Happiness for Beginners

by Carole Matthews

  ‘That seems like a nice thing.’

  ‘Double-edged sword. It means that the people who matter don’t take you seriously. Plus ten years in the same role means that I don’t get approached to try anything more meaty. I’m never likely to be on stage at the Old Vic.’

  ‘Would you want to be?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he admits. ‘But I’d like to be asked. Between you and me, I’m looking for a new challenge. My agent is putting feelers out.’

  ‘Sounds like a good idea to try something else if you’re cheesed off.’

  ‘You won’t go running to the tabloids or Hello! magazine?’

  I laugh. ‘Hardly. As well as not having a television, I don’t read a newspaper either. Or the glossy mags. I generally find the outside world very much over-rated and try to avoid it as much as possible.’

  ‘I’m beginning to envy your lifestyle very much.’

  I’m worried that it’s making me sound a bit unhinged. ‘I choose to be like this. You’ll see why in a minute.’

  We walk on until we come to the top of the hill and I stop. We both catch our breath and look out over the vale. The view that greets us is no less stunning than usual. All we can see are green, rolling fields, my sheep, ancient hedgerows and trees. The sun is slowly sinking in the sky and, as evening moves in, the landscape softens in the dwindling light.

  ‘I love this spot. From up here there are very few signs of our modern life. You can’t see any houses or roads or unsightly wind turbines. Or people.’ I point into the distance and Shelby’s gaze follows my finger. ‘There’s a green lane that runs along the edge of the property and, with a little imagination, I like to think that you can almost see the first farmers here going along it with a horse and cart loaded with hay. It probably hasn’t changed very much for hundreds of years.’

  ‘I can see why you don’t want to lose this place,’ Shelby says. ‘It’s idyllic.’

  ‘Every time I pause here it lightens my heart. I like to think that we’ve been good custodians of the land.’ Then a knot of emotion tightens my throat and my eyes fill with tears. ‘Now there’ll be a speeding train going through the middle of it in the name of progress. All to shave twenty minutes off a journey that very few people will actually be able to afford.’

  ‘That is surely a spectacular act of vandalism.’

  ‘I think so. If you ask me it’s nothing more than a politicians’ vanity project but, sadly, no one did ask me.’ The lightness in my heart dissipates as I think of what lies ahead. ‘I’ve no idea how we’ll find anywhere to replace it. Especially not at the price we pay. Until now, our landlord has been quite kind to us. I expect our rent is considerably lower than its commercial value. Even if we could find a new location, we may not be able to afford anything else like this.’ I feel sick just thinking about it.

  ‘Don’t despair. We’ve got time yet,’ Shelby says softly. ‘The more I see of this place, the more I want to help you. I promise I’ll do all that I can.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s very kind.’ It’s rare that I miss a human touch as I have my dogs, the animals, but I feel as if I’d like to hug Shelby. Of course, I don’t. ‘I appreciate it.’

  ‘Tell me what I can do.’

  ‘That’s the big problem, I don’t really know. We’d need to find a new place to house all of us. Somewhere near to here so that it’s still convenient for our students. That’s a big ask. Land here is so expensive. Even farming land.’

  He seems to take it all in, but doesn’t offer an immediate solution. Perhaps there isn’t one to be had.

  ‘Come on,’ I say. ‘We’ll walk down the hill and I’ll introduce you to the sheep.’

  I click the dogs to heel and we meander down to the bottom field which is filled with sheep. We started with half a dozen and every year we take in more and more orphans. I have a flock of thirty-eight to manage now which I’d never quite imagined and it grows each year.

  As we reach the fence, guess who comes charging right over to see if he’s in with a chance of terrorising an unsuspecting person?

  ‘This is Anthony the Anti-Social Sheep.’ On cue, Anthony sticks his big head through the fence. ‘His pleasure in life is trying to knock over unwary ramblers and me.’

  Anthony growls. ‘That’s terrifying,’ Shelby says, backing away. ‘Do sheep normally do that?’

  ‘His bark is worse than his bite,’ I assure him. ‘He’s misunderstood.’

  Shelby laughs. ‘The animals sound as troubled as the kids.’

  ‘They are,’ I admit, ‘but it makes for an interesting life.’

  ‘My work sounds very vacuous in comparison. Poncing around being a pretend farmer can hardly be classed as life-changing.’

  ‘You provide entertainment and escapism – I think that’s a very important job.’

  Suddenly he turns to me. ‘How can I reach out to Lucas? What can I do to make it better between us?’

  ‘Spend time with him,’ I offer. ‘Do the things that Lucas likes to do.’

  ‘He wants to sit in his room with his computer.’

  ‘Isn’t there a way that you could have gone with him to-day? It might not be your thing, but it might have been a good opportunity.’

  ‘I wish I could have. He made it abundantly clear that he wanted to go alone, as only Lucas can. And he’s right, I would have just been a hindrance. Whatever we do, Lucas hates it when we’re out together and I get recognised. So it restricts what we can do. I can’t even take him to the cinema or to the local pizza place. He gets so angry about it all.’

  ‘That’s something else you need to work on then.’ I give him a sympathetic smile. ‘It’s not going to improve overnight, but I’m sure if you try hard enough you’ll both find a way.’

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  It’s pushing on into the evening when we get back to the caravan. Shelby slides off his borrowed wellies and puts his designer shoes back on. I expect him to make his excuses and leave, but he doesn’t. He hangs about outside the van chatting about nothing until a loud rumbling from my stomach interrupts our conversation.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I’m keeping you talking and you must be hungry.’

  Yet still he hesitates. When it’s clear he’s not in a hurry to leave, I say, ‘I’m only planning to throw some pasta in a pot, but I can make enough for two. You’re more than welcome to stay.’ I’m sure that I see his eyes brighten.

  ‘That’s a big house to rattle round in by myself. Pasta sounds very appealing.’

  ‘You don’t know what kind of cook I am yet. My repertoire is quite basic and I can’t offer you any wine as I don’t have any.’

  ‘We could probably both do with a drink. What say I nip to the local shop to grab a bottle? There’s one near here?’

  ‘In the village,’ I confirm.

  ‘That can be my contribution,’ he says. ‘Is there anything else you need?’

  Probably, but I’m so stunned that I can’t even think. I’ve just asked Shelby Dacre to dinner and he’s said yes. ‘I’ll just rustle something up from whatever’s in my cupboard, if that’s OK?’

  ‘Perfect. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ While I stand there slightly aghast that I’m going to be having a guest for dinner in the caravan – and a celebrity guest at that – he dashes to the gate, opens it up and then shoots off in his car. I wander to close the gate behind him. Then, as I watch his car disappear down the lane, it hits me that I probably have twenty minutes max to make my modest home presentable. So I hurry back and run round the caravan, shoving things into cupboards that haven’t been in cupboards for years. I plump the cushions and give a cursory scoot round with the hoover to get up the worst of the dog hair. I don’t want Shelby going home with bright red eyes and a streaming nose.

  I put on some music. Bev gave me her old CD player and a stack of CDs which I rarely use. This is Lady Antebellum and I think I like their music. I have a rummage for some wine glasses. And I kind of hate myself for this but, if I ha
d more time, I might consider a shower and slipping into Bev’s scary dress. I’m not even sure how that makes me feel. I’ve never been one to have the urge to doll myself up for a man, but this seems different. Instead, I give my hair a cursory comb, scrub my hands and have a look in my veg box. I’ve got mushrooms, spinach and onions. None of them are too wilty. Looks like a good start.

  I’m chopping away when the dogs bark to signal that Shelby has returned. I hear the gate open and my heart starts up a weird pitter-patter beat. I take a couple of deep breaths and, despite my aversion to relying on drink for comfort, think that wine is a very good idea.

  A moment later, Shelby knocks at the caravan door and I shout, ‘Come on in!’

  The minute he’s over the threshold Little Dog and Big Dog fall on him and try to lick him to death.

  ‘Away, boys,’ I say. ‘We can’t make our guest sneeze.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ he assures me, but I know that he’s only being polite. ‘I just have to make sure that I don’t stroke them and then touch my eyes or I will be in trouble.’

  I can’t imagine a life without a relaxed relationship with animals.

  He holds up a bottle of wine. ‘A good red,’ he says. ‘Plus they had some fresh basil and a little piece of Parmesan. Is that useful?’

  ‘That’s great,’ I say. ‘What a treat.’

  ‘Can I do anything to help?’

  ‘You could pour the wine.’ I push the glasses towards him. ‘Also the table comes out from under the sofa and fixes into that bracket in the floor. I don’t use it very often, but I feel that we should.’ It’s warm enough to eat outside, but on a farm you have to consider the amount of flies that are around, so it’s probably best if we stay indoors for now.

  He pours the wine and we clink the glasses together.

  ‘Cheers,’ he says, but we both seem a little self-conscious. Maybe he’s now wondering if this really was a good idea.

  While Shelby works out the complications of putting up the table, I chop the veg and open a tin of tomatoes. Having found the cutlery drawer, Shelby sets out the knives and forks as I stir the sauce, put the pasta on to cook and grate the Parmesan that he kindly bought.

  ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ I say over my shoulder. ‘This won’t be long.’

  I’m glad to see that Shelby kicks off his shoes and shimmies onto the sofa. Little Dog jumps up and sits next to him.

  ‘Down, boy,’ I say and my dog pretends that he’s deaf.

  ‘I can cope,’ Shelby says, bravely. ‘I’ve had my daily dose of antihistamine.’

  ‘Hope it works. Little Dog likes nothing more than to cuddle up to a new friend.’

  Ten slightly awkward minutes later, I dish up the pasta – aware that this is a very flung-together affair. As are most of my meals. ‘I hope it’s OK. You’re probably used to eating in Michelin-starred restaurants.’

  ‘I do my fair share of that, but it’s a long time since I’ve had a meal cooked for me. I miss my wife for very many reasons, but one of them is definitely her cooking.’

  ‘Well, I hope this lives up to her standards.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ he says. ‘Sorry, that sounded terrible.’

  ‘It’s OK. I’m not offended. I know what you mean.’

  I sit down opposite him and we tuck in.

  ‘This is very good,’ he says. ‘Really very good.’

  I don’t think it is, but he’s trying to be nice and that works for me. Shelby tops up my glass. I’m nervous and I’m drinking too quickly.

  ‘In the eyes of most people I must seem to have a glamorous celebrity life, but what I really want is to curl up at home with the person I love.’

  Does he think that Scarlett Vincent is a curl-up-at-home kind of person? Obviously, I don’t ask that. As Bev pointed out, he may be getting a different kind of solace from someone like her.

  ‘You must wonder what I’m doing with the lovely Scarlett?’

  I swear to you I said nothing.

  He gulps down his wine. ‘She was very good to me when Susie died. Scarlett had just come into Flinton’s Farm at the time – a brief role, initially. But they liked her and she stayed. Eventually, she became my love interest. In the show and then … ’ His voice tails away.

  I guess these things happen if you’re acting passionately with someone. Maybe it is easier for it to tip over into your personal life.

  He clears his throat. ‘We get on well.’

  ‘Good, good.’ I can feel myself flush. For some reason, I don’t want to think about Shelby getting on well with Scarlett Vincent.

  To cover our embarrassment, he tops up my glass again and I don’t refuse. Two glasses in and I’m starting to relax. Despite the odd awkward moment, I’m beginning to find it nice to be holed up here with Shelby with a carby dinner and a decent red.

  ‘Despite our age difference, we clicked,’ he continues. ‘I hadn’t laughed since Susie had died and she helped me to take my mind off my grief. We’ve had a lot of fun.’ There’s a sparkle in his eye when he talks about her and I feel sad that no one has ever had that look for me. ‘She’s bloody high maintenance, I’ll give you that. But she can be very amusing when she wants to be. However, I’m ashamed to say that I really haven’t considered how Lucas is grieving. I can’t even deal with my own feelings let alone sort out his.’

  ‘He really misses his mum.’ I know that much. ‘Losing a parent is difficult at any age, but as a teenager when the world is a scary and confusing place, I’m sure they need more reassurance than ever.’

  ‘And I’m not giving it to him.’

  ‘Only you can tell that.’

  ‘I want to, but we have no common ground. What can I do?’

  ‘Do you want to listen to some of his poetry? That might give you a clue.’ I reach for my phone.

  When Shelby sees the state of it – the battered case held together with a plaster, the cracked screen – he says, ‘Let me,’ and reaches for his instead. ‘What do I look for?’

  ‘Just type in his name,’ I advise as if I’m an expert on these things and am not simply capable of finding Lucas’s poetry and little else. ‘I confess that I’ve listened to them all several times since he showed me how. I really love them and find his style very compelling.’

  ‘There are tons of them,’ Shelby says as he flicks at his screen.

  ‘He’s quite prolific.’

  ‘The titles are terrifying. Are they all about him being angry with his father?’

  ‘Some of them are.’

  ‘Christ. Let’s not look at those first. You pick one.’

  ‘This is my favourite.’ I tap on the screen and Lucas pops up in front of us.

  ‘Weird,’ Shelby says with a wavering breath. ‘Very weird.’

  Yet Shelby turns up the sound and we push our plates away. I scoot over to his side so that we can nestle together on my small sofa, heads together, watching his son spit out his poetry.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  After a few of the least threatening titles, the next one up is called ‘Secrets ’n’ Lies’ which I know is all about his dad – I’ve watched it enough times. I think about skipping it, but perhaps it’s something that Shelby should listen to. I hold my breath as Lucas’s voice starts up once more. His pale face on the screen of Shelby’s phone looks anguished.

  Who are you?

  C’mon an’ show me who ya are!

  Is anything f’real,

  Mr TV star?

  Action!

  Reaction!

  Time t’pour out

  y’heart,

  but how’m I t’know

  what’s y’life and what’s ya art?

  Cards on the table:

  time t’bare your soul,

  but when you lie for a living,

  ain’t life just another role?

  How will I know

  if what y’telling me is true?

  An’ if nothing is f’real,

  then, does it ma
tter what I do?

  Who are you?

  I shouldn’t really have t’arx,

  but I really need to know

  if there’s a man behind the mask.

  Action!

  No action;

  words are all you got,

  scripted ’n’ lifted from a cheap soap plot.

  Well-versed, rehearsed;

  in the character immersed,

  two faces; two families,

  but which a’them comes first?

  They all think they know ya;

  they see you as their friends,

  but none a’them will be there when the story ends,

  so –

  Who are you?

  That’s what I need t’know;

  when they turn off the camras

  and they wrap up the show.

  Action!

  Interaction:

  that’s what I’m looking for,

  I shouldn’t have to queue at the stage door.

  We all got a secret that we’re burnin’ t’yell,

  we’re defined by the lies that we’re willin’ t’tell.

  Secrets ’n’ lies;

  I’s no big deal;

  all I’m arxin’s that y’keep it

  a little bit real.

  All I’m arxin’s that y’keep it

  a little bit real.

  All I’m arxin’s that y’arx y’self:

  how I might feel …

  ‘That’s enough,’ Shelby says and he clicks the pause button. He wipes his eyes as he puts down his phone and I wait, anxiously, for his reaction. When he’s composed himself, he says, ‘Well, that was emotional.’ His voice is shaky. ‘I didn’t know my son had it in him.’

  ‘He definitely has a talent.’

  ‘It was bloody tough to hear. Is that what he really thinks of me?’

  I have to put this as tactfully as I can. ‘I think in his own way, he’s reaching out to you.’

  ‘You think?’ He looks willing to believe it.

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Why did I not see this?’ Shelby looks drained. ‘He’s bloody good, isn’t he? You think so too? It’s not just a father’s pride?’

  ‘He’s great.’