Happiness for Beginners

by Carole Matthews

  Anthony has come to the front of the sheep pen and is growling with menace. ‘You should be fast asleep by now in the barn,’ I tell him. ‘And you’re a sheep, not a guard dog.’ He growls again.

  Shelby is sitting patiently at the gate in his car and I hurry to swing it open for him. He drives into the yard and I close the gate behind him. He parks up and is out of his car by the time I reach him. Unlike me, Shelby isn’t in his pyjamas. Looking every inch the soap opera star, he’s wearing dark jeans and a crisp white shirt. He looks as if he’s recently showered as his blond hair sits in damp curls at the nape of his neck and he smells of freshly squeezed lemons.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I’m on my way back from the studio and thought I’d pop in on the off-chance that you were free. I felt I rushed off this morning and that was churlish of me. I should have come by myself with Lucas and stayed longer.’ Shelby gives me puppy dog eyes and I wonder if that’s an actor-type look. ‘Now I realise that this is very thoughtless of me too.’ He does look rather shamefaced as he takes in my wellies and pyjamas. ‘Sometimes, it’s hard to do right for doing wrong.’

  We both laugh at that.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I assure him. ‘Your life is infinitely busier than mine. I understand that.’

  ‘Ah. If only Lucas felt the same.’

  ‘I’m not your son, though,’ I add and he glances at me as if I’ve said something really cryptic. I lead him towards the van, regretting that I didn’t have time for a quick tidy-up or even think about it until now. ‘Sorry about the state of my caravan.’

  He looks vaguely horrified. Actually, scratch the ‘vaguely’. He looks totally horrified and he hasn’t seen inside yet. ‘This is where you live?’

  ‘Sure is.’ In fairness, my caravan has seen better days but I like to think of it as well-loved. I don’t know when Hettie bought it, but it’s been here as long as I can remember. ‘Come on in. Make yourself at home.’

  He climbs into the van and his tall frame seems to fill the cramped space. ‘Cosy,’ he says, then immediately lets rip an enormous sneeze.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘It’s probably the dog hair. I remember that Lucas said you’re allergic to animals.’

  ‘To most things,’ he agrees.

  ‘Let me shoo the dogs out.’ I hurry Little Dog and Big Dog out and close the door on them. They whine pathetically at such terrible ill-treatment when they have a new friend to play with. ‘Though I’m not sure it will make much difference. I hoover regularly but I inherited my vacuum cleaner from my aunt along with everything else. It’s probably circa nineteen-fifties.’

  ‘An antique.’ Shelby Dacre blows his nose. ‘I have antihistamine.’ He brandishes a packet at me. ‘I have to take it every day, anyway.’

  ‘I’ll push the windows open so there’s a through draught. It’s a warm night.’ The ancient window resists my best effort.

  ‘Here. Let me.’ Shelby Dacre kneels on the cushion next to me and, as he pushes the window, his forearm brushes against mine and I jump back as if I’ve been electrocuted. That was a hell of a surge that went between us, but it only seems to be me who noticed. ‘That’s better.’

  A breeze lifts my fringe and I realise that my face is hot. I’d like to take my jumper off, but am aware of my jim-jams beneath and so am destined to boil. ‘Do you have to rush away? Let me get you a cup of tea.’

  He looks as if he might refuse, but then his shoulders drop slightly and he says, ‘Why not? Milk, no sugar, please, Molly.’

  ‘Make yourself at home.’

  Shelby scouts around, moves a few cushions, then perches on the edge of the sofa. I try not to smile at his obvious discomfiture as I make tea for us. He sniffles as I hand him his tea and sit down opposite him.

  ‘It must be difficult to be in a role like yours, if you’re allergic to all creatures great and small.’

  ‘It has its challenges,’ he agrees with a smile.

  ‘As you can see, I really don’t have a television.’ There’s not much in the way of light entertainment in the caravan at all – a few well-thumbed books, mostly Hettie’s choices, a jigsaw with several pieces missing that I keep meaning to throw out but can’t quite bring myself to and my radio for the times when I do want to fill the silence.

  ‘That’s rare in this day and age.’

  I shrug. ‘The animals keep me busy. By the time I’ve seen to them all, I don’t have a lot of spare hours left for leisure pursuits. But my friend Bev told me all about Flinton’s Farm. She’s a big fan.’

  ‘Good to hear it.’ He takes in my cosy surroundings with my frayed carpet, my minimalist kitchen and my jolly gingham curtains. His expression is inscrutable. ‘How did you come to be running this place?’

  ‘I lived on the farm with my aunt. When she died I inherited it all. Such as it is.’

  Shelby studies me. ‘My friends were full of praise for you. They were the ones who urged me to bring Lucas here. They said you could help.’

  ‘I’d like to think that we can.’

  He leans on the table and puts his head in his hands and puffs out a wavering breath. When he looks up at me again, his eyes are bright with tears. ‘Do you think you can fix Lucas?’

  I smile softly at that. ‘We’re not in the business of “fixing” broken kids, Mr Dacre. We help them to find out who they are, to build their confidence, to teach them how to exist with their various conditions and to get along with others. Sometimes those who can’t talk to other humans do very well with animals. We have students here with Asperger’s Syndrome, autism, Chaotic Attachment, depression, all manner of mental health issues. Some self-harm, some try to harm others.’

  ‘And what do you think is wrong with Lucas?’ he asks me earnestly.

  ‘I think what’s “wrong” with him is that he’s very angry and unhappy. He’s a lost and lonely boy.’

  ‘Is that my fault?’

  ‘It’s not really my position to blame anyone, Mr Dacre.’

  ‘Shelby, please.’ He looks away from me, staring blankly out of the caravan window. ‘I’ve struggled to relate to him since Susie, my wife, died. It’s a terrible thing to lose a parent at any age, let alone in your difficult teen years.’

  ‘It’s not easy to lose your wife either,’ I add, sympathetically.

  ‘No.’ He takes a moment before he can speak again. ‘Susie was the one who kept the home together. I didn’t realise it when she was alive, more’s the pity. She and Lucas were like two peas in a pod. He’s got her looks, her artistic side. I know that he feels cut adrift without her, but I have no idea how to reach him. Susie would have sorted this out in five minutes.’ He shakes his head, sadly. ‘I’ve tried to do my best, even though he’s made it abundantly clear that he can’t stand me near him. We barely exchange a word and when we do it usually results in Lucas shouting at me. Whatever I say is wrong.’

  I listen while he speaks, but make no comment.

  ‘I confess that I’ve taken to staying late on set or going out drinking with colleagues rather than go home to face his anger. It’s cowardly of me, I know.’

  ‘But you’re grieving too.’

  ‘I don’t think that I’ve let myself do that. I’ve pushed on because you have to, don’t you? If I really thought about what had happened, I’d fall apart.’ He puts his head in his hands again.

  ‘It will get better. Give it time.’ There’s little more that I can offer in the way of solace right now. I’ll do all that I can to help them work their way back to each other, but I suspect it’s not going to be an easy road. ‘How about another cuppa?’

  ‘The British answer to everything.’

  ‘It never hurts.’

  Shelby wipes his eyes. ‘I don’t want to burden you. I’m paying for Lucas to come here. You don’t need to counsel me as well.’

  I smile at that. ‘I’m doing nothing else.’

  ‘Then more tea would be great.’ Shelby drains his cup and I take it back to the kitchen. Then he gives another corker o
f a sneeze and I hand him a bit of kitchen roll to have a good blow.

  ‘We could actually sit outside if you want to. I think it’s warm enough and it might be better for your poor nose.’

  ‘I’ve got a jacket in the car.’

  ‘OK. There are a couple of deckchairs. You can put them out, if you like.’

  So, while I brew up again, I show Shelby where my fold-up deckchairs are stored away under the van and he arranges them outside in the lee of the van, out of the breeze. He has to run the gauntlet of Little Dog and Big Dog who try to lick him to death, but they’ll settle in a minute. Like me, they’re not used to visitors.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The sun has set and now it’s the moon’s turn to shine brightly. It’s high in the sky and the night is so crystal clear that stars are out in force. It’s pitch black up here away from the ambient light of any city and it’s excellent for stargazing.

  Little Dog curls up at Shelby’s feet while Big Dog retreats to his favourite spot under the van. I’ve put Fifty in the pen with Teacup tonight, but I can hear him bleating as he can sense there’s something going on and, like any lamb who thinks he’s human, wants to be involved. Shelby and I sit side by side in the deckchairs, both silent, and stare heavenwards. He looks lost in thought; I wonder if he’s thinking of his wife as he looks up. Perhaps talking about her has sparked some memories.

  ‘So often we think of lost loved ones being up there somewhere, when they’re probably nowhere near it at all. Despite that, I still always say hello to my aunt Hettie on nights like this.’

  ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ he breathes.

  ‘Indeed.’ I cradle my cup on my lap.

  ‘All this and yet I rarely stop to look at it. I don’t know any of the constellations,’ Shelby admits. ‘Apart from Orion and everyone knows that.’

  ‘The mighty hunter is all but gone from the sky now, but you can see the Big Dipper.’ I lean closer towards him and point it out. ‘See? If you follow the handle down, there’s a bright orange star called Arcturus. One of the few stars that was mentioned in the Bible.’

  He looks impressed. ‘You sound as if you know your stuff.’

  ‘I know the stars in the sky better than I do television stars.’

  He laughs at that. ‘Tell me another one.’

  ‘That’s Virgo, the young maiden.’ I feel myself flush as I say it, though I could hardly class as young or a maiden. My romantic interludes have been few and far between for sure, but there have been a couple who have got past the holding-hands stage. Not for a long while, though. ‘Her brightest star is Spica which is two hundred and fifty light years away.’

  He relaxes back in his deckchair and I can see some of the tension ease out of his face. ‘This would be a good night for a bottle of wine.’

  ‘I don’t think I have any.’

  ‘I should have brought one, but I didn’t anticipate staying.’

  ‘We mustn’t forget to do the paperwork,’ I remind him.

  ‘No.’ He lets out a weary sigh as if thinking of that has pulled him back down to earth again while he was content to be among the stars. ‘Has Lucas said much to you?’

  ‘Not really. We’ve had a few chats, but I wouldn’t share what we talked about with you. That’s part of the deal.’

  ‘Even though I’m the one paying the bill?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  He harrumphs at that. ‘He doesn’t like Scarlett. I suppose he’s told you that much.’

  Again, it’s probably wiser to keep my counsel. When I don’t voice an opinion, he continues, ‘She’s too bloody young for me. I know that. The tabloid rags never cease to revel in pointing out our age difference.’ He blows out an unhappy breath. ‘She was good to me when Susie died. I met her at a canapés and cocktails thing. Can’t even remember what. I was at a really low ebb and she made me forget I was empty inside. Scarlett’s great fun and we have a laugh together. She makes me forget my troubles.’

  Scarlett Vincent looks like high-maintenance to me, but then I’m judging a book by its cover and what do I know?

  ‘I don’t love her,’ he says, sounding defensive. ‘But I do like her.’

  ‘Perhaps you and Lucas just need to sit down together and discuss these things.’

  ‘Would that it were so easy. Scarlett likes to be out on the town. She’s at the start of her career and wants to be seen in all the right places in all the right clothes.’

  Sounds like hell to me.

  ‘I know that it leaves Lucas on his own too much to get up to no good.’

  ‘If you know that, maybe it’s the first thing to address.’ Seems a bit obvious to me, but even in the darkness, I can see the black expression cross his face. It’s quite possible that Shelby Dacre is a man who’s used to getting his own way and doesn’t like to be told what to do. Someone in his rarefied position must be surrounded by sycophants.

  ‘What did he do here today?’

  ‘We washed two Shetland ponies together,’ I tell him. ‘Lucas was very good with them. A natural.’

  ‘In that sense, he’s not his father’s son then.’

  ‘No.’ I can only agree. ‘You’re not an animal lover?’

  ‘Oh, I like them well enough,’ he says. ‘They just don’t like me. I know Susie and Lucas would have loved a house filled with pets, but with these damn allergies, I could never agree to it. I can hardly turn up on set sneezing my head off. If I so much as stroke them, I have to wash my hands straightaway because if I forget and touch my face I come out in great red weals or my eyes itch so much I could claw them out. I manage it as best I can at work, but it’s not easy. Playing a farmer while being allergic to animals is, at best, a bit of an embarrassment.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  I’m treated to one of Shelby’s dazzling smiles. ‘You wouldn’t believe how many county shows I’m asked to attend. Every bloody role I get offered now is something to do with the beggars – everyone wants me to play a vet. All I want is a meaty, city detective part. I can’t get away from animals. If only they knew. And now I’m here!’

  I can only laugh. Shelby laughs too and it’s a good sound.

  ‘One of the ponies here is allergic to his own hair. It makes Ringo very miserable. We wash and condition him regularly to help with the itching. I have to cut his fringe and his tail as best I can to keep them away from his skin, but I’m no hairdresser. I suspect Sweeney Todd was a better barber.’

  ‘I sympathise. Poor little bugger.’

  ‘We all have our trials and tribulations,’ I quip.

  He looks at me, suddenly serious. ‘And what are yours, Molly Baker?’

  ‘Money,’ I say, honestly. ‘That’s my only bugbear. I’m always short of money. It not only makes the world go round but it’s pretty essential for farms to function too. Especially when we’re a unique kind of farm. We don’t produce anything, so it’s like pouring money into a black hole.’

  ‘That’s the best nudge there is to fill in the paperwork.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ The entire point of his visit. Somehow I think we’d both forgotten that. ‘Shall we do that inside?’

  ‘Yes.’ He hands me his cup and turns his attention to folding up the deckchairs.

  Back inside, I spread the paperwork on the table, such as it is. After giving it a cursory glance, Shelby Dacre signs it with a flourish. Clearly, a man more used to dishing out autographs.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘I really appreciate it. I hope that Lucas enjoys it here.’

  ‘I hope it stops him from setting fire to things,’ is Shelby’s more succinct assessment.

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘I’ll be going then.’ We both stand, awkward in the small space. He leans towards me and kisses me gently on both cheeks.

  ‘Two,’ I say a bit giddily. ‘Very showbiz.’

  ‘Sorry. I’ve been a luvvie for far too long.’ Then he gives me a long look, confusion on his face. ‘I can’t remember when I last talke
d to anyone like this, Molly. I’ve been Farmer Gordon Flinton for ten years now. I’m too good at pretending. The façade is so easy to maintain that sometimes I actually forget who I am as a person. Thank you for listening.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ Then I don’t know what possesses me but I touch his arm and give him a reassuring squeeze to comfort him. ‘It will work out with you and Lucas. I’m sure of it. Just don’t expect too much too soon.’

  ‘I won’t. I promise.’ His hand covers mine and his fingers are soft and warm against my skin. I get that tingly feeling that I got earlier and it’s more than disconcerting. ‘Thank you again.’

  Embarrassed now, I pull away and hand him his copy of the paperwork. He ducks to go out of the caravan door. I walk him to his car and he takes his jacket off and throws it into the back seat before he eases his long limbs into the passenger seat. Instead of closing the door, he looks at me and I can’t read the expression on his face. I feel as if he doesn’t really want to leave, but doesn’t know how to stay. He seems as if he’s about to say something else, but stops himself.

  We both pause awkwardly for a moment, before I break it by saying, ‘I’ll get the gate.’

  ‘Thank you. I hear what you’re saying, Molly. I’ll try to bring Lucas every morning,’ he says. ‘I think that will help.’

  ‘It would be a good thing to do,’ I agree.

  ‘Goodnight, then.’

  ‘Goodnight, Shelby.’ And I walk to the gate and let him out. Then I head back to the caravan feeling strangely light and buzzy, yet knowing full well that it’s way past my bedtime and I’m going to be completely bloody knackered in the morning.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Shelby doesn’t bring Lucas to the farm the next morning, nor any morning for the next week, which is kind of disappointing. I had hoped for Lucas’s sake that he would. I feel let down by him, so I can only imagine how Lucas feels if this is what he does on a regular basis. Why did he say he’d do it, if he had no intention? Actors. All flaky.