‘You have a fan,’ she told him with a smile.
‘Only the one?’ he replied before he issued an invitation to Jo to join him for a drink at The Ivy Inn.
With her tummy still feeling wobbly, and certainly not just because of the jelly, she slipped on her denim jacket and caught her reflection in the mirror in the hallway. In that moment, she thought about how brave she had been in this last week. How she had experienced highs and lows, and everything in between, but had ultimately come out on top.
She wondered what would happen if she just took one more chance and revealed to him just exactly how she felt.
She straightened herself, lifted her bag and followed Lorcan out of the door.
They fell into their usual pattern of laughing and chatting as they walked. He punched the air in triumph when she told him about her call with Ewan, then asked her when she would allow him to read her work.
Despite blushing at the thought, she decided to be brave and tell him she would send him some in the morning. To her surprise, it didn’t feel as scary as before to share her work. Maybe she had something to thank Ewan McLachlan for anyway – because thanks to him, and the wonderful Graham Westbury, she was finally feeling like a proper writer. Or maybe it was just that she knew, without doubt, that Lorcan would be kind and supportive.
As they sat opposite each other in the snug at The Ivy Inn, a sleepy but determined-not-to-be-ignored Paddy at their feet, they made plans for some more touristy days together before Lorcan went back to England. Jo was even able to laugh as she told him that Ewan McLachlan had clearly found her to be a good tourist guide.
As the evening progressed, and they talked more – about Sophie, and about Colm – about how much Lorcan had loved spending time with Clara and thought kids were the best people in the people, Jo felt herself grow even braver.
After last orders, as he offered to walk her home, she felt the need to reach out to him – to feel his hand in hers. Just as she was trying to talk herself into just going for it, she felt the tips of his fingers brush against hers. The touch sent waves of longing through her – a longing for something more than just physical contact. He took her hand and she gave his a squeeze.
Lorcan stopped walking, and she noticed they were back at the same spot they had shared that first little fizz of something more between them, a week before. What a whirlwind it had been, and yet at the same time, it all felt as if it was unfolding in perfect time.
‘Jo,’ he said, his voice low and soft. She turned, still holding his hand, and looked up at him. She saw so much in him – his strength, his need to be loved, his kindness and his sincerity. ‘I don’t want to be a person who hurts you,’ he said and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face.
‘Then don’t be that person,’ she said, her heart thumping.
‘Yeah, that’s… what I’m saying in the worst, most awkward way possible,’ he said.
‘I’m not sure I totally understand,’ she replied, as she wished his hand was close to her face again, just so she could feel the warmth of it.
He took a deep breath. ‘I think you’re incredible,’ he said. ‘I think you’re funny, and talented and caring. I think you can make a horrible day seem infinitely brighter. I think…’ he paused, and looked downwards, unable to hold her gaze. ‘I think,’ he repeated, ‘you are incredibly beautiful and sexy and comfortable in your own skin.’
‘I don’t know about that.’ She gave an awkward laugh. Everything he said was just so perfect that she found it hard to believe he was talking about her.
‘Well, I do,’ he said, raising his head to look her in the eyes again. ‘You don’t even realise it. You don’t realise how people see you, or how great you are. You don’t realise how you have this incredible ability to make people feel better about themselves. To make them feel like they’re important. And here’s the thing,’ he added, ‘you’ve made me realise that my life isn’t over. That I still have some control over it. For so long, it felt as if everything was happening to me, and I had no say over any of it. You’ve made me realise that I do have a say. You’ve made me realise that I had been hanging on to some idea of what I thought Sophie and I should have been, rather that realising what we really were. We hung on to each other out of habit, rather than being the best people for each other.’
Her heart was in her throat. She couldn’t believe what he was saying, but with every word, she felt as if she were closer and closer to where she wanted to be.
‘You’ve taught me to be brave, and take chances,’ he continued.
‘I’m glad,’ she muttered while she felt unable to say anything more. Not until she knew, exactly, where this was going.
‘So I’m taking a chance,’ he said and dipped his head closer to hers.
Jo felt her breath catch in her throat.
His hand was on her cheek, angling her face towards his. ‘I don’t want to be the person who hurts you,’ he repeats. ‘I want to be the person who takes chances with you. Who sees the world differently. Who watches cheesy movies with a charming six-year-old. Who helps you rescue dogs like Paddy, and old men who really should be taking it easier. I want to be the person who kisses you, right now.’
His lips were on hers, soft at first. Hesitant, as if he was afraid this wasn’t what she wanted.
It was her turn, she realised, to take a chance right back. She raised her hand to his cheek and kissed him back, losing herself in the sensation. And she knew in that moment, this was what she had been waiting for. The kiss that all those movies promised came as a reward for true love. The kind of kiss Westley and Buttercup shared in The Princess Bride. The kiss she knew signalled the start of her own happy ever after.
Epilogue
One Year Later
The pop of the champagne bottle made Jo jump, even though she had watched as Noah had started to twist the cork slowly and had known that the noise would follow.
Her nerves were on edge and fizzed just like the liquid that was being poured into delicate long-stemmed champagne flutes. The hum and chatter of the guests assembled in the next room made her feel giddy. So giddy that she downed the better part of her glass of bubbles in one go, prompting her mother to warn her to slow down.
‘But, Mum,’ she said, ‘I’m really, really nervous. What if everyone hates it? What if it bombs and the only reviews that come are one-star assassinations? What if not a single person buys it?’ A strange feeling of déjà vu washed over her. This felt very much like a dream she’d once had – but this was actually happening.
Her mother put down her own almost empty glass. ‘Jo, you are spiralling. Everyone will love it. Why would they not? It wouldn’t be published if it wasn’t any good.’
‘But it’s different having everyone you know read it!’ she protested.
‘Yes. Yes, it is,’ Lorcan said, as he took her champagne glass from her and started to gently massage her shoulders to ease her tension. ‘But I am also someone you know, and I’ve read it and it’s brilliant. And Libby and Noah have both read it. And Mags, and Grandad, and Erin.’
‘And me!’ her mother piped up.
‘Me too!’ her father said as he beamed with pride. ‘You’ve done brilliantly. Your mum and I couldn’t be more proud.’
Jo looked at her parents, who had become even closer since he had returned from Dubai and had stuck with his decision not to go back. He had thrown himself into retirement with gusto, and even enjoyed pulling a few shifts at The Ivy Inn and getting involved in walking Paddy. He was currently campaigning with her mum to get their very own rescue dog. When he finished his shifts at the Inn, he would often come upstairs to Noah’s old flat – which Jo was now resident in, along with Lorcan of course. As the wedding approached, Noah had decided to move across the street to Libby’s flat – although there was some talk of them buying a house if only they could bear to live anywhere but on the lane.
Jo had made the flat her own, redecorated it with gusto and created a perfectly girly guest room
reserved just for Clara and her frequent sleepovers. While there had been a few tearful moments when Jo moved out (mostly from Jo herself), she and Clara had adapted well to the new arrangement, and Lorcan and Clara had grown very close. It was possible this little girl with the red hair had saved Lorcan just as she had saved Jo herself.
‘Not everyone gets a book deal,’ Lorcan continued, pulling her back to the present. ‘But you did! And here you have it, your book. Your own book that you wrote and it’s going to be on sale everywhere. Everyone out there is here because they love and support you. They all want you to succeed. So enjoy this moment.’
She knew that he was right. He had a habit of always being right – especially when it came to encouraging her to feel the fear and do it anyway. They’d done that a lot together over the previous year. From finding their way, tentatively in a relationship with each other, to him accompanying her to London for her face-to-face meeting with Graham Westbury. They had felt the fear and did it anyway when he made the move to Derry, where he combined helping Harry run the shop, with setting up his own fledgling Chandler Bing-style IT business. They had even managed to talk Harry into some modernisation for the shop, to make sure it was secure for the future – although the line had been very firmly drawn at installing a fancy coffee maker.
Lorcan had known when to put a cup of tea in front of her when she was writing and starting to feel a little stressed. She had known just went to suggest the two of them take Paddy for a walk when Lorcan needed to unwind after a day listening to Harry’s epic monologues. When she lost her pencil, or it got broken, he was always there with a new one and if she fell, he was there with a hug. Their relationship was relaxed and easy but very much filled with love.
Clara barrelled into the room, her face alight with excitement. ‘Libby says it’s time to get started now. She says to tell you to be brave.’
‘That’s good advice,’ Lorcan agreed, lifting Clara up into his arms. ‘Will we help Jo be really brave?’
Clara nodded enthusiastically.
Jo watched the pair of them together, her heart full. This was her family. Lorcan and Clara at the very heart of it. And one day when they were both ready she just knew, there would be another child or two. While neither she nor Lorcan would ever forget the babies they had so wanted to love, but had lost, she believed that they had much more love to give.
‘Well, I suppose I’d better go and do this then,’ Jo said with a grin, and she walked into Once Upon A Book to a round of warm and welcoming applause from all the people who really mattered to her.
On the table in front of her, where once a display of Ewan McLachlan’s novels waited for him to sign, her own novel now sat, her author photo on a poster on the wall and everything about it felt just perfect.
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, huge thanks to all at Team Boldwood, who worked tirelessly and with enthusiasm during the more trying of times in an ever-changing world.
Thank you to my talented editor Caroline Ridding, along with Nia Beynon and Amanda Ridout.
Thanks also to Jade Craddock, a fantastic copy editor who brought little shots of sunshine to this book.
Thanks to all my fellow Boldwood authors, and to everyone who supported The Hopes & Dreams of Libby Quinn so enthusiastically, including reviewers, bloggers and booksellers. I am forever indebted.
This book was written during what could easily be described as the ‘worst of times’ – as a global pandemic hit, along with a period of personal ill health and the loss of my beloved grandad. Many times it was a wonderful distraction from stress and reminded me that good things can happen and that good people exist.
At other times, it was a struggle to work and without the support of my family and friends, particularly my writer friends, this book may not have been written.
Thanks and love in particular to Fionnuala Kearney, Anna McPartlin, Louise Beech and the inimitable John Marrs. Thanks also to Jane Fallon who took the time to read and endorse ‘Libby Quinn’. I’m a huge fan of Jane’s books and that was a real ‘pinch me’ moment!
Thank you as always to my cheerleading agent, Ger Nichol, who always seems to know the exact right thing to say.
Thank you to my family, especially my children who tolerated my squirrelling away to write during lockdown.
Most of all, thank you to everyone who has read and enjoyed the adventures on Ivy Lane.
Harry owes you all a cup of (not fancy) coffee and some out of date biscuits.
More from Freya Kennedy
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Prologue
Twenty-six years ago
Once upon a time, there was a little girl called Libby who travelled to a hundred different worlds and lived a thousand different lives just by opening the pages of a book and discovering the magic in the pages.
‘There’s no greater gift that you can give someone than a love of reading,’ her grandad, Ernie, had told her.
She blinked up at him as she sat on his lap, the wool of his much loved and worse for wear cardigan scratchy against her bare arms.
‘Where were we with this one?’ he asked her, flicking through the yellowing pages of the latest book he had picked up in the charity shop for her.
He believed that books should be loved. They should look loved and lived in. He loved folded down corners, and broken spines. He loved notes scrawled in the margins. Signs that a book had been pored over, read, devoured.
‘I think,’ Libby said, using her small hands to turn the pages herself, ‘we were just about here…’ She pointed to a page with a fresh fold at the top.
‘I think you might just be right, Libby,’ her grandad laughed, ‘right at the point where Mr and Mrs Twit are about to get their comeuppance!’
Libby felt a swell of excitement. She couldn’t wait to find out what happened next. She couldn’t wait to see the awful Twits with their awful ways come undone.
‘When we’re finished,’ she said, ‘can you tell me one of your stories? From when you were wee?’ Libby may well have loved the stories in these books, but she loved her grandad’s stories just as much.
‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I was thinking we could go to the bookshop and see if we can pick up a new book or two?’
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his stubbly cheek. ‘Can we really?’ she asked.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Can you imagine, Libby, if we owned a bookshop? How amazing would that be? All those books.’
‘I’d never ever leave it, ever,’ she said.
‘No, I don’t think I would either.’ Her grandad smiled. ‘Maybe one day we will. But first let’s find out what happens to the Twits.’
Libby nodded, lay her head against her grandad’s chest and watched his finger move along under the words on the page as he read to her. And the story came to life before her eyes.
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.
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She has met Michael Buble and even kissed him. It was one of her best ever moments.
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She believes in happy ever afters.
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Fr
eya Kennedy is a pen name for Claire Allan, who also writes psychological thrillers.
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Visit Freya’s website: http://www.claireallan.com/freya-kennedy
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About Boldwood Books
Boldwood Books is a fiction publishing company seeking out the best stories from around the world.
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First published in Great Britain in 2020 by Boldwood Books Ltd.
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Copyright © Claire Allan, 2020
Cover Design by Alice Moore Design
Cover Photography: Shutterstock
The moral right of Claire Allan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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