Chapters (45)
As she checked her bum for bruising – and found it already quite impressive – she lifted the first notebook on the pile.
It was the book she had started the year before – on the day that Once Upon A Book had opened. On the first page, she had written a letter to herself; something she vaguely remembered doing, given the volume of alcohol she had consumed that night.
As she sat on the ground and waited for the pain to dissipate she started to read:
Dear Jo,
Today you watched your friend achieve her dream. And then you watched your brother get the girl.
Both acts took bravery, but look at the pay off.
What are you waiting for? What is stopping you from being brave? You want to write, then WRITE. Finish the book. Write more. LET SOMEONE READ IT BECAUSE IT IS GOOD, YOU KNOW.
I LOVE YOU, but I know you can be happier. You deserve to be HAPPIER.
Just STOP BEING A BIG COWARDY PANTS.
All my/our/your love,
Me (Us) Jo. Xxx
It was a little garbled, and funny in places, but as Jo read the words she had scrawled while three sheets to the wind, she felt tears prick at her eyes. And it wasn’t just because the bruise on her bottom was no doubt spreading and turning an even darker shade of purple. It was because she had spent every day since then promising that she would be braver the next day, or next week, or next month. She had failed spectacularly.
That’s not to say Jo was unhappy as such. She had a good life. A lovely flat with Erin. A loving family. Good friends. Great neighbours. She had part-share in a successful business – one she enjoyed working in. She had travelled, spent her early twenties as a holiday rep in warmer climes. The kind of rep that encouraged young holiday-goers to drink shots from each other’s belly buttons and who subsequently became immune to the sight and smell of vomit. She had Clara and, she noted wryly, nice high heels. But she had always felt as if she was trying on life for size. She’d yet to find her place. She watched Erin with her obsession for creating amazing food, Noah with his commitment to the community of Ivy Lane, Libby and her books, her parents and how they had devoted so many years to fostering, and wanted to find that sense of fulfilment herself.
Tomorrow, she thought, tomorrow – or next week at the latest, because she knew the weekend would be busy – she was going to go for it. She’d show her writing to someone. She’d send it out into the world. She’d take a huge chance. Jo Campbell was finally going to stop being a big cowardy pants.