As she picked apart each sentence as if she were seeing them for the first time, Jo tried to read her words as if she had no connection to each and every one of them on the page. A lot of time was spent sat back on her chair, chewing on the lid of her pen, and watching the words blur on the screen in front of her. Was this any good? It was entirely possible she had lost all perspective at this stage.

What she needed was a fresh set of eyes to read it, but that would entail actually showing her work to someone, and Jo wasn’t sure she was quite ready for that yet, or if she ever would be.

Even though she knew she wouldn’t have a problem getting someone to read it for her, Jo didn’t believe she’d get the most honest response from any of her eager family and friends. Her mum wanted to read it. Noah tortured her to get a sneak peek too. Even Erin, who, as a rule, didn’t normally read anything longer than an Instagram post, had been on her back about it. Jo feared any of those three would read it and praise that which needed changed. Their feedback would be the equivalent of a kindly pat on the head and a ‘well done, love’.

Libby, of course, would probably be the best person to read it and give her an honest opinion. There wasn’t much about books that Libby Quinn didn’t know, and Jo knew that even if her book was truly woeful, Libby would be able to break the news to her in a kind and constructive manner.

But Jo, who had once been so fearless in everything she did, wasn’t sure she was quite brave enough for kind and constructive yet. Secretly, she was afraid that Libby would tell her it was all awful and she’d been kidding herself that she had anything remotely resembling talent.

Maybe, she thought, if she just tweaked it a little more, she would find the courage she was lacking.

Her phone pinged with a message from Erin at 5.01 p.m. exactly. Erin, along with all of Jo’s friends and family, had been warned not to message her on Thursdays before five unless it was a matter of life and death. They all knew better than to ignore that directive, but it did normally lead to Jo’s phone being flooded with messages and calls as soon as her self-imposed isolation ended.

JC, thank God it’s five. We need to chat. Before I brain someone with a skillet pan and serve them for tomorrow’s lunch special with a red wine jus.