With a wave in the vague direction of the counter where Libby stood, Erin bustled back out of the bookshop. Jo watched her as she left, and knew that for all her moaning and complaining, Erin loved her job and almost everything about it. It was her passion. Just like writing was Jo’s. The only difference was, Erin had the guts to pursue her dream fearlessly. Jo did not.

2

It’s Complicated

It had just gone six when Jo arrived home. The smell of something delicious had greeted her as she pushed open the front door. Something that smelled very much like her mother’s home-cooked lasagne, which, of course, it had to be. Because it was Thursday, and the same meals were prepared, week in and week out, on the same nights. Routine was a big thing in the Campbell household.

‘Mum, that’s me home!’ Jo called. ‘I’m going to grab a bite to eat and I’ll be up to help you.’

‘That’s great, love,’ her mum called back. ‘I’m just getting Clara bathed here and into her PJs. There’s lasagne in the oven.’

Wondering if it would be considered bad manners to eat it directly from the lasagne dish, Jo fished in the drawer for a fork – still wearing her coat and with her bag still slung across her shoulder. If she ate it from the dish, it would at least give her one less dish to wash afterwards, she thought. No, not even she would be that lazy. She’d enjoy her meal properly, with her coat off, a plate on the table and while sitting down.

She poured a glass of water and served herself a large portion, listening to the sound of her mother trying to control Clara’s displeasure at having to get out of the bath. Chances were that there had been a similar battle not that long before to get Clara into the bath in the first place. Six-year-olds are notoriously fickle in nature, Jo had learned.

If her sister didn’t settle down shortly, she’d go upstairs and bribe her with promises of an extra bedtime story, maybe even a couple of episodes of Peppa Pig. Jo wasn’t above the occasional adoption of an ‘anything for a quiet life’ bribery policy when it came to childcare. A fact, she figured, Clara knew only too well.

Thankfully, the cacophony of raised voices from upstairs quietened and Jo was able to eat her dinner before she heard the thundering of footsteps hurtling down the stairs and across the hall. Jo couldn’t help but smile – Clara had all the grace of a baby elephant and zero ability to hide her excitement at the knowledge her big sister was home.

She burst through the door just seconds later, in fresh pyjamas, her long red hair brushed straight and her well-loved and threadbare teddy bear, Buttercup, in her arms.