’ Jo confessed. ‘I mean I have ideas, but this story has been my focus for so long, I haven’t really thought beyond it. I can’t quite imagine another story consuming me in the same way.’

  ‘Believe me, it will. Another idea will come to you with another cast of characters and another remarkable setting, perhaps when you least expect it. Why don’t we go and grab a plate full of bacon and eggs and we can talk more about it?’ he said.

  ‘Then we can go on an exhilarating walk on the coast at Malin Head and I can show you where they filmed those scenes from Star Wars,’ Jo replied, surprised by how comfortable she felt in his company again after the awkwardness of the previous afternoon.

  ‘That sounds like a solid plan,’ Ewan said.

  ‘But coffee first, so much coffee,’ Jo smiled.

  26

  The Last Jedi

  The landscape at Malin Head was as beautiful as it was stark. There was something incredibly grounding about looking out across an expanse of endless ocean. The rocky shoreline jutted into the squalling mass of grey and foam, as if fighting it off and pulling it back time and time again.

  ‘It’s breathtaking,’ Ewan said, as he stood and took in the vista. ‘Bleak, but breathtaking.’

  ‘If it’s good enough for Luke Skywalker,’ Jo replied, as she stepped from foot to foot and wished she had brought her comfy cardigan after all. Her Converse were damp from walking through the wet grass. She should’ve known to wear better shoes. Or at least, waterproof shoes. She’d probably end up with trench foot or something. Or have mushrooms grow between her toes. But what she absolutely wasn’t going to do, she decided, was complain to Ewan about it. He seemed so entranced by the sight around him, she didn’t want to do anything to take away from that moment. He was taking in everything, as if he could actually see the Millennium Falcon on the clifftops instead of just looking in the vague direction of where the filmmakers had built, and subsequently dismantled, a replica for the movie shoot.

  ‘I’m going to take a few pictures,’ he said and put his rucksack down on the ground.

  Jo watched as he fished through his belongings and brought out a proper, old-school camera. The day before, he had just snapped pictures on his phone, but she observed him now as he stood and turned dials and changed lenses before snapping what lay before him from different angles.

  ‘Amateur photographer too?’ Jo asked.

  ‘Very amateur,’ he said with a smile. ‘But it’s a good hobby. My father loved to take photographs of everything. I think I was the most photographed baby in Scotland once upon a time. It was different then, of course. Photos weren’t taken just for the hell of it. There was no delete button.’

  Jo had never owned a proper camera. She tried to remember when the last time was that she actually got any of the many snaps she took on her phone developed. It was years ago. For a generation that photographed everything, including their breakfast, lunch and dinner, there would be little physical evidence of it in the future. That suddenly felt very sad to her. She thought of all the photos hanging on the walls of her parents’ home. Jo with her brothers, with Noah, with all the various children who had come in and out of their lives over the years.

  And those photos were only the smallest percentage of what existed. There was a big box in the attic filled with photo albums and envelopes filled with pictures. Images from every notable event, and plenty of ordinary days, in the history of the Campbell family.

  It struck Jo that while she had countless pictures of Clara on her phone – pictures she had shared on Facebook and Instagram, she had only one physical image of her, framed on her bedside table. She vowed that when she went home she would rectify that. Even if it only meant printing out all the photos on her phone.

  ‘It’s the weight of the camera in your hand that I love,’ Ewan expounded. ‘That, and using film, not just your memory card. It makes you think about things differently. It gives some importance to what you’re doing. You have to really think about what way you want it to look. You don’t have an infinite number of chances.’

  She nodded at him and laughed. ‘I think I’ll stick with my phone and multiple retakes. Not to mention filters. Instagram is a kind mistress at times.’ But her laugh was a nervous one. Once again Ewan was managing to unsettle her. Everything he said seemed to speak to her, it pulled her closer to her dream and reminded her that as with camera film, life did not have limitless chances for a redo.

  ‘I’m not against Instagram, but there’s no comparison, Jo. There’s no better filter than nature itself. Here, come and look.’

  She felt her nerve ends tingle as she moved closer to him. It felt as if she was slipping further out of her comfort zone – a feeling that only grew as she got nearer to him.

  ‘The book I’m writing,’ Ewan said, as he passed her the camera and she felt the warmth of his hands envelop hers. ‘The protagonist is a photographer.’

  She didn’t want to feel the weight of his camera, scared that she might drop it, or push the wrong button and over-expose his film, ruining all his shots, but she could hardly push it away.

  ‘McCreadie?’ Jo asked, her nerves a little rattled. She didn’t remember photography as being one of the TV inspector’s hobbies.

  ‘This isn’t a McCreadie book,’ Ewan said.
‘I need a wee break from him. This is something different. And my protagonist is obsessed with capturing images. He sees them in a way people don’t tend to these days. He looks for the detail. The things people blindly clicking and pouting don’t see. He becomes obsessed with those details. Obsessed with the minutiae of people’s lives. A bit too obsessed, you know.’

  ‘So he’s the bad guy?’ Jo asked, intrigued. So far Ewan had been very tight-lipped about his new book and Jo hadn’t felt in a position to push. She knew herself that the writing process was so fluid and changeable that the story evolved, so it was no surprise if Ewan wanted to hold back on the details while he was still working the story through in his own mind. That, and a part of her wasn’t totally convinced he saw her as an actual writer despite his friendly demeanour.

  ’That would be telling,’ Ewan said. ‘But he definitely has the potential to go either way.’ He paused and looked at her so intently that she felt her breathing slow and her heartbeat quicken. Just as quickly he looked away. ‘Anyway, there’s a significant strand of backstory set here and that’s why I want it to be authentic. He has to be as far removed from McCreadie as I can get him so I’m not accused of being a one-trick pony.’ He moved behind her. ‘Right, hold that camera up to your face and look through the viewfinder. Tell me if that looks different from looking at a phone screen.’

  He stood so close to her that she could feel the warmth of his breath on the back of her neck, the presence of his body close to hers. But she forced herself to concentrate, to do as she was told, even if she did have to squint a little to get her eyes to focus. She could see the scene in front of her framed, the shafts of light from the breaks in the clouds.

  ‘Don’t just press the button on a whim. Think about the exact second you want to recall. You’ll feel it when it’s right.’

  She thought about what he was saying. It could be applied to so much more than just snapping photos. He urged caution. It was the same premise she had lived with all her life. On the other hand, he’d told her when she felt things were right, she had to seize the moment. Click the button. Take the photo. The next moment might not be the same.

  With her finger trembling over the shutter release button, she watched and waited until a bird, wings spread wide, swooped down into view. That was her moment. It wasn’t even as long as a second. She pushed the button, heard the satisfying click as the image was captured and the whirr as the film automatically wound on to the next frame.

  She lowered the camera and looked at the scene which had already changed in front of her eyes. She only wished she could bring her picture up on a screen straight away and see if she had captured it just right.

  ‘You have to have patience,’ Ewan told her. ‘But I can guarantee that no matter what the physical print turns out like, you have that image burned into your mind for now. And that’s not a bad thing.’

  Jo thought the feeling of him so close to her was something else that was also burned into her mind. And that, she knew, was potentially a very bad thing.

  Jo couldn’t quite believe that Ewan had booked them accommodation in the luxurious Harvey’s Point Hotel. She’d have been happy with a B&B, but she couldn’t deny she was blown away with the Lakeshore Suite Ewan had arranged. She snapped some pictures of it on her phone, already wishing she had a proper camera like Ewan’s. She took pictures of the balcony overlooking Lough Eske, and the claw-footed bath she was planning to take full advantage of later. She typed three smiley-faced emojis and sent the pictures to her mum, Erin, Noah and Libby. Thankfully she stopped before she sent the same picture to Lorcan, knowing that he wouldn’t appreciate it. She didn’t have to wait long until she got a series of messages back, exclaiming how impressed they were, and how jealous. Noah added a quick ‘Be careful!’ which Jo tried to take in the spirit in which it was offered.

  She was replying to him that she was always, always careful when a new message notification landed in her phone from Lorcan. Her stomach tightened, and not in a good way. She didn’t want to read it, afraid he would call her out on something else. But she also knew she wouldn’t be able to ignore it. It would niggle and gnaw at her until she dealt with whatever it contained. Jo Campbell had never been the kind of person to confidently delete people, and their messages, from her life.

  She checked the time and saw she was meant to meet Ewan in the bar in five minutes. If she read the message straight away, she thought, she wouldn’t have time to stew over what he had written. She’d be consumed in her work and also, she realised, in trying to get a proper read of Ewan.

  One minute, he seemed like a very decent, helpful person keen to give a new writer a leg-up. The next, she could feel something more from him. A presence or intensity. Maybe it was just those lustful feelings again – feelings that she knew she shouldn’t act on.

  She opened the message from Lorcan and read.

  Jo, I wanted to apologise for last night. I really was just there with Grandad. I’m not a stalker. I’m also not an asshole, even if I seem to have a habit of portraying myself that way. It’s important to me, and I’m not entirely sure why, that you know the real me. And the reasons why I didn’t come to Derry last year, and the reason I was cautious about Ewan’s offer. Clearly he has proved me wrong and you’re getting a lot from the experience. I’m genuinely really glad about that. If you would be willing to let me explain when you get back, that would be cool. If not, then all I can say is I’m sorry.

  Jo slumped onto the bed and read the message again. She tried to absorb what he had said and figure out how she felt about it. Did she feel he was being genuine? Had she seen the real him? She thought of his smile. The easy way they had chatted. The way he had taken to Paddy and Paddy had taken to him. Everything she had come to know of him in the time they spent together had made her feel comfortable in his company. It had made her feel safe. He had made her feel safe.

  ‘Gah!!!’ she said, before she threw her phone on the bed and made a very conscious decision not to bring it down to the bar where she was meeting Ewan. She would leave it, and all thoughts of Lorcan, in her room and come back to them later.

  With her notebook and pen, and her battered laptop under her arm, she left her room and attempted to switch to business mode. However, as soon as she walked into the bar, she saw that Ewan had ordered drinks for them and two glasses of red wine sat on the table, the rest of the bottle beside them. So much for trying to be entirely professional, she thought wryly.

  Ewan did have his laptop open, though. And was wearing his glasses, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stared at the screen for a moment before typing furiously. She watched him from the door. It was almost as if she could see the cogs whirring and clicking in his brain, the story travelling from his head to his fingers. Jo couldn’t help but smile, but just as she prepared to cross the room and take her seat, she saw him sit back, shake his head and sigh loudly before slamming the lid of his laptop down. He looked wretched as he lifted his wine glass and took a long drink before taking his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose.

  That was the moment when Jo felt it again. Those strange feelings she couldn’t quite put a label on. There was more to Ewan than he was prepared to show her.

  ‘Feel the fear and do it anyway,’ she whispered to herself before she decided just to go to the table and take what she had seen at face value.

  When he saw her, Ewan smiled that same, soft, seductive smile he always did. All traces of wretchedness were gone.

  ‘Tough day?’ she asked.

  She couldn’t be completely sure, but she definitely thought she saw him bristle and she wondered if she had somehow said the wrong thing.

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Why do you ask?’

  Having decided not to mention the way he had slammed closed his laptop, she nodded to the wine glasses on the table. ‘You’ve made a start on the wine,’ she said, styling it out with a smile.

  ‘Ah!’ Ewan said as relief flooded his face. ‘You caught me. We
ll, it is a Saturday and I think we earned it. Also, I often find a glass or two helps oil the creative cogs.’

  ‘I’m up for giving it a go,’ Jo said and Ewan handed her the second glass before he lifted his own.

  ‘Here’s to a productive day all round. Your work and great collaborations.’

  ‘To great collaborations!’ Jo replied as they clinked their glasses together.

  ‘Right,’ Ewan said. ‘I suppose we better get started on your great novel. Today, let’s have a chat about character. I want to know all about your characters. Their backstories. Their motivations. Their favourite drinks or favourite TV shows. I want to know everything,’ he said. ‘Whether you think it’s relevant to the story or not. The more you know about your characters, the fuller they are, the more real they will feel. At the minute, Kate feels a little one-dimensional at times.’

  Jo felt herself colour. It was as if she had just been given her homework back with red pen all over it. She tried to arrange her expression so that she didn’t look as if she was cringing so tightly internally that she feared she might pop a blood vessel.

  Clearly she failed.

  ‘Don’t look so horrified,’ Ewan said. ‘Remember, you’re learning. We’re all learning. It’s very, very easy to write a character as one-dimensional. If you saw the first draft of McCreadie book one, you would see that I was a master of the art.’

  She felt marginally better.

  ‘Remember this is all about making sure your story is the very best it can be. Get the character right and everything will fall into place. That’s my thinking anyway.’

  ‘Okay,’ Jo nodded, ‘so how do I go about this?’

  ‘Over more wine, and dinner later,’ Ewan said. ‘Let’s tease it all out, so when we leave the bar tonight, we feel as if Kate is walking alongside us. A fully-fledged, real, possibly little bit crazy, person.’