‘Here’s the thing,’ he said eventually. ‘Clara will be fine if you’re at home, but she’ll be more than fine if you’re not. Just like Sam is more than fine. She’s surrounded by love and you’re not talking about walking out of her life and never looking back. I imagine you’ll still do a lot of things with her, no matter where you choose to live. You’ll still love her. If you’re even a little bit like me, you’ll probably overdo it on the love and time together, and treats to assuage your own guilt, and Clara will love it. She’ll cope, you know. Because we all do, with change. It’s how things go.’

She would have looked at Ewan right there and then and thanked him, but she couldn’t because she was sure if she did, not only would she cry, but it would be one of those huge, horrible mega-ugly cries and he would definitely want to drop her off at the side of the road.

23

Falling Inn Love

‘Two rooms, reserved under the name of McLachlan?’ said the doe-eyed receptionist with a soft, lilting Donegal accent. Although they were only twenty-five minutes from Derry, they had crossed into the Republic of Ireland and already the pace of life felt more relaxed.

‘If this was a romcom movie, this is where they’d tell us there was a problem with the booking and they only had one room left. With a double bed, of course,’ Jo said with a laugh, before taking a momentary panic that the receptionist would indeed tell them there had been a mistake. In which case she would be mortified that she’d said what she did and worried that Ewan would think she had wanted it to happen.

‘It’s okay,’ the receptionist said, with a smile. ‘There’s no mistake and we have two rooms available.’

Ewan smiled. ‘You see, Jo. This is a thriller. There are no quirky room errors. A murder or two, possibly. Definitely some dark intrigue. Blackmail probably too.’

Jo couldn’t help but laugh, but the poor receptionist looked terrified.

‘Don’t worry,’ Jo explained. ‘He’s a writer. He’s talking about the books he writes.’

‘Actually, we’re both writers,’ Ewan told the receptionist and Jo felt a flutter of excitement in the pit of her stomach.

‘Oh, that’s really cool,’ the receptionist said. ‘What books have you written?’

While Ewan told a suddenly very impressed receptionist about the McCreadie books, and she had a low-level freak-out because she has watched the TV series, Jo fidgeted. She had nothing to say. No book to mention. No TV series to boast about. When the receptionist’s gaze moved to her, she would’ve gladly delighted in the ground opening up under her and swallowing her whole.

But Ewan stepped in. ‘This is Jo Campbell. She’s an up-and-coming writer. Remember her name.’