The Secret of Happy Ever After

by Lucy Dillon

  Michelle tapped her clipboard again, this time in a more final way. ‘Right. I’m off next door, but if there’s anything you need, give me a shout.’ She beamed. ‘If we get this sorted out, then I can get started on some actual decorating tomorrow!’

  ‘Michelle, tomorrow’s New Year’s Day,’ said Anna, surprised. ‘You’re not planning on working tomorrow, are you? Aren’t you going to your parents’? Or having a hangover at least?’

  Owen looked at her too. ‘I’m not working New Year’s Day,’ he said. ‘I’m going up to London tonight. I told you that. And Mum’s having everyone over again for New Year’s Day. Didn’t you say you were going to come too?’

  ‘That was before I decided to take the shop on.’ Michelle looked a bit shifty. ‘I’m definitely working tomorrow,’ she said. ‘This is my priority.’

  ‘But Harvey’s—’ Owen started.

  ‘I’m coming in tomorrow,’ said Michelle firmly. ‘If you two can’t, that’s fair enough.’

  Anna glanced at Owen, who seemed genuinely surprised. If he hadn’t been there, she might have pushed Michelle further, tried to persuade her to come over to theirs, rather than be on her own.

  ‘Right then,’ said Michelle brightly. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a sale to run next door!’

  Next door, in Home Sweet Home, a queue was forming at the cash register as Kelsey jabbed tentatively at the machine, and Michelle felt an unwelcome ripple of doubt that maybe trying to open a new shop at the same time as keeping her core business going wasn’t a good idea, but she pushed it aside.

  No doubts. From now on, it was all about looking forward. That was something her dad had drilled into her, ironically enough, way back when she’d started in his dealership instead of going to university. ‘Don’t worry about what you did yesterday,’ he said, often, ‘worry about what you haven’t done yet today.’

  Michelle could hear him saying it, his easy smile and funny tie hiding his sharp commercial brain. He’d said it to Harvey too, his main protégé, golf partner and co-wearer of funny ties. There were some similarities between her dad and Harvey – enough for Michelle to have persuaded herself that maybe dating him, then marrying him, wasn’t such a bad idea – but kindness wasn’t one of them. She’d realised soon enough that Harvey wasn’t kind. He never did anything that didn’t have a directly beneficial effect on himself, no matter how small or hidden.

  Michelle felt her phone buzzing in her back pocket as she was persuading a customer to buy a set of holly-stamped espresso cups, and flinched when she saw who was calling.

  Mum.

  It would be a very loaded question about when she’d be arriving for New Year’s Day lunch.

  ‘Do you want to take that?’ the customer enquired, and Michelle shook her head quickly.

  ‘No, no. Now, did you see the matching cake plates? They’re in the sale too.’

  A couple of minutes later, Kelsey approached her with the cordless phone and a very apologetic expression. ‘Your mum.’ She waggled the phone as if it were red hot. Clearly she’d already had an earful.

  ‘I’m busy,’ said Michelle.

  ‘She said you would say that. She says she wants to talk to you, because it’s very urgent.’

  Michelle started to ask Kelsey if she could hear sirens or the sound of the house burning down, but didn’t have the energy to spare. Instead she held out her hand for the phone and went to click the mute button off, whereupon she found that Kelsey hadn’t actually clicked it on in the first place.

  Great.

  ‘Hello, Mum.’

  ‘Finally,’ said Carole. ‘I was beginning to think I’d have to come round to the shop to see my daughter.’

  Michelle cleared her throat and forced herself to smile, so her voice would sound more cheerful. ‘Well, it’s a busy time. Are you OK? Kelsey said it was urgent.’

  ‘It is urgent. I need to know if you’re coming to us for lunch tomorrow. The boys are expecting you. We all are. You haven’t even seen your new nephew yet. Is there some kind of problem, Michelle? Is that what it is?’

  Michelle looked around; there were six customers in the shop, two engrossed in the half-price wrapping paper, one balancing too many fragile baubles in her hand, and three hovering around the jewellery cabinet. Impatiently, she caught Kelsey’s eye and made a ‘basket!’ gesture towards the bauble shopper, then nodded to Gillian to open the case.

  ‘Can we talk later? The thing is, Mum, it’s not a brilliant time for me right now, the shop’s heaving.’

  ‘Some things are more important than work, Michelle. Like family. If you’d been here over Christmas . . .’

  ‘Mum. I explained about Christmas. And I’ve taken over the shop next door too, so—’

  ‘When?’ There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the phone. ‘You didn’t mention this to me or your father. Is that a good idea, with the economy the way it is?’

  ‘Actually, yes, I think so,’ said Michelle. ‘The rent was cheap, I’ve got plans, long-term plans for . . .’ She gave up and stalked into the back office where she wouldn’t be distracted by the need to tidy up or serve customers.

  Carole was still talking. ‘I really think you should have taken advice, Michelle. You rush into things without thinking properly. Why didn’t you ask your father? Or Harvey?’

  And Anna wonders why I don’t want to go home.

  ‘Because I’m an experienced business owner,’ she said, ‘who’s perfectly capable of getting a loan and making a success of something. Mum, I’ve been doing this for a while now, I don’t need to run things past Dad.’

  She deliberately didn’t mention Harvey. If anything, he’d probably been the one to drop the seeds of doubt into Carole’s head about her abilities. He’d been good at that. ‘No wonder you sold so many cars with legs like yours,’ had been one of his favourites. No mention of her encyclopaedic knowledge of the range.

  ‘But you’re clearly not coping properly as it is with one business if you can’t even take a day off to come and see us,’ said Carole. ‘Can you put it on hold until you can show your dad your business plans and—’

  ‘No, stop there, Mum. You don’t tell Owen to phone home before he agrees to build a new website.’ Michelle picked up the stress ball from her in-tray and started to squeeze. ‘Did Ben ring you before he got Heather pregnant with their fourth child? I’d say that’s much more risky in this current economic climate. Why is it just me who has to check in?’

  Any mention of her grandchildren always tipped Carole over the edge.

  ‘Don’t take that attitude when all I’m doing is expressing some very justified concern,’ she snapped. ‘If you came home more often, we wouldn’t have to have these conversations over the phone. And if it all goes wrong with this second shop, I suppose you’ll just run away again? Leave someone else to pick up the pieces?’

  The wind whistled out of Michelle’s lungs, and she felt her skin shrink under her clothes. She knew her mother wasn’t just talking about Harvey. Harvey was the end result of a much earlier problem, one they spoke about even less than her failed marriage, but which hung in the background, just out of sight, never referred to but never forgotten. A metallic taste coated the back of her throat, and slowly she released the stress ball, but it stuck to her damp palm.

  When is this going to stop? she wondered bleakly. How long do you have to keep being reminded about mistakes you made when you were too young to even know they were mistakes?

  ‘Poor Harvey,’ said Carole finally, seeing Michelle wasn’t going to rise to the bait. ‘We had to have him here for Christmas, or else he’d have been spending it on his own with a microwave meal.’

  The idea of Harvey sitting alone with a lasagne for one almost made Michelle laugh. Not when there were restaurants and old girlfriends, and the golf club.

  ‘There’s no way he’d have done that,’ she scoffed. ‘Whatever he told you, it was just to make you feel sorry for him so you’d invite him round.’


  ‘He’s still your husband, Michelle!’ said Carole, clearly reaching the point of the phone call at last. ‘And he’s still my son-in-law. Harvey’s a proud man, but I honestly believe he’d have you back if you just came home and said sorry. I think you should. Put whatever silly thing it was behind you and patch things up. You’re not going to do any better than Harvey, if that’s what you’re imagining.’

  ‘I should say sorry?’ Michelle was so surprised by this that her voice came out in a squeak.

  But why are you surprised? she asked herself. Mum thought the regulation haircuts were a sweet sign of his interest. She thought Harvey was being caring, never letting me out on my own, insisting on buying my clothes (always a size too small). And that’s only the stuff she knows about. There was plenty more that Michelle was too ashamed to tell anyone.

  ‘Of course you should! You should be saying sorry to that poor man until the day you die. I don’t know many women who’d walk out on a kind, reliable provider like that, without so much as a backward glance. Not women with brains, anyway.’

  ‘Mum,’ said Michelle, and her voice was strangled with the effort of not slamming down the phone then and there. ‘I’m not getting back with Harvey. Ever. And if he’s now going to become a regular at yours, please tell him to stop sending me flowers. It makes me feel like I’m being stalked.’

  ‘Flowers? You’re complaining because someone’s sending you flowers?’ Her mother managed to sound amazed, with a loud top-note of disapproval. ‘I wish I had your problems, Michelle, I really do!’

  There, thought Michelle. That’s exactly what Harvey wanted everyone to think. Me being unreasonable. Job done. And my own mother reckons I’m too thick to know when I’m on to a good thing. Thanks.

  The tightness in her chest increased until she found it hard to breathe properly.

  ‘I’m really busy,’ she said, forcing the words out. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not going to be able to get away tomorrow.’ She knew she should have left it there, but the dutiful daughter in her couldn’t stop adding, ‘I’m paying the builders by the day, so, you know, the sooner I get the shop open, the sooner it can start earning money. I mean, maybe I can try to get away later in the month, when the sale’s quietened down . . .’

  Even as she was saying it, Michelle knew she didn’t mean it. Her mother knew that too.

  ‘Oh, come on, I’ve got Owen dossing in my flat because everyone else has clearly had enough of his carrying on,’ she blurted out. ‘Don’t say I never do anything for the family.’

  Carole let the pause stretch out as Michelle trailed off. The silence dripped with disdain. Then she sighed. ‘Well, that’s big of you, Michelle. Maybe he’ll encourage you to think of someone else other than yourself, for a change.’

  ‘What? Owen will? Owen’s the most selfish of . . .’ Michelle began, outraged, but Carole had already hung up.

  I bet she’s been rehearsing that in her head for days, she thought, trying to make light of it in her head, but inside she felt scalded with an old shame that never went away. Whatever Michelle achieved in her adult life – the sales awards, the marriage to her dad’s golden boy, her business – it would never override the image she knew her mother kept in her mental gallery: the picture of a teenage Michelle arriving home in the back of her dad’s Jaguar, mid-term, in silent disgrace, her father’s face stony with confusion.

  I don’t care, Michelle told herself, clenching her fists. I am who I am now.

  But she still felt small. Small and alone, as if she was at the wrong end of a telescope all of a sudden.

  Someone knocked at the door and she pulled herself together as quickly as she could, blinking hard to get her bright and confident sales face back on.

  Kelsey put her head round the door. ‘Hiya.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m coming,’ said Michelle. ‘Is there a rush?’

  ‘What? Where? Oh, uh, yeah, it’s a bit busy. These came for you.’ She pulled her hand round and revealed another massive hand-tied bunch of flowers, multi-coloured roses this time. Kelsey’s eyes popped in a silent ‘Ta-da!’

  ‘Ta-da!’ she added, in case Michelle hadn’t got it. ‘Who are they from?’

  Michelle’s breakfast coffee reappeared in her throat and she had to swallow hard to stop herself retching.

  They’re only flowers. Just flowers.

  ‘Thanks.’ She reached out to take them, then said, ‘Can you separate these into individual colours and put them into the milk bottle vases on the far set of shelves, and . . .’

  She stopped. She didn’t want Harvey’s flowers in her shop. Every time she saw them it would feel as if he was inching back into her life. First her house, now her shop. A little toehold here, an ‘Oh, you’re so lucky, Michelle!’ there. She could almost see him, his thick arms folded in that subtly aggressive way, the smile of triumph touching his face but not reaching his eyes. Eyes that never stopped assessing her, not for one second.

  ‘Kelsey, do you want them?’ she blurted out.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes. Take them. Take them home. Thanks for all your hard work over the sales!’ She shoved them into her hands.

  ‘Wow, thanks!’ Kelsey’s eyes lit up and she nearly danced out of the back room.

  It occurred to Michelle that now she’d have to find some present for Gillian, to avoid any staff fall-outs, but her brain was whirring round in circles.

  Why now? Why was Harvey doing this now, after more than three years? She could imagine him starting his campaign with her mother, the sad expression over the drying-up he’d never done at home, the hints and whispers. She didn’t even want to think about how Harvey would set her dad’s concerns in motion, pulling the strings tighter until everyone was helping him haul her back. But why? Because he hated losing control of anything. Anyone.

  Michelle grabbed her notebook, the one with her year’s ambitions and to-dos, and opened it to her long-term goals.

  ‘File for divorce’.

  As the pen formed the F, Michelle’s hand faltered. Harvey’s face floated to the front of her mind. So handsome on the surface – bold cheekbones, wide mouth, blond hair – all apart from his eyes, which were small and cold, like little windows into his own smallness and coldness. But only she seemed to see that. Everyone else just saw the charming, sociable, easy-going salesman. He saved the smallness and coldness for her, his wife.

  It was ironic that she’d decided to wait out the five years’ separation rather than cite unreasonable behaviour. She’d had a lifetime’s worth to choose from, but that was exactly why the thought of challenging him with it filled her with cold fear.

  Harvey made out he was so reasonable – and was such a genius salesman – that he could convince anyone that she was the one with the problem. And he’d never stop.

  I don’t have to write it down, she thought, recapping her pen. But I’m going to do it. This year. I am.

  7

  ‘The Mystery of the Green Ghost is the first and only book so far I have read cover to cover in one sitting – because I was too scared to put it down and go to sleep.’

  Phil McQueen

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ said Phil, as they passed the first sign for the airport. ‘Was it that second bottle of wine last night? Can’t you handle it any more?’

  ‘No!’ Anna swatted him on the knee. ‘Speak for yourself. I was just . . . enjoying the peace and tranquillity.’

  ‘Ah, the peace and tranquillity,’ said Phil wisely. Then he grinned. ‘And there I was thinking I’d finally worn you out. At least on honeymoon you insisted on spending four hours a day reading. I need another holiday to get over this one.’

  ‘Well, now you are speaking for yourself.’ Anna leaned back in her seat and smiled to herself. She wasn’t counting any chickens, but if the websites were anything to go by, they already had a good to middling chance of a September baby being under way already. Just as well, since once they collected Becca, Chloe and Lily from the airport, they wouldn’t have
another private moment for weeks.

  Phil took his eyes off the road for a moment to share a cheeky glance with her, and Anna held his gaze. He still made her stomach flutter. If that was her stomach fluttering.

  ‘I’m very lucky,’ he said.

  ‘I know. You are.’

  ‘I mean, yes, I’ve missed the girls, but I’m glad we got this time to ourselves. Just us. I’d forgotten how nice it is to read the papers without being interrupted. And being able to open that second bottle of wine without wondering if one of us is going to be summoned to Bethany’s house to collect Miss McQueen.’

  ‘I know,’ said Anna. ‘I don’t miss taxi duty. I don’t even mind getting a hangover. It’s nice to have one.’

  ‘On Sunday morning, I just thought, how happy am I?’ he went on. ‘Being with you, walking the dog, getting coffee . . . I don’t think getting old’s too bad, do you?’

  That brought Anna up short. ‘What are you talking about?’ she demanded. ‘We’re not getting old!’

  Phil pointed at the radio. ‘We’re listening to Radio 2.’

  ‘Young people love Radio 2. Becca listens to it sometimes.’

  ‘Becca listens to it because she thinks it makes her look sophisticated. You know what? I found myself looking at one of those luxury sheds the other day. And I found myself thinking, mmm, I’d like one of those. I’d like to relax in it, with Pongo at my feet, and read my Jeremy Clarkson books. That’s definitely old.’

  Phil sounded a bit too pleased about this notion. It wasn’t the first time he’d talked about feeling old, either. Anna hoped it wasn’t a roundabout way of telling her something else – he had a habit of laughing her out of serious conversations, skimming witty little observations across the real matter in hand until the point of the conversation had passed.

  ‘You’re not even forty,’ she pointed out.

  ‘This year, though. And slippers. I wouldn’t mind a pair of really good quality velvet slippers next Christmas. I saw some in Michelle’s shop. Monogrammed. Or with something funky, like a skull and crossbones.’