But it was too late, the shine had gone off her evening. As Ewan spoke about his career and his writing process, she found herself unable to concentrate. All she could think of, much to her incredible annoyance, was the look on Lorcan’s face when she’d told him about Ewan’s offer. Those crass words he had uttered. That he must have thought her naive and easily led. Worse than that, he must have thought there was no way her writing alone could attract the attention of a ‘proper writer’.

She’d known Lorcan only a handful of days and had already given him enough power to make her feel crappy. She was angry at him, and at herself. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t aware from Harry’s tales that Lorcan was nothing more than an entitled brat and he’d proved it by thinking he’d any right to judge her decisions. That’s what happens when you take chances on people, she thought. That’s what happens when you start to open your heart just a little.

She glanced to the podium where Ewan stood, his audience enthralled at his every word. He seemed so warm and genuine. He’d explained he liked to support up-and-coming writers. He’d assured her he was sincere and she’d have her own accommodation. She’d seen that in his face. She’d heard him talk about her work like it really meant something. That he believed she really had something special.

But in just one look Lorcan had made her feel icky about it all.

Well, he had no right to. He didn’t really know her. Not enough to pass his opinion on her choices. And anyone else who wanted to judge her could get lost too. They all wanted her to live big and take chances. Well, that was exactly what she was going to do. As soon as she could, she’d tell Ewan that she would be delighted to take him up on his offer.

21

Mamma Mia

Jo’s mum practically jumped on her as soon as she walked into the house. Close behind her was Auntie Mags, a gin glass in her hand and a rosy-cheeked expression that left Jo under no illusion whatsoever that alcohol had been consumed.

‘Here’s my wee pet now,’ Mags cheered, pulling Jo towards her and hugging her tightly into her ample bosom. ‘Since your mammy couldn’t come to crochet club, the very best member of crochet club – that’s me, by the way – came to her instead. We have extra gin if you’d like one?’

Auntie Mags released her vice-like grip and Jo stepped back, grateful to be able to take in a deep lungful of air that did not smell of Mags’s knock-off Chanel perfume (‘Chanelle Number 6 – sure, it’s the same stuff, only a tenner a bottle’) and gin.