In Pursuit of Happiness

by Freya Kennedy

  ‘She’s not crazy,’ Jo protested. ‘Just a little misunderstood.’

  ‘That,’ Ewan said, with a smile, ‘is what they all say. So explain it to me. Tell me her true herself. Why is she so painfully shy? I mean, it’s a whole new level of shy, so much so that she can’t function outside of her very tiny bubble. We need to see more of how she deals with this. I feel we need examples, you know. It’s that old show don’t tell rule in writing.’

  Jo took a very deep breath, and started to talk. It felt very surreal talking about a person who didn’t even exist outside of her mind and some words on a page, but she found, as she spoke, she knew Kate much more than she thought she did, and that she did, in fact, see her as utterly real. It was as if she was talking about an old friend, someone as intrinsic to her as Erin or Noah.

  As Ewan probed and pushed about Kate, about her decisions through the story, Jo relaxed more and more into it. She took notes. Ewan took notes too. They chatted until one bottle of wine turned into two. They chatted over dinner, and until Jo’s eyes started to droop – her stomach, head and heart full. She felt as if she had been challenged, but as if she had learned so much.

  ‘One more for the road?’ Ewan asked.

  ‘I’m not sure I should,’ Jo replied. She already had more to drink than she would normally have.

  ‘Ah, it won’t hurt,’ Ewan said. ‘A wee dram of whisky?’

  ‘Honestly, I won’t. I want to be on the ball tomorrow. What’s the plan?’

  ‘I thought we could workshop a bit more in the morning,’ he said. ‘Make the most of our last day. Then I’ll drop you back to Derry. I’m only sorry I didn’t book to stay for longer.’

  Oh no, Jo thought. There it was again. The Clooney eyes. Or was he more like McDreamy? Or Rock Hudson? Whatever, he had the power to disarm her, especially when she was several glasses of wine down and really ready to catch up on her missed sleep from the night before.

  ‘I’d have thought you’d be itching to get back to your own work,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve been working this whole time,’ he replied. ‘This has been absolutely invaluable for me. I definitely have a real idea of where I’m going with the book now, and the research has added so much to it. I’ll definitely have to give you a mention in the acknowledgements.’

  Jo couldn’t help but beam with pride. ‘If I ever, ever get my work published,’ she said, ‘I will return the favour. I promise.’

  He smiled and waved to the waitress to order his final drink of the night.

  ‘Last chance?’ he said, with an impish smile.

  God, if she wasn’t careful, she could get into a lot of trouble with this man. The alcohol had lowered her defences, and his kind words had all but knocked what remained of them to the ground. ‘Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb,’ she said.

  ‘That’s a solid attitude!’ Ewan enthused, and he put in the order.

  The waitress was back quickly with the drinks and stood awkwardly at their table after she had handed them over. ‘I probably shouldn’t do this,’ she said. ‘But there’s a customer over there by the window who has been dying to ask you to sign his book all night. He’s a huge fan. If you would rather not, then it’s no problem. I’ll let him know to leave you to enjoy your evening.’

  Jo watched as the expression on Ewan’s face transformed into a broad smile. ‘Of course I’ll sign his book. Send him over, it would be lovely to chat to him.’

  ‘You’re very kind, Mr McLachlan,’ the waitress beamed. ‘I wouldn’t normally ask, but he’s such a big fan. He’s been singing your praises so much all night, I’ve even downloaded a couple of your books to read and I hardly ever read a book.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ Ewan said. ‘I appreciate it.’

  As the waitress walked across the bar to tell Ewan’s superfan that he could absolutely get his book signed, Ewan took a sip from his glass. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ he asked.

  ‘Not at all,’ Jo said. ‘It’s exciting. Does this happen a lot?’

  ‘Not as much as you might think,’ Ewan cut through her thoughts. ‘So it’s almost always lovely. You’ll find that out yourself, one day.’ She couldn’t imagine how she would react if it were to ever happen to her. Would that make her feel as if she was a bona fide success?

  Ewan reached across the table and took her hand again, sending electrical impulses through her body. In her hazy state and against her better judgement, she contemplated what it would feel like to be kissed by him. She was suddenly very aware of her lips, craved the intimacy that only a kiss could bring. She found herself staring at Ewan’s lips, full and firm. She held her breath, only daring to exhale when a man in his fifties shuffled over and handed over a dog-eared copy of one of the McCreadie books for Ewan to sign.

  As the man chatted, and asked questions as if McCreadie was a real-life friend of his, Jo decided the most sensible thing to do was to escape the temptation of Ewan and his lips and slip off to bed. It was easy to leave without a fuss as Ewan was deep in conversation with his fan and they seemed to be settling down for a long chat.

  Back in her room, Jo changed into her pyjamas, washed her make-up off, brushed her teeth and decided she would text Ewan just to thank him for a lovely evening and explain her quick departure.

  A knock on the door distracted her, and when Jo peeped through the spyhole, she saw that it was Ewan himself who was outside, looking irresistible.

  ‘I was just going to message you,’ she said as she opened the door, conscious of being without make-up and in her comfiest nightwear. ‘Just to say I thought it was better to leave you to your chat with your superfan.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ he said. ‘But you forgot something back at the bar and I didn’t want you to lose out.’

  Jo glanced behind her, where she had thrown her laptop and notebook on the bed. ‘I don’t think I did…’ She looked back at him, confused.

  Then she watched as he took a step forward, raised his hand slowly and placed it with the gentlest touch on her cheek. Jo looked him directly in the eyes, her breath catching as he took another step closer until she could feel his breath, warm on his face.

  ‘You forgot this,’ he said, before he moved that little bit closer and pressed his lips to hers.

  His kiss was soft and gentle, at first, then firmer. Jo could feel her body melt under his touch. This kiss was as exquisite as she had imagined it would be and she told herself it was okay to just let go of her reserves and enjoy the sensations pulsing through her body. She had just started to lean into it when Ewan pulled back.

  ‘I’ve been wanting to do that all day,’ he said, his voice low. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘For everything.’

  Jo prepared herself for another kiss. Closed her eyes and thought of how much she craved it. How much she craved him. But, instead, he tipped an imaginary hat in her direction.

  ‘Sleep well,’ he said, before he turned and walked on towards his own suite.

  Stunned, Jo felt completely disorientated as she closed her door and climbed into bed, pretty sure it would be another restless night.

  27

  Up

  Jo woke with her phone still in her hand. She squinted at her phone and saw it was gone two. After Ewan had left her, with her lips feeling bruised and her head feeling fuzzy, she had briefly considered sending him a message. She wondered if she should invite him to come back and kiss her again, perhaps. Or ask him to explain what had just happened. Where did it leave them? Would breakfast be horribly awkward in the morning?

  She was momentarily relieved to find that she hadn’t sent him a message. But, she realised with a start, she didn’t need to wait until the morning for things to be awkward. They already were. His kiss had been so unexpected, and while he clearly had snogging prowess, she simply didn’t understand why he had walked away from her just as she had started to respond to him.

  She had done her very best to keep things professional all day. She had truly believed that she
had and that he respected her as a fellow writer. They had achieved so much in the last few hours and now? Now, it was messy.

  Her head was jumbled and a little hazy from the wine she’d had to drink and she was just tired of trying to work out why people behaved the way they did.

  She didn’t even have the energy to call or message her friends. She stared at her phone and looked at their names, thought of how they all had it together, when again she seemed to have got mixed up in a weird situation.

  Her eyes were drawn to the lengthy message Lorcan had sent her just before she had gone to the bar. She wished she felt she could call him because he would know what to say. His life was in a similar state of flux, but then would he only tell her ‘I told you so’ when she confessed that Ewan had kissed her?

  Suddenly she was just very, very tired and more than a little drunk. While she tried to make sense of the evening, she drifted off.

  When she woke to see sunlight peeping in through the curtains, she felt as if she had barely closed her eyes. It couldn’t possibly be morning. Her body yearned to just roll over, especially given the comfort of her bed, and go back to sleep.

  However, when she looked at her phone it was already gone half past seven and she was supposed to meet Ewan for breakfast at eight.

  With her phone unlocked, she saw that it was still open at the message from Lorcan. Reading it again, in the midst of her hangover, she felt the need to try and make things right with him. They didn’t have to be best friends. They didn’t even have to be friends at all, but she hated that she had fallen out with him and she wanted so much to fix that. She tapped a quick reply.

  I’m back in Derry later today. Maybe we can meet for coffee tomorrow?

  She would leave it up to Lorcan, but she hoped they could start again. For now, she just had to get through one more day with Ewan and for some reason that prospect made her very nervous indeed. And she must admit she didn’t feel great this morning.

  Thankfully, she felt marginally more human after she had washed and dressed in fresh clothes. With every stroke of her make-up brush, she transformed herself from hung-over zombie creature into Jo Campbell, aspiring writer and consummate professional, ready to go to her breakfast meeting and discuss pacing and plot twists like she absolutely knew what she was doing. And like she absolutely hadn’t been kissed by her co-writer the day before.

  She made herself a cup of coffee and sipped from it, before she opened the curtains and balcony door and walked out into the fresh air. She reminded herself to breathe in and breathe out again. Looking out at Lough Eske, she centred herself. In fact, Jo was so calm that she jumped and swore when the beeping of her phone pulled her out of her contemplative relaxation.

  Chances were, she thought, that it was Ewan telling her to hurry up. Or Lorcan letting her know that he would meet her for coffee. She absolutely did not expect it to be an email from someone with the exact same name as one of the biggest literary agents in the business. In fact, it was the same literary agent who represented Ewan McLachlan.

  The subject matter read: ‘The Lies We Tell’.

  A sound, almost but not quite a scream, erupted from her throat. ‘Shit!’ she exclaimed. ‘Shitting shit!’ Her hand flew to her mouth and she had to sit down for fear she would fall to the ground. What on earth was this about? Why was Graham Westbury emailing her and how in the hell did he know what her as-yet-to-be-submitted-to-anyone book was called?

  With a shaking hand, she opened the email and willed her eyes to focus on the words in front of her.

  Dear Jo,

  First of all, I apologise for the early hour of this email. I have been up through the night reading your manuscript, The Lies We Tell, and I simply couldn’t go to sleep until I had made contact with you.

  This is one of the strongest submissions I have received in recent times. You have written a taut and powerful thriller, which is perfect for the current market. While I do think it could benefit from some additional editing, I think the standard with which you write is exceptionally high.

  I would love to chat with you regarding representation and how I envisage growing your career. I believe we could make a great team. Please let me know a time that would suit for a phone chat, and maybe we could arrange a face-to-face meeting in London, courtesy of the Westbury Agency.

  I appreciate you may have interest from other agents, so I shall direct you to my website for details of my current client list. This will give you an idea of what I hope to achieve for you.

  Warmest regards, in anticipation of hearing from you,

  Graham Westbury

  Jo read the email five times. Then she clicked on the sender’s email address in case it was someone pretending to be Graham Westbury. She half expected the email address to read gotcha@gmail.com, but instead it appeared entirely genuine and had been sent from graham.westbury@westburyagency.co.uk.

  But surely it couldn’t be genuine. Not least because Jo had not submitted her book to anyone. The only person she had sent it to was Libby, who had forwarded it on to Ewan, of course.

  But surely Ewan wouldn’t have gone over her head and showed it to his agent without discussing it with her first. Especially when he had already suggested a plethora of changes and a tight edit.

  But Libby Quinn, however… Libby Quinn was exactly the kind of person who would submit her book without telling her first. In that moment, as the words Graham had written were still sinking in, she didn’t know if she wanted to kill Libby or tell her she loved her with all her heart.

  She’d settle for a phone call. Scrolling to Libby’s name in her phone, she hit the call button and listened as it rang. A rather groggy-sounding Libby answered after the fifth ring with a husky ‘Hello’.

  ‘Libby Quinn, I want you to tell the God’s honest truth here. Did you send my book to anyone other than Ewan? Please don’t lie, this is very important.’

  There was a pause. ‘Please don’t hate me,’ Libby began. ‘I just thought you needed an extra push and so I sent it out, but only to a couple of people.’

  ‘A couple of people? What kind of people?’ Jo asked, her heart now thumping furiously at the realisation this email could actually be legitimate.

  ‘Well, some agents. You know…’ There was a distinct nervousness to Libby’s tone.

  ‘Graham Westbury? Did you send it to Graham Westbury?’ Jo pressed.

  ‘Yes,’ Libby said quietly. ‘I did. I’m sorry, Jo. I thought I was doing the right thing and I was going to tell you, but you were so mad about me sending your work on to Ewan, I didn’t want to rock the boat further. I can’t apologise enough.’

  ‘Libby,’ Jo said, feeling a little light-headed. ‘Don’t apologise. There’s no need. Libby, he wants to represent me.’

  The first thing she heard was Libby’s scream, then she heard Libby explain what was going on to Noah and she heard him cheer. But both were drowned out by the cheering in her own head. Oh my God, she thought. This is actually happening.

  After a few more squeals of congratulations, Jo managed to thank Libby and vow to see her later before ending the call. She pulled on her Converse and gave herself one last glance in the mirror. She had to tell Ewan. He would be over the moon for her. That they would be sharing an agent was even better. She grabbed her phone and her keys and left for the dining room to meet him.

  He’d believed in her all along, she thought with a rush of affection. She couldn’t wait to tell him about Graham’s email and see that irresistible smile of his again. The way she was feeling at that very moment, she wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t just grab him and kiss him herself. Round two of what he’d started the night before.

  Her heart was thumping, her smile wide and heart filled with joy when she walked into the dining room and saw him sitting by the window, drinking his coffee and reading one of the morning papers.

  Once she gave her room number to the waiting staff, she crossed the room, sat down in front of him and grinned liked an absolute lunatic.<
br />
  ‘You look much too chipper for someone who drank almost as much as I did last night,’ Ewan said, his smile mirroring her own. This happiness thing must be contagious after all, she thought.

  ‘My head feels like it might actually explode,’ she said, ‘but I am happy. Ridiculously happy.’

  A waiter arrived with a pot of freshly brewed coffee just as she was about to spill her good news, and she sat impatiently waiting for him to finish and leave.

  Ewan examined her curiously. ‘You are a one, Jo Campbell. A unique being. And you know what? I’m delighted to say that I’m happy too. Surly me is on a break, even though I’ve only had about an hour’s sleep,’ he said. ‘I sat up all night writing, and it was one of those magical occasions when the words just flowed onto the page and I don’t think I was even in control of them.’

  The waiter finally left and Jo felt free to speak. ‘That’s brilliant,’ she said, and she meant it. ‘I’m delighted for you. But you absolutely have to let me tell you my news because I’m pretty sure it’s going to make your day even better!’

  Ewan sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. ‘Do go on,’ he said. ‘I’m intrigued.’

  ‘I will!’ Jo replied enthusiastically. ‘You know how Libby was a bit of a rascal and sent you my book without me knowing?’

  He nodded. ‘I do.’

  ‘Well, it seems you weren’t the only person she sent it to!’

  The expression on Ewan’s face changed. The smile that he’d had was replaced with a furrow of his brow and a look of concern. Maybe he feared Libby had sent it to some dodgy agent who would take advantage of her, but she knew his smile would return when he heard it was Graham Westbury and they would be agency buddies.

  ‘She sent it to some literary agents. And one of them – in fact, one of them you know very well indeed – has just emailed me to say he has been up all night reading my book and he wants to represent me!’ Saying the words felt surreal, but she loved how they sounded. An agent, wanting to represent her. This was the dream.