In Pursuit of Happiness: The perfect uplifting romantic read

By Freya Kennedy

'A lovely escape that leaves you feeling warm and fuzzy inside. Just what’s needed at the moment'No1 bestselling author, Jane Fallon The world is waiting...but just outside of your comfort zone.

Jo Campbell is perfectly content in a perfectly structured life.

Nothing ever changes in Jo’s life, and she likes it that way.

Or at least, she tells herself she does.

Most of the time, she manages to push down the tiny voice that tells her to chase her dream and maybe, just maybe, open her battered and bruised heart up to love.

But to chase her dreams she needs to take chances that are way out of her comfort zone and learn to not put other people’s happiness above her own.

Most of all she has to learn to trust her heart, which may just be the biggest challenge of all.

What readers are saying about In Pursuit of Happiness:

'What a lovely story! I loved The Hopes and Dreams of Libby Quinn and couldn't wait to return to Ivy Lane.'

' Love this Author, she hasn't disappointed me yet.'

'Absolutely fantastic, I couldn't put it down!'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boldwood Books
• Release date: Dec 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781838899356

Freya Kennedy

Freya Kennedy is the alter ego for bestselling thriller author Claire Allan. A former journalist from Derry, Northern Ireland Claire has published eleven novels. Now, as Freya, she is writing warm, funny women’s fiction for Boldwood.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The pop of the champagne bottle made Jo Campbell jump, even though she’d watched her foster brother, Noah, as he started to twist the cork slowly, and had anticipated the noise that would follow.

Her nerves were on edge, and fizzed just like the bubbly liquid that was being poured into delicate long-stemmed champagne flutes. The hum and chatter of the guests assembled in the next room made her feel giddy. So giddy, in fact, that she downed the better part of her glass of bubbles in one go, prompting her mother to warn her to slow down.

‘But, Mum,’ she said, ‘I’m really, really nervous. What if everyone hates it? What if it bombs and the only reviews that come are one-star assassinations? What if not a single person buys it?’ She didn’t so much as have butterflies in her stomach as giant killer moths – if such a thing existed.

Her mother put down her own almost empty glass. ‘Josephine Campbell. Calm yourself, my wee love. Everyone will love it. Why wouldn’t they? It’s brilliant, and you’re brilliant.’

‘But you are duty-bound to say that. You’re my mammy. Even if it was the worst book in the world, you’d still tell me it was brilliant,’ Jo said.

Her mother, a woman who had raised three children of her own, adopted another and fostered countless more over the years, gave Jo a snippy look. ‘I would not! I’ve always been honest with you and I’m not going to change now. Besides, it’s published. It wouldn’t be if it was rubbish!’

‘She’s right you know,’ Libby Quinn, one of Jo’s dearest friends and the proprietor of Once Upon A Book in Ivy Lane, told her. ‘You’re good. Actually you’re great. This is your moment, so enjoy it. The shop is full and everyone is on your side.’

Libby smiled her usual warm, inviting smile and Jo watched as Noah put his arm around his new fiancée’s shoulder and kissed her on the cheek. They made a lovely couple – Libby and Noah. But then she’d always known that from the moment Libby Quinn had arrived in The Ivy Inn soaked to the skin and covered in grime just over a year earlier. She’d known almost instantly they would be a great pair, and once they had finally admitted their feelings towards each other they had become almost inseparable. Just thinking about Noah’s hearts and flowers proposal brought tears to Jo’s eyes, and it wasn’t that she was jealous. Although if she was honest with herself, she would admit she was.

‘Damn it,’ Jo said, downing the rest of her glass while ignoring her mother’s disapproving looks. ‘I’m not going to cry, I’ll never live it down!’

‘Everyone knows you’re soft as butter, Jo. I wouldn’t worry about it,’ Noah said. He was right, of course, she was as soft as butter on a warm day, but she had more reason than normal to be emotional.

Posters of Jo’s debut novel, The Lies We Tell, lined the walls, replete with official author pictures, in which she looked sultry and serious and not her usual gregarious self.

In that moment, Jo felt a swell of pride and achievement. This was her moment. She’d finally done it. Written a book and had it published. And now she was going to enjoy this launch in her beloved home town of Derry in the north of Ireland.

Her little sister, Clara, a self-declared princess, danced in circles around Jo’s feet, enjoying the tulle monstrosity of a dress she had insisted on wearing for the occasion. It was over the top, Jo conceded, but Clara had her big sister tightly wrapped around her little finger.

And all her friends were there. Harry from the corner shop. The regulars of The Ivy Inn, which she was part owner of along with Noah. Her godmother, Auntie Mags, and even Erin, her most trusted confidante. They all grinned at her as if she was a graceful bride about to glide down the aisle.

So far the launch had been everything she had hoped for: copies of her books on the shelves, friends and family sharing the moment and champagne galore. There was just one final ingredient – the icing on the cake: the celebrity guest. Libby had made it her mission to find someone famous to do the launching honours – someone instantly recognisable, but she had refused to tell Jo who it would be.

‘It’s good,’ Libby had said. ‘It’s someone really good.’

Jo hoped it was someone who would suit the gravitas of the launch – and the seriousness of the book she had written. She’d poured years of writing and learning and rewriting and relearning into making this debut, and she had great dreams that one of her writing heroes, maybe Liz Nugent or Liane Moriarty, or local bestseller Brian McGilloway, would do the honours.

When the crowd parted, Jo swore loudly as she saw a life-sized Peppa Pig holding a copy of her book, while Clara squealed with delight at the superstar guest.

It was at just that point that Jo woke, drenched in sweat, in the early-morning light of her bedroom, instantly delighted it had been just a dream. Yes, of course, she’d love to have the book she had been slaving over for the last three years published, but the thought of the public side of things – launches and interviews, and photo shoots, book signings and possible Peppa Pig endorsements – made her feel sick to the pit of her stomach.

She looked at the stack of notebooks on her dresser – each one filled with ideas and short passages of text. Her battered laptop, most certainly on its last legs, sat beside them. The master copy of her novel saved to it. One day, maybe, she’d find the courage to be brave enough and send her words into the world, but today was not that day.

1

ALWAYS BE MY MAYBE

Thursdays were bookshop days, and, as such, they were one of Jo’s favourite days of the week. As much as she loved working in The Ivy Inn, and loved the people she worked with, Thursdays were different. She carved those days out for herself and made sure she was always at her desk writing before ten.

When Libby had decided to have dedicated writer spaces in Once Upon A Book, Jo had made a long-neglected promise to herself that she would start approaching her writing seriously. She’d been the first person to reserve one of the desks, and within a fortnight of the shop opening, she had made a block booking that meant the ‘Heaney desk’ would be hers every Thursday. She’d tried some of the other desks of course, like a modern-day Goldilocks. The Plath desk had felt too sombre, the Joyce desk too ambitious, but the Heaney desk? That felt just right – solid, and brave and trusting.

She was happy to dig with her squat pen there and lose herself in her words. It helped that she had freshly ground coffee on tap and the smell of freshly printed books filling her nostrils. Even on the days when the words didn’t come so easily, she could quite happily just spend the day people-watching from her nook, with occasional breaks to chat with Libby over a tray bake or muffin, or to pore over the books on the pre-loved shelves finding bargains to add to her collection.

This Thursday was no exception, even though her dream of an uncomfortable public launch had nagged at her all day. Jo read over the opening chapters of her book again. She still cringed a little when she thought of it as ‘a book’ as opposed to just something she’d written. The fear was real that people would think she had notions above her station by declaring herself a writer and talking about her book. It seemed like such a far-fetched dream.

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.

Everyone knew that Erin could be a little hot-headed when it came to her work. She made Gordon Ramsey look like Mary Poppins when she really got going, but rarely went so far as to actually threaten murder and subsequent cannibalism.

Jo knew, however, that just as Erin could be enraged at a speed of knots, her anger also burned out quickly and quite often she just needed to shout a bit, or smash something, to restore her equilibrium. Thankfully it usually wasn’t someone’s brain with skillet pan but woe betide a ball of dough or hunk of lamb that crossed her on a bad day. Jo tapped a reply into her phone.

Come over to Libby’s. There are still some chocolate brownies left and we can chat. Leave Phil in charge for twenty minutes.

The kitchen could and would survive without Erin for twenty minutes, even if Erin wasn’t at all willing to believe that.

Jo packed up her things and moved to a table in the coffee bar, before she made two lattes and placed two gooey, delicious chocolate brownies on plates. There were, she noted, certain perks to also working a few shifts at a bookshop which had a coffee bar attached, and being one of the owner’s best friends.

When Libby asked her if everything was okay, she simply replied with ‘Erin’ and no more needed to be said between the two.

Libby smiled. ‘You might need cream with those brownies.’

‘You might be right.’ Jo smiled back, just as the bell above the door tinkled and Erin walked in, red of face and face tight with anger.

Jo pulled her into a hug. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

Erin pulled back and sat down. ‘You know we’re catering that private party tomorrow? The engagement?’

Jo nodded. The details of the dinner for thirty being held in the pub’s small but perfectly formed function room were seared in her brain. The bride-to-be was what most people would class as high-maintenance. And the groom-to-be was worse.

‘Well, himself just called and wondered could they add another ten meals to the cover. And four of those ten are vegan, but none of our vegetarian options sound like something they would like.’ She rolled her eyes at this. For a small gastro pub, The Ivy Inn’s array of vegetarian and vegan meals was impressive – something Erin was very proud of. ‘So he wondered could I send him a few ideas for them to consider. You know, for the dinner, tomorrow.’ She dug her fork into her brownie with a fierceness that made Jo feel a little scared. ‘I mean… ten more meals and a bespoke menu at twenty-four-hours’ notice! And you’ll have to rework the table arrangements to fit more people in! It’s been one thing after another with these two.’

‘At least it’s only the engagement and not the wedding,’ Jo offered. ‘If they want to book that with us, we can claim to have no availability that day.’

‘Can we not just tell them to stick their extra guests and their bespoke menu up their arses?’ Erin asked, hopefully, but Jo could see that her temper was already subsiding. She knew Erin and the pride she took in her work. She’d make it happen and she’d make the vegan meals amazing, so much so that the couple would probably want to book there and then for the wedding – but they’d cross that bridge when they came to it.

‘If only,’ Jo said with a smile. ‘But you can tell them that our vegan menu has won awards and at this stage it’s not possible to source other ingredients for alternatives.’

‘I can probably work something out,’ Erin said, as she took a second bite of the brownie and made semi-orgasmic noises as the chocolate hit took effect. ‘Who supplies these? They must have a special recipe. I’ve never tasted anything like it.’

‘I can find out for you,’ Jo said, with a hint of a smile on her face. Hurricane Erin had run out of puff and her friend’s mind was already back at work.

‘What would I do without you?’ Erin asked, her smile bright and a little disgusting, thanks to some chocolate brownie stuck between her front teeth.

‘Clearly you’d be horribly miserable,’ Jo said and reached out to give Erin’s hand a quick squeeze.

‘I suppose I’d better get back. Are you on Clara duty tonight?’ Erin asked before she savoured the last bite of her brownie.

Jo nodded. Thursday night was always Clara night. Not that she minded. In fact, Thursday nights were one of her favourite nights of the week. She got to indulge her own inner six-year-old as she immersed herself in her little sister’s world and there were times when that world was much more fun than her grown-up world. ‘But I will be working tomorrow and I’ll be there from early afternoon, so I will be on hand to help you manage the high-maintenance bride- and groom-zilla. It will all be grand. And if it isn’t, we’ll let Paddy lick their cutlery before dinner.’

Erin laughed, something she never did quietly. Her laugh was as loud as it was infectious. ‘One day,’ she said. ‘One day, we’re really going to do that to someone, aren’t we?’

‘It’s only a matter of time,’ Jo smiled, the image of Paddy, the beloved resident rescue dog at The Ivy Inn, licking their finest cutlery amusing her.

‘Right, I really must get back. I don’t trust Phil not to overcook the steaks. Thank you, my love. Give Clara and your mum my love.’

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.

‘Jojo! You’re home! It’s Clara and Jojo night!’

Jo pulled her little sister into a tight hug. ‘Yes, it is! Will we pick a book to read together, or would you like to choose?’

Clara stood and scrunched her face up as if she was thinking, when Jo knew full well what book her sister would choose. It would be the same one she wanted read to every single night, even though she knew the words by heart and could recite it from memory.

‘How about…’ Clara said, eyes wide with excitement. ‘How about Guess How Much I Love You?’

‘Absolutely, little brown hair!’ Jo nodded. ‘And how about we have hot chocolate before bed too?’

‘With marshmallows?’ Clara asked.

‘Of course with marshmallows! You can’t have hot chocolate with no marshmallows. You just have to promise to brush your teeth with extra care afterwards,’ Jo replied.

‘Oh! Jojo! I have a wobbly tooth. See!’ Clara opened her mouth extra wide and pushed at one of her front teeth with her tongue. There was the smallest of wiggles and Jo had to concede that she might just be on her way to losing her first tooth. That thought made Jo feel more than a little wobbly herself. However, she managed to bite back her emotion.

‘Well, that is super exciting. And it means you have to brush your teeth extra, extra well, because the tooth fairy doesn’t take dirty teeth.’

The look of horror on Clara’s face at the thought of the tooth fairy assessing the cleanliness of her teeth was enough to make Jo laugh.

‘Don’t worry, Clara! I know you do a great job of looking after your teeth. I’m sure you will be absolutely fine. Now, why don’t you go and watch some Peppa while I clean up?’

Clara didn’t need asking twice and she skipped off to the living room to watch some illicit TV before bed.

Jo, meanwhile, stood up and started to wash up her dinner dishes, interrupted a short time later by the sound of her mum coming into the kitchen.

‘I heard about the wobbly tooth,’ she told her mum. ‘She’s so excited. Wouldn’t it be great to be able to get so excited about a part of your body falling out again?’

‘God forbid,’ her mother said, making the sign of the cross. ‘I’ll be happy with no more bits falling off or out for the rest of my life – unless it’s a couple of inches off my waist. Have you seen my crochet bag?’

Maureen Campbell saw her Thursday night Crochet Club as the social highlight of her week, even if she very rarely produced anything for her efforts. Jo long believed that it was more of a ‘Stitch ’n’ Bitch’ club, light on the stitching and heavy on the gossiping, The fact that her godmother, the very formidable Auntie Mags, was one of the other members, and that her mother frequently slipped a bottle of gin into her crochet bag before going out, did little to challenge her belief.

Jo reached behind her chair and retrieved the bag, which already held a bottle of tonic water.

‘Thanks, love,’ her mother said, sitting down at the kitchen table and taking a deep breath. ‘I’m tired tonight,’ she said. ‘I thought I’d be cruising towards retirement by now, not discussing who the best princess in Frozen is. I’m on Anna’s side, if you’re wondering.’

‘Clara’s very lucky to have you, Mum,’ Jo said. ‘We all are.’

‘Ach, I’m blessed to have her. She’s a light in my life, but sometimes I just wished that light came with a dimmer switch,’ her mother said with a small smile. ‘I’m blessed to have you all. I guess I’m just having one of those days where I’m missing your daddy. You know I can feel all at sea when he’s away.’

An engineer by trade, Jo’s dad had taken on a lucrative contract in Dubai – one which would allow him, and Maureen, a degree of financial security as they headed into retirement. The big catch, of course, being that Dubai wasn’t exactly in easy commuting distance of Northern Ireland. This was Paul Campbell’s last extended trip to the East and he had already been away for two months. There was still a month to go until he came home.

‘It won’t be long, you know. It will go in quick,’ Jo said.

‘Ach, I know. I’m just feeling sorry for myself and I’ve no need to. I’ve a lot to be thankful for. Not least your Auntie Mags arriving in a taxi any minute now with a bottle of gin in her bag.’

‘Well, you enjoy yourself. I’m not in the pub until twelve tomorrow, so I can take Little Miss Bossy Boots to school and you can have a well-earned lie-in.’

She watched as her mum’s smile transformed into one that was entirely genuine. ‘You’re a good girl, Josephine Campbell. You know that, don’t you?’

Embarrassed at the show of affection, Jo did what she always did in such situations – she brushed it off with a laugh. ‘Aye, of course I do. I’m the best,’ she said as she rolled her eyes.

‘You are! And don’t forget it,’ her mother said, before the sound of a car horn outside alerted them both to the arrival of Auntie Mags in the taxi. Jo shooed her mum out of the door.

Her Auntie Mags rolled the car window down and waved enthusiastically at Jo. Mags never seemed to drain of energy. She was in her mid-sixties but had a better social life than Jo, who was only twenty-nine. She also dressed more like a twenty-nine-year-old than Jo did, and the purple streak in her blonde hair screamed that she was not at all intending on adopting the cardigan and slippers look any time soon. Jo loved her madly for it.

‘How’s it going, Jo?

Reviews for In Pursuit of Happiness

[grgenius_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It's a simple statement of fact. I simply couldn't wait to finish this one and it wasn't because it was dragging on or anything, but rather I was enjoying it so much! So, yes, there was reading into the wee hours...and I regret nothing! Story wise, it took one turn I guessed, a few others I didn't, avoided several I had my fingers crossed it wasn't pursuing, and in the end, we have a pairing that was surprisingly meant to be! I loved visiting Ivy Lane again. Meeting up with the gang I was introduced to in The Hopes and Dreams of Libby Quinn was absolutely a welcome gift. Taking walks with Paddy, checking out Libby's bookshop, visiting the Beer Garden...and getting to know Jo a little better! She may come off as a little tough, straight forward, and no nonsense, but there is a heart of gold that beats within. The love she has and shows for family and friends is breathtaking. The self doubt she experiences in sharing her hidden talent was heartache inducing, but so SO real. The tangles she gets into were shout worthy (for SEVERAL reasons), but the ending was worth every step of the journey.

A high recommendation for Contemporary Romance fans, as well as those of Women's Fiction. You won't be sorry if you pick this one up...in fact, you'll end up feeling, by book's end, a part of the family.


**ebook received for review; opinions are my own

[nbmars · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Josephine (“Jo”) Campbell is 29, and feels like everyone she knows is on the way to realizing their dreams except for her. She is still recovering from a bad relationship, and now is afraid of opening her heart again. Rejection is also uppermost in her mind with respect to submitting a book she has written for publication. She wants badly to try and publish it, but is too afraid no one will like it.She works on her novel in the “writer’s nook” at the “Once Upon a Book” bookstore on Ivy Lane in Northern Ireland, which is where most of her life is centered. The proprietor of the store, Libby Quinn, is a close friend and the fiancee of her foster brother Noah. Jo and Noah co-own and operate the Ivy Inn on the lane. And they all help out Harry, the elderly owner of the sweet shop also on the lane. Harry is excited because his grandson Lorcan is coming to see him, but Jo, while she never met Lorcan, is convinced he must be a selfish prat because he never came to help care for Harry after his heart attack. Rather, the others in Ivy Lane took over his care.Most of Jo’s non-working time is taken up with her foster sister Clara, only six, who adores Jo and provides a great deal of the love and gratification Jo is seeking. At least she knows Clara will always love her, unlike her previous boyfriend.Two major changes come to Jo’s life however. One is that Libby secretly sends Jo’s manuscript to the famous (and handsome and single) author, Ewan McLachlan, who is coming to speak at her shop. Ewan makes the incredible offer to help and mentor Jo. The other is that Lorcan, who is good-looking, funny, and not at all what she thought he was, comes to town as well. The elements are all in place for a plot that, while predictable, is nevertheless enjoyable to read.