The Seven Secrets of Happiness

by Sharon Owens

  ‘Don’t be cheeky to me! I’m sorry if I’m not the father you wanted me to be,’ he said huffily.

  ‘I just want you to be like most other fathers, Dad. And for Mum to be like most other mothers… You know? To take an interest in the little things in life? To ask me how I am, to hug me when we meet?’

  ‘You could have moved back here after the funeral!’ he accused her. ‘If you wanted to be so close to us.’

  ‘What? So I could see the two of you fighting and carrying on in a bit more detail?’

  ‘We can’t help being the way we are, Ruby. We were brought up to be private people. It’s all gone too far in the other direction, if you ask me,’ he said, staring up at the ceiling. ‘All kissing and pawing at complete strangers!’

  Ruby sighed heavily. Obviously there was going to be no hug from her father tonight. ‘Well, for your information I’m a grieving widow, Dad, with a small dress shop on Ravenhill Road. And my best friend is also my employee. And not a day goes by that I don’t long for Jonathan to come walking in the door and tell me the whole thing has been a bad dream. We loved each other so much. But what would you know about my life? You and Mum sitting here, playing your silly games, with all your money in the bank and all this spare time on your hands! Wasn’t it lucky for the pair of you that I didn’t have a whole bunch of kids before my husband went and got himself killed? Then you’d have to act your age and behave like proper grandparents and maybe help me out for a change. Every street in Belfast is crawling with granny-nannies! The economy would collapse without them. Yes, lucky for you, I’ve got no children. Then we’d see how self-obsessed you really are. The pair of you!’

  ‘Well, now you’re just being hurtful. I think you’d better go home and calm down, miss,’ Ruby’s father said quietly, lighting up another cigar.

  ‘I’m thirty-two years old, Dad. You can’t talk to me like that any more. I won’t be told to calm down.’

  ‘I’m still your father. And I do think you’d better go now,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t you worry, I’m going,’ Ruby told him, walking stiffly to the door, totally outraged that her father was going to let her drive for another three hours! She turned to face him again. ‘But it’s time you grew up a little bit yourself, and stopped this permanent teenager routine of yours. Nobody cares, Dad. The neighbours don’t care about you. They don’t know enough about you to care. Fermanagh doesn’t care what the hell you do out here in the middle of nowhere. You’re keeping up a big show that nobody cares about. You need help, don’t you see?’

  ‘You don’t understand, Ruby. Your mother will be back soon. And when we next meet up I don’t want you to mention this, do you hear me? There’s no need for doctors sticking their noses in, and all that nonsense. She’s just the flighty type. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.’

  ‘Yes, whatever you say. Happy New Year! See you, Dad,’ Ruby replied, closing the front door behind her and getting back into her car with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘You can phone me, and you can come to Belfast to visit though,’ she said to nobody in particular. ‘I’m not coming back to this house again until my parents start acting like proper adults.’

  Ruby’s father didn’t come to the window to wave her away. And Ruby didn’t look back as she went driving softly down the weed-strewn gravel drive. If her father wanted to sit there alone with his cigars and his crazy notions about keeping up appearances, then so be it. Ruby didn’t have the energy to convince him to speak to a doctor or a counsellor. If he thought it was a normal thing for his wife to go missing occasionally as some sort of compensation for a lost career, a fantasy lost career, then who was she to argue? Personally, Ruby had had enough drama for one day.

  She drove home to Belfast in silence, savouring the dark, empty roads and the feeling of being alone yet still connected to the world around her. She would have a hot bath and then get tucked into bed with a hot chocolate, she decided. She would spend all of New Year’s Day in her warmest dressing gown. She’d watch the repeat of Jools Holland’s music show on the telly, and make cheese on toast when she got hungry. She’d think of Jonathan and have a little cry to herself. And she’d text happy New Year to Jasmine and to her other non-swanky friends in the city. She’d fall asleep tonight and tomorrow night knowing she was doing her best to be normal in a world that was sometimes very far from normal. Yes, if her parents got some thrill out of sulking and huffing and hurting each other in their twilight years, then that was their business.

  ‘I won’t ring him,’ Ruby told the steering wheel as the lights of Belfast came into view three long hours later. Her head was splitting with the effort of driving for so long in the dark. It was five minutes to midnight. ‘I swear to God I won’t interfere again. No matter how long it takes! I’ll keep my trap well and truly shut. I won’t say another word.’

  And she meant it.

  Even though her head was telling her to go straight inside and call the police and have her own mother registered as a missing person. But, no, if that’s the way her parents wanted to play the game, then so be it!

  Two days later, Ruby’s father called her on the shop phone to say that her mother had been in touch, thank God.

  ‘Where is she?’ Ruby asked wearily, thinking that she’d have to go and fetch her silly mother home again.

  ‘She’s in America,’ he sighed. ‘In New York… I guess Donegal wasn’t far enough away for her this time…’

  14. The Third Secret

  It was April now. Ruby and her father were still not speaking to one another very often. And there was still no sign of Ruby’s mother coming back from New York. She’d called home a few times, told them she was okay and that she wanted to be alone for a while. Ruby was mystified: there was nowhere more peaceful than Fermanagh and nowhere more crowded than New York City, surely? But she didn’t want to get any more involved in her parents’ marriage. She didn’t have the emotional strength for it yet. So the three of them were firmly in their trenches and there was no sign of a white flag waving any time soon.

  ‘Don’t ask,’ Ruby would sigh, if Jasmine ever brought the subject up.

  It’d been a quiet morning in the shop, but all that was about to change. The doorbell pinged sharply several times and Ruby glanced up from tidying the cash register to see a dark-haired, orange-skinned young woman peering eagerly in the window. She came barging noisily into the shop the second Ruby pressed the release button – nearly getting stuck in the doorway, in fact, she had so many bulky shopping bags draped over her muscular arms.

  ‘Oh my sweet Lord, it’s only official wild child Rebecca McCann! We were at school together,’ Jasmine said to Ruby at once, turning a worrying shade of pink. Ruby could see immediately that Jasmine wasn’t exactly Rebecca McCann’s biggest fan.

  ‘Jazzy babes, me auld mucker, what about ye?’ Rebecca screeched. ‘And just call me Becky. I’m not fuckin’ royalty, you know!’

  ‘Um, Becky, how’re you keeping?’ Jasmine faltered, her wide-open eyes clocking Rebecca’s expensive clothes and shoes – tarty enough admittedly, but still very expensive-looking – and a huge great diamond ring that was flashing on her engagement finger. Jasmine couldn’t help assuming that the bold Becky had netted herself a rich boyfriend. A bit galling when Jasmine considered herself much better-looking and classier than poor old Becky and her Page Three wannabe persona. Becky had crow’s feet already, she noticed, not to mention a few nose-to-mouth lines. Probably all those single ciggies puffed in various bus shelters in her formative years, Jasmine thought bitchily.

  ‘Hey, I’m keepin’ the very best, ta very much for askin’. Did you not hear the good news, Jazzy babes? I only went and won the freakin’ Lotto last month!’ Rebecca laughed loudly, throwing her head back and her mouth open to reveal two perfect rows of neon-white American veneers.

  ‘You did not? Jesus! Did you really?’ Ruby exclaimed, as Jasmine swayed a little on her feet and seemed to have to gasp for air.

 
‘I did indeed. I won seven million freakin’ quid,’ Rebecca trilled, her heavy eye make-up giving her the look of a startled panda. ‘I’m being interviewed about it on TV tonight. Fancy me bein’ on the telly! Fame at last! And it’ll be in the national papers as well. Mind you, I’m brickin’ it. I never take a decent photograph when I’m nervous.’

  ‘Seven million pounds? Should you not be keeping that sort of news to yourself for fear of being kidnapped or something?’ Jasmine managed to splutter. ‘You’ll be shoved into the back of a van one of these days by some out-of-work terrorists and never seen again.’

  Hopefully never seen again, Jasmine’s expression seemed to add.

  ‘Jasmine, please don’t upset your friend,’ Ruby warned. ‘I’m sure the Lotto people have warned Becky here about such things already.’

  But Rebecca wasn’t too worried about her personal security.

  ‘Fuck the terrorists! They’ll have their work cut out to kidnap me, Jazzy babes. I’ve got two bodyguards on the payroll,’ she explained with a casual wave of her manicured hand.

  Both women stared at Becky’s inch-long nail extensions, painted white and red, and studded with blue stars.

  ‘Bodyguards?’ Jasmine gasped. ‘You’ve got bodyguards?’

  ‘Aye, I have surely. Two lovely lads that I got from an agency in London! Ex-military: they’re well fit. Biceps like grapefruits! I’m movin’ away from Belfast soon anyway. Going to live in a villa in the sun. Swimmin’ pool and all the rest of it! I can’t say exactly where just yet; I haven’t made my mind up. But I’ll be out of this freezin’ dump before long, don’t you worry. Who’d have thought it, huh? I’ve been buyin’ ten tickets every week for years.’

  Jasmine opened her mouth to speak, but no words were forthcoming.

  ‘Well, congratulations to you,’ Ruby said brightly, trying not to notice Jasmine’s neck drawing in on itself in a pitiful retching movement. ‘Isn’t it lovely for someone from Belfast to have won the Lotto? Fair play to you and I hope your good fortune makes you very happy.’ Ruby was only being polite, but Becky didn’t seem to notice, or care.

  ‘Cheers, love,’ Becky said, flicking her tapered fringe out of her eyes.

  ‘What can we do for you today?’ Ruby asked then, anxious to get Becky out of the shop before Jasmine tried to strangle her with one of their glittery scarves.

  ‘I want to buy that wee green bag in the window,’ Becky said, trying hard to point with the weight of six shopping bags on her right arm alone.

  ‘Surely you’d be wanting to buy a Chanel bag?’ Jasmine asked sweetly.

  ‘Well, yes, but I wanted this bag for my ma, you see? She said she was lookin’ in your window the other day and she spied this cute wee apple-green bag with a dark green bow on it. She’s the one who wants it, not me as such. Mind you it’s kinda’ nice in its own way. Is there no handle on it or what?’

  ‘You put your wrist through one loop of the bow. I’ll wrap it up for you, shall I? And please tell your mum I was delighted she liked my handbag. I made these ones myself,’ Ruby added proudly.

  ‘Aw, aren’t you the clever one? I’ll tell her surely, so I will,’ Becky said, peeling some banknotes off a fat roll in her pocket and dropping them on to the counter as casually as if they were old sweet wrappers.

  ‘Thank you very much,’ Ruby told her, slipping the money into the register. Yes, she could have given Becky the bag for free, seeing as she was Jasmine’s old school ‘chum’, but she didn’t want to upset Jasmine any further. The poor girl had veins throbbing on her forehead where previously there’d been creamy smooth skin. Ruby wrapped the apple-green bag in tissue paper, popped it into a striped carrier and handed it over politely.

  ‘Where are your bodyguards today?’ Jasmine asked mock-innocently.

  ‘In the car, having a wee smoke,’ Becky had to admit, and in the process revealing that she’d only brought all her shopping into Ruby’s shop in order to show off to Jasmine. Obviously Becky had known already that Jasmine worked there.

  ‘If I don’t see you again, good luck to you,’ Jasmine said through gritted teeth. ‘Mind you don’t get too sunburnt in your new villa, now. Won’t you? Remember, Becky, we’re so pale here in Northern Ireland that we tend to get skin cancer after, like, about five minutes in a really sunny country. So keep a good look out for any auld moles that are changing shape or bleeding. Won’t you, now? They’re bastards to cure, once they get established, those auld melanomas…’

  Finally, Becky looked slightly crestfallen.

  ‘Moles?’ she said, trying and failing to frown through her Botox.

  ‘Aye, they’re desperate!’ Jasmine sighed.

  ‘And congratulations again,’ Ruby added, nipping out from behind the counter and opening the door wide for Miss Rebecca McCann, now one of Belfast’s wealthiest citizens. ‘Fancy that! A Lotto winner standing in this very shop!’

  ‘Cheers,’ Becky said, and then she was laughing again. ‘Oh, and I’m engaged too. Did you notice the ring at all?’

  ‘Oh yes, isn’t it bloody huge?’ Jasmine agreed spitefully. ‘I wasn’t sure if it was only glass.’

  ‘No, it’s the real deal. I left my other fella last year. He was a bit of a loser,’ Becky explained, rolling her eyes. ‘A wandering eye on him. And that’s not all that was wandering, if you know what I mean? Dickhead.’

  ‘Oh dear. Well, who’s the lucky man?’ Jasmine couldn’t help asking.

  ‘Jimmy White.’

  ‘Jimmy White from our old school?’ Jasmine asked in a wobbly voice. Only the best-looking boy in the district! A dead ringer for Matt and Luke (the Bros pop-star twins) with his blond crew cut, sharp cheekbones and his bright blue eyes.

  ‘The very same. Met up with him again on Facebook a while back.’

  ‘After you won the Lotto or before?’ Jasmine asked.

  ‘Jasmine, don’t be cheeky,’ Ruby trilled.

  ‘Afterwards as it happens. We got engaged after spending just six days together. But he’s not after me for my money, if that’s what you’re worried about,’ Becky laughed lightly. ‘He was in love with me from day one, he said. I mean, I bought the engagement ring myself naturally. But he would’ve bought it if he’d had the money. If he’d had a hundred K going spare! I mean, he does have a couple of kids to support and their mothers are two real hard bitches. Bitches to the bone!’

  ‘God love him… I’m sure the CSA has his heart broken… Childhood sweethearts, you say? How romantic,’ Jasmine said, smiling brightly though her eyes were as hard and dark as two chips of flint.

  ‘Aye, love’s young dream! Well… See ya, Jazzy babes!’ Becky finally said, and she breezed out of the door. Ruby waved her off and then stood chuckling at the window as Becky piled her shopping into a black stretch limousine with tinted windows, and then half fell into the car herself. A plume of cigarette smoke drifted out of the sunroof as the car drove away.

  ‘What a laugh,’ Ruby said, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘What a real character she was.’

  But Jasmine only went over to the luxury armchair at the back of the shop and threw herself down on it in despair.

  ‘Character, you say? Complete cow, more like,’ she said bitterly. ‘Imagine that dozy layabout winning seven million quid…’

  ‘Banish envy, Jasmine,’ Ruby said at once.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Banish envy. That’s the third secret of happiness.’

  ‘Ruby, what are you talking about? You’re not making any sense.’

  ‘I’m thinking of making a list, you know? I’ve been thinking a lot about this in recent days. And that’s the third secret of happiness, I reckon.’

  ‘What tablets are you on this week?’ Jasmine asked, closing her eyes with the sheer strain of hating Rebecca McCann.

  ‘Well, firstly you have to become emotionally independent and then you have to address any ongoing health problems. And then you have to get rid of negative emotions like envy.’

  ‘R
uby, that dizzy bimbo just won seven million pounds on the Lotto.’

  ‘So what? You should be happy for her.’

  ‘You don’t know her like I do, Ruby. She’s a gloating, smug little cow. She’s rubbing my nose in this; she’s loving every second of it. She’s the last person on earth who should win seven million pounds.’

  ‘Of course she’s loving it! She bought her tickets like everybody else, didn’t she? Ten of them a week, she said.’

  ‘Ah, balls! When I think of all the lovely things I could have done with that money. A nice house for my parents… Early retirement for them both… An adapted bungalow for my cousin in Bangor who’s disabled…’

  ‘Well, sure, we could all do lots of lovely things with a Lotto win,’ Ruby said, smiling calmly. ‘Come on now, pull yourself together, girl. It’s only money.’

  ‘Easy for you to say. You’ve got money,’ Jasmine said curtly.

  ‘The merry widow, huh? Sitting pretty on the handy old life insurance?’

  ‘No, I didn’t mean it like that and you know I didn’t,’ Jasmine said.

  ‘Yes, you did mean it. And, yes, it’s nice for me to own the shop and the flat outright, but I’d give it all away tomorrow to have Jonathan back.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Ruby. I know you would.’

  ‘Apology accepted. But why do you hate this girl so much?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. She was always a useless trollop. Pinching other girls’ boyfriends when we were teenagers. And she was an only child who was spoilt rotten and never had to do any chores. She got to go to all the good pop gigs too. And she used to bully this wee girl in our class who had ginger hair. Called her Fanta Pants for years and years. It just isn’t fair.’

  ‘Life isn’t fair. I should know.’

  ‘I know, Ruby, really I do. I know it’s not really important. But it’s just not fair.’

  ‘Just try not to think about her.’

  ‘But she’s not even grateful, Ruby. She thinks it’s all just one big laugh.’