Happiness for Beginners

by Carole Matthews

  ‘I think I made him despair,’ I pipe up.

  ‘It looks fantastic,’ Shelby says. ‘A new woman.’ He stops and properly stares at me for a moment before he adds softly, ‘You look beautiful.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I flush and run a hand over my neck where hair used to be. It’s short. Very short. I’m sure that Shelby is only being flattering as it’s Christian who’s cut it for me.

  ‘You look gorge,’ Bev agrees. ‘Like Carey Mulligan.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Bev shakes her head at me, but leaves me none the wiser.

  ‘A small present by way of thanks.’ Shelby hands over a bottle to Christian and I’m sure it says Bollinger on the label.

  ‘We should share it together,’ his friend says. ‘I see so little of you both these days, man.’

  ‘What can I say?’ Shelby shakes his head. ‘We’re both men who are in demand.’

  ‘I see plenty of you running around town with that girl on your arm,’ Christian admonishes but in a cheery tone. It still makes Shelby look uncomfortable, though. ‘Don’t forget your grizzled old mates.’

  Shelby shifts awkwardly. ‘You know what it’s like.’

  ‘We should put a date in the diary or another year will slide by and we’ll be even older.’

  ‘We’re having a charity fundraiser at the house in the next month,’ Shelby says. ‘Come. You must have had an invitation.’

  ‘It’s probably sitting in the pile of unread post my PA gave me last week.’

  ‘Check your diary. See if you’re free?’

  ‘If I’m not, then I will be.’

  Shelby claps him on the back again, grinning. ‘Good man. That’s great news, isn’t it, Lucas?’

  ‘Yeah. It will make an interminably dull day infinitely more bearable.’

  Christian gives a belly laugh. ‘We’ll make a party animal of you one day, Lucas.’

  Lucas only scowls more. ‘I doubt it. There’s nothing worse than seeing a load of Z-list stars turn out for charidee. I hate people like that. They’d come to the opening of an envelope.’

  Shelby snaps back. ‘It will raise a lot of money and it was your mum who set this up. I’m just trying to keep it going in her memory.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Lucas snarls. ‘Because sometimes it feels as if you’ve forgotten about her altogether.’ Then he stomps off towards the fields, even though it’s clear to me he has no idea where he’s marching off to.

  Shelby shouts after him, ‘Lucas, get back here! Get back here now.’

  But the boy keeps on going.

  ‘Leave him be,’ Christian advises. ‘He’ll come round.’ He looks to me and I give a slight nod to confirm my agreement. The last thing Lucas needs now is a confrontation.

  ‘That was a veiled reference to Scarlett, I’m sure.’ Shelby’s obviously seething. ‘I’m not supposed to rebuild my life.’

  ‘It’s tough on Lucas. Give him time,’ Christian says in a placating tone. ‘Let me take you to lunch. We’ll have a drink or three, talk about old times, complain about the old farts we’ve turned into. We can go to that gastro place in the village. I seem to remember they’ve got some half-decent craft beers.’

  Shelby’s face softens slightly. ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  ‘Good. Shall we both drive down there?’ Christian is clearly adept at diffusing tricky situations, maybe that’s why he’s such a sought-after hairdresser among the celebrities.

  ‘Yeah. I’ll follow you. I just need a minute to talk to Molly. Get the beers in.’

  ‘Will do.’ Christian holds up a hand. ‘See you next month, Molly.’

  ‘Thank you again, Christian. I really appreciate it. Ringo has never looked so good. Nor me.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  We all walk to the cars and Christian lowers himself in.

  ‘Five minutes,’ Shelby says as he hangs back. I open the gate and Christian drives away, giving me a friendly wave.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ‘He’s nice,’ I say when Shelby and I are left alone. ‘That was very kind of you to send him along.’

  ‘You might be seeing even more of him. The alpacas could soon need a hairdo too,’ he says enigmatically.

  ‘How come?’

  ‘I’ve got a gig for you. If you’re interested.’ Shelby looks very pleased with himself.

  ‘I’m all ears.’

  ‘The producers of Flinton’s Farm have decided that they want to vamp things up on the farm, give it a bit of a modern look. Apparently, alpacas are the future.’

  ‘God help us all.’

  ‘They’re considering alpaca walks, maybe even a tea room on the farm, but they wanted to give it a bit of a trial run, see them introduced to the farm before they decided on whether they’ll become a permanent feature. They wouldn’t be on every episode but if their first outing goes well, then they’d become regulars.’

  ‘On the telly?’

  ‘Yes. Showing that Gordon Flinton is a modern and progressive farmer. Lots of farms are diversifying now and this seems like a great opportunity to do something a bit different.’

  ‘I see.’ My alpacas, television stars? Wow. They’d be even bigger divas than they are now.

  ‘It’s very lucrative.’ Shelby tells me how much I’d be paid for letting my babies stand and look pretty.

  ‘Just for a day?’ It’s a quite staggering sum and I don’t really see how I can refuse.

  ‘Yes.’ If he needed to twist my arm then he’s just done it quite successfully.

  ‘And they won’t have to do anything? They’re not really performers or, frankly, even house-trained,’ I tell him. ‘If Johnny Rotten wakes up in a bad mood there’s very little we can do with him.’

  ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ Shelby says as a man who is patently unaware of the old adage ‘Never work with children or animals’. ‘We always have professional animal handlers on set to look after the animals we use. They can help you.’

  If something sounds too good to be true, then it usually is. But I can’t look a gift horse – or alpaca – in the mouth, can I? Besides, Bev would kill me stone dead if I turned this down. I’d rather go through the anxiety of agreeing to do this than face telling Bev that I’d refused. I know that she’ll love it.

  ‘OK.’ It will be an adventure. It will make us some much needed money. My mouth goes dry with fear when I say, ‘Let’s give it a go.’

  ‘Great.’ Shelby looks genuinely pleased. ‘It’ll be fun. They’ll want them soon, though. Next week, probably. Once they have an idea they need it to happen yesterday. I’ll give the production secretary your number so that she can set it up, if that’s OK?’

  ‘It’s fine. I’ll await her call.’ Yet, despite trying to convince myself that it will be an experience, I’m already wracked with anxiety.

  ‘I’d better go,’ Shelby says. ‘Don’t want my beer to get warm.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll send the driver for Lucas tonight. It will only wind him up if I come.’

  ‘I’ll go and find him,’ I say, glancing up toward the fields, though he’s nowhere in sight. I bet he’s gone up to see the ponies. They’re always very good at calming down stressed teenagers. ‘He will be OK.’

  ‘I hope you’re right, Molly.’ He shakes his head as if bewildered by the ways of the world and climbs into his car. Then, as soon as I’ve watched him leave, I go in search of Lucas.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Lucas is leaning on the fence up by the Shire horses, staring into space. The furthest he can get from the yard. He tries to look busy as I approach. The dogs run ahead to see him and he wipes his arm across his eyes. I think he may have been crying.

  ‘The coast is clear,’ I tell him. ‘Your dad’s just gone. It’s safe to come back down to the yard now.’ I smile encouragingly at him and but all I get is a scowl in return. His face is blotchy, red.

  ‘He gets on my bloody nerves,’ he spits.

  I
take up position next to him and, for a few moments, we gaze out over the fields together.

  ‘I get it,’ I say, eventually. ‘Grief hits us all differently and it can be hard to understand when people don’t handle it in the same way as us or in the way that we want them to.’

  ‘Time the great healer,’ Lucas scoffs. ‘How many times have I been told that?’

  ‘It’s kind of true. Though we never get over the loss of a loved one, we simply learn how to live without them.’

  Lucas lets out the most careworn sigh I’ve heard in a long time and I put my arm round him.

  ‘My own mum died when I was quite young – about your age. Even though it was a difficult relationship, I still missed her every day. When Hettie died, I was older and supposedly wiser, yet I thought my world had ended. So I do know how you’re feeling.’

  ‘My mum was great,’ he says, unhappily. ‘Why couldn’t someone else have died? Someone horrible? She was so nice to everyone.’

  A tear splashes onto his cheek.

  I pull him tightly to me. ‘Oh, Lucas.’ I can feel myself filling up too. ‘It will get better. I promise you. Just hang on in there.’

  ‘I don’t know how to deal with it,’ he sobs. ‘It’s all knotted up inside me.’

  ‘We can help,’ I tell him. ‘If you’ll let us.’

  He cries again and a bubble of snot comes from his nose when he says tearfully, ‘I don’t think I have any choice.’

  ‘No,’ I agree. ‘You don’t.’ I root in my pocket and find a tissue that isn’t too manky. I offer it to Lucas and he grimaces at it, but takes it nevertheless. He blows his nose. Little Dog comes and nuzzles against him. ‘Talking about it will start to ease the pain.’

  ‘Will it?’ I’m not sure he’s convinced.

  ‘That plus copious amounts of tea and biscuits.’

  He tuts at me. ‘I’m not some bloody geriatric who’s been told they need a hip replacement.’

  I laugh at that. ‘Don’t underestimate the healing powers of tea and biscuits.’

  ‘Maybe some biscuits would help,’ he concedes.

  ‘One of the parents brought KitKats.’

  ‘Luxury,’ he deadpans. ‘Just when I was growing to love own-brand custard creams.’

  I give him one last squeeze as we stand. There’s something about his slender frame, his vulnerability, that always touches my heart. My mothering instinct has, up to now, been channelled towards four-legged creatures, but Lucas has definitely sparked deeper nurturing genes. I would have liked a boy and, if I could have chosen, I would have liked a boy just like Lucas. If I could hold him like this for ever and take away his hurt then I would. Instead, I let him go and we head off to the yard together.

  ‘I have got some good news.’ I say as we walk. ‘And I don’t want you to tut at me.’ He gives a pre-emptive tut, but I carry on regardless. ‘They’re going to have some alpacas featured in Flinton’s Farm and your dad has put our motley crew forward. I’m waiting to hear from the production team.’

  Lucas shakes his head. ‘I’ve heard it all now.’

  ‘It will be good for us, Lucas. If nothing else, it will bring in some much-needed money.’

  His doubt is unshaken, but I also hope that it will be an opportunity for Lucas to spend some time with his dad. Maybe if he sees him on set then he’ll realise that his dad has a lot on his plate. I know that there are worse jobs than being an actor, but it can’t be easy either.

  However, before I can explain any more, Bev bowls up and says, ‘What are you two deep in conversation about? Have you fed the alpacas? If not, I’ll go and do it.’

  ‘No,’ I admit. ‘It was the next job on my list. I was just going to have a cuppa with Lucas.’

  ‘Let me feed Triple Trouble and then we can all have a brew together afterwards. Jody and Tamara will be thrilled to see you, Lucas. I’ve had a nightmare with them.’ Bev shudders. ‘I think they’re pining for you.’

  His pale face flushes slightly.

  ‘Let’s get the girls to put the kettle on then and we can walk up to the alpacas together. I’ve got something exciting to tell you.’

  Chapter Thirty

  When I recount our news as we reach the alpaca paddock, Bev stops stock-still and her mouth drops open.

  ‘Say something,’ I prompt.

  ‘We’re going to be on the telly!’ She shrieks with joy and does a little dance. ‘We’re going to be on the telly!’ Then she suddenly stops. ‘I’ll have to get my hair done. And my nails.’

  ‘It’s not us who’ll be on camera,’ I remind her. ‘Just the alpacas.’

  ‘Yes, but they might need a couple of extras or something. What do they call them now? Additional artists? We could do that.’

  ‘You might be able to, but I’m terrified,’ I admit. ‘I want to lurk as far in the background as possible. I’m even nervous for this lot.’ We lean on the fence and watch Tina Turner, Rod Stewart and Johnny Rotten milling about in their field. They look like harmless innocents, but I know differently. We all do.

  ‘They’ve just got to stand there,’ Bev says. ‘You said so yourself. Even our daft lot can’t mess that up.’

  ‘No,’ I agree, sounding more confident than I feel. Johnny Rotten is the first to see us and he comes to the fence. I scratch his neck and he doesn’t try to bite me so it must be a good day.

  ‘They’ll ace it,’ Lucas says, fussing him too. He picks up a handful of food pellets from the bucket and holds them out. Johnny takes them gently, but you have to watch because he’ll nip your finger given half the chance.

  Instantly, sensing food, the others come over to join him and Lucas feeds them too.

  ‘We could be talent-spotted,’ Bev says, dreamily. ‘They might end up in adverts or West End shows or on the covers of rock albums.’

  I grimace. ‘Don’t you think that you might be getting a bit ahead of yourself?’

  ‘What will I wear?’ Bev says, still fantasising. ‘I’ll have to go through my wardrobe. I don’t know what colours look good on screen.’

  ‘We won’t be on screen,’ I reiterate. ‘We’ll be the ones panicking in the wings.’

  ‘If I went in proper farm gear, not this tatty stuff, I might get a walk-on part. Maybe even a few lines.’

  Lucas and I roll our eyes at each other. That’s it, there’ll be no stopping her now. I should have kept quiet. Better still, I should have said no.

  ‘Good luck with that,’ Lucas says. ‘I can’t wait to hear about it.’

  ‘But you are coming with us, aren’t you?’ I automatically thought that Lucas would want to be part of it too. That was part of my cunning plan. ‘We could definitely do with an extra pair of hands.’

  ‘No.’ Lucas shakes his head vehemently. ‘I spent half of my childhood on a TV set. It’s interminably boring. It makes watching paint dry seem thrilling.’

  ‘But you know what it’s like, you know the ropes. We need you. One person to each alpaca and we have a fighting chance of retaining the upper hand.’

  ‘Not me.’ He holds up a palm.

  ‘Please, Lucas.’ I’m not adverse to a bit of begging should the situation warrant it.

  ‘I’d rather prise my own eyeballs out with a spoon,’ is Lucas’s considered conclusion.

  That fills me with trepidation. ‘Do you think we’ve done the wrong thing?’

  ‘Nah,’ Lucas says. ‘Not really. It’s money for old rope. These telly types love to splash the cash. We might as well have some of it coming our way.’

  ‘I kind of thought that,’ I agree and I also think it’s nice that he refers to the farm as ‘our.’ I hope that means he’s starting to feel as if he belongs here and isn’t simply coming under duress. ‘It was kind of your dad to think of us.’

  ‘There’ll be some ulterior motive,’ Lucas warns me. ‘There always is.’

  ‘He might just be trying to get in your good books,’ I suggest.

  ‘Yeah? Well, if he is it’s not working. Seriously,
count me out.’

  Give it time, Molly, I think. Rome wasn’t built in a day. For all that swagger, there’s a scared and lonely kid in there and I’d really like Lucas to come with us to the set, despite what he says.

  ‘You’re good with the alpacas and I don’t want to be outnumbered when it’s important that they behave themselves.’ I’ll swear alpacas can sense weakness and go for the jugular. If they can cause a riot, they will. ‘If you came with us then Alan could stay here and be in charge for the day.’

  I can see Lucas weakening and I pounce on his moment of indecision.

  ‘Please, Lucas.’ Real tears start to form in my eyes. ‘Think about it at least. It’s probably not until next week.’

  ‘I won’t change my mind.’ He’s intent on digging his heels in.

  I smile to myself. We’ll see about that.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The production secretary phones me and books us in for our inaugural appearance on Flinton’s Farm two days later. Which guarantees that I don’t sleep a wink until then.

  On the morning we’re due at the studio, I get up at four o’clock, feed everyone including myself and then turn my attention to the alpacas. Unaware that it’s a big day for them, they’re as obstreperous as usual. When I call them, Tina Turner and Rod Stewart start to hurtle round the field, intent on ignoring me. Johnny Rotten skulks in the corner of the paddock, refusing to move. I hope he’s not having one of his bad days. As usual, it’s the lure of food that finally gets their attention.

  As they come over to me, I see that Johnny Rotten has a cold. So that’s why he was hanging back. An alpaca with a cold is the most disgusting thing you can imagine. Their globules of snot are the size of tennis balls and stink to high heaven. I know that the television company have booked three alpacas but it might be better if I leave him at home. Alpacas are temperamental and tetchy at the best of times, but one with man-flu will be more than a handful.

  ‘That’s terrible timing, Johnny. I wanted you all to be at your loveliest.’ But he just looks at me dolefully and snorts out some more vile green mucous.