by Annie Lyons
‘Rich,’ said Georg. ‘Like dark sugar smell.’
‘Like my mum’s larder,’ observed Jim with a smile. ‘She did a lot of baking, like Mrs T.’ Pamela grinned at him.
‘And now we taste,’ said Nik. ‘Don’t chew it at first, just let it rest on your tongue and focus on what comes to mind.’
There was a long pause before they answered.
‘Liquorice,’ said Pamela with a confused frown.
‘Longing,’ added Heather. ‘I know it’s sweet but I can’t taste it yet.’
‘Salt and sweet,’ said Fran, looking at Nik. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t wait – I had to bite it.’
Nik smiled. ‘It’s okay, it’s not a test. What this shows us isn’t about the sultana itself. It’s about our ability to focus on the present moment, to concentrate on the thing that is right in front of you. Congratulations – you all have the capacity to be mindful. I promise that if you practise, you will feel the benefits.’ Fran arched a brow at him. ‘Even you, Fran.’
‘Cheek,’ she laughed.
Nik addressed the group. ‘So this week’s homework is to find an activity that enables you to be mindful or present in the moment or however you would like to phrase it. Add it to your own happiness list and do your best to incorporate it into your life. Try to view it as you taking a deep breath when you need it most.’
As they left the course a while later, Fran turned to Pamela and Heather. ‘Right, all that breathing and focusing on the present has made me realize that I need a drink and, as my mother is staying over again, I intend to take full advantage of the fact. Who fancies the pub?’
Heather checked her phone. No messages from Luke but as he’d been working late all week, Heather fully expected more of the same. What was the point in going home to an empty house again? ‘I’m in,’ she declared. ‘Pamela?’
‘Barry will only be glued to one of his gardening programmes and Matty’s out so why not?’
‘I love it when a plan comes together,’ said Fran with a grin.
The Goldfinch Tavern used to be a spit-and-sawdust kind of pub with a decidedly dodgy clientele until a forward-thinking brewery took it over, replaced the sticky floor with dark wood and peeled back the Anaglytpa to expose the brick behind it. It had a cosy, shabby-chic feel and was much loved by the local community.
An open mic night was kicking off as the three women arrived, so they made a beeline for a quiet table in an adjoining room where they could hear each other speak.
‘My choir often does gigs in here,’ said Pamela as Fran returned from the bar carrying a bottle of Prosecco and three glasses.
‘Ahh yes, the famous Hope Street community choir. My friend Nat always says it saved her after she and Dan split up,’ said Fran.
‘Lovely Nat, she’s a treasure,’ said Pamela.
‘Caroline told me that she formed the choir in order to save the community hall,’ remarked Heather.
‘That sounds like Caroline,’ observed Fran with one eyebrow raised. ‘She had quite a lot of help.’
‘Ahh, Caroline’s got a good heart,’ insisted Pamela.
‘She just keeps it well hidden,’ said Fran.
Pamela giggled. ‘Oh, get away with you.’
‘Come on then ladies, let’s practise what we’ve learnt,’ said Fran as she poured the Prosecco. ‘Observe if you will, the flow of golden liquid…or does that sound as if I’m talking about wee?’ She smirked.
Heather laughed. ‘Watch the bubbles lift and pop on this glistening sea of gold.’
‘Still sounds like wee,’ grinned Fran. ‘You try, Pamela.’
‘Um, look at the foaming surge of liquid?’ she offered, frowning with concentration.
Fran snorted with laughter. ‘Okay, stop now because that sounds plain wrong.’ Heather and Pamela chuckled as Fran handed them a glass each. ‘So, enough with the mindfulness. Here’s to my happiness buddies – cheers!’
‘Cheers!’ they chorused.
‘So are you still singing with the choir?’ said Heather to Pamela.
Pamela nodded. ‘Oh yes – they’re wonderful. You should both come. Choir always gives me a lift.’
Fran grimaced. ‘I think you might end up with all the stray cats in the neighbourhood lining up outside the hall – I can’t sing for toffee.’
Heather laughed. ‘I love music but I always preferred dancing to singing.’
‘Ooh, I used to love dancing as a girl – ballroom mainly but I did enjoy a bit of jive,’ said Pamela.
‘Go Pamela!’ cried Fran. She nudged Heather. ‘It’s great that you decided to come along for another session of the course.’
Heather flashed a smile at Pamela. ‘I’ll go anywhere for a decent slice of lemon drizzle. Plus, it’s good to make some friends round here. Luke’s often working so…’
‘You get lonely sometimes,’ said Fran as if she understood.
Heather held her gaze for a second before nodding. There was something about Fran that reminded her of Gemma – both straight-talking women with teasing humour.
‘It must be hard living where your mum grew up but not having her or your dad around,’ added Pamela with her customary tact.
Fran and Heather exchanged glances. ‘Don’t feel too sorry for me, Pamela. I’ve got my lovely cousin, Gemma, who’s supported me ever since Mum and Dad died. I moved in with her family after it happened and we’ve been best mates ever since.’
‘Does she live nearby?’ asked Pamela.
‘About an hour away. She’s married and had a baby six months ago. I saw them today actually.’ She took out her phone and showed them a picture. ‘That’s Freddy, he’s my godson.’
‘Cute,’ said Fran.
‘Awww, what a poppet,’ declared Pamela.
‘He’s lovely. I just wish I could see them a bit more but they’re busy and I’m over here so it’s tricky.’
‘Babies ruin everything,’ said Fran. ‘Friendships, fannies – the whole caboodle.’
‘Fran!’ cried Pamela scandalized. ‘Babies are wonderful!’
‘In small doses,’ said Fran. ‘Sorry, Heather – you were saying about things being tricky?’
Heather smiled, feeling a wave of affection for them both. ‘It’s just lovely to make new friends over here.’
Pamela patted her hand and Fran grinned. ‘Well, Pamela and I know how to get a party started,’ she quipped, knocking her glass against Heather’s. ‘Which is more than you can say for young Georg. What is going on with him?’
Heather laughed. ‘I get the feeling there’s more to Georg than meets the eye.’
‘He told me that his happiness goal is to find true love,’ sighed Pamela. ‘Bless him.’
‘Now see how we all complement each other perfectly?’ said Fran. ‘So Pamela here is our hopeless romantic, whereas I’m the jaded cynic so that must make you…’
‘The lost soul?’ blurted Heather, surprising herself. ‘Sorry – not sure where that came from.’
‘From the heart,’ said Fran. ‘It’s what comes with hanging out with Pamela. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with us. We’re a not quite perfect dream team.’
‘We should have T-shirts made!’ said Heather. She turned to Pamela. ‘So how’s Matthew getting on?’
Pamela sighed. ‘Doly is going to give him some work so that will help but he is a worry. I’m not entirely sure what he’s up to half the time.’
‘Well, he’s a big boy, you can’t watch his every move,’ said Heather.
Pamela nodded. ‘I know I have a tendency to mother him a bit too much but it’s hard, isn’t it? You just want to help your kids get what they need.’
‘Don’t forget what you need though,’ said Heather. Pamela gave her a grateful smile.
‘Poor Pamela,’ said Fran. ‘Makes you wish that you could keep your kids on a lead for the whole of their lives, doesn’t it? I’m dreading the day I don’t know where mine are. My mother makes Margaret Thatcher look weedy but at least I know my kids are safely tucked up wh
en she’s in charge.’
Heather looked distracted for a moment. ‘Sorry, Fran, I am listening. I just heard that boy singing – he sounds a bit like Ed Sheeran. How old do you think he is?’
As Fran tuned in, a look of horror spread over her face. She stood up. ‘Fourteen,’ she said. ‘He’s fourteen.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Pamela.
Fran made for the bar. ‘Because that’s my bloody son and I’m going to kill him!’
The evening had fallen apart after that. Fran frogmarched a mortified Jude from the pub but not before she’d given the landlord an earful. From the thunderous look on her face, her mother was in for similar treatment.
As Heather let herself back into the house a while later, she could hear the television and peered into the lounge to find Luke asleep on the sofa. Her heart soared at the sight of him. She knelt down, watching him for a moment. He stirred and opened his eyes, smiling as he saw her. She leant over to kiss him.
‘You’re home,’ she said.
‘I’m home.’ He smiled.
‘You should have called me. I went for a drink with Fran and Pamela – I would have come straight home if I’d known.’
‘It’s okay, beautiful,’ he said, stroking her cheek. ‘I had a report to write. Anyway, how was your day?’
She grinned and took out her phone to show him a photograph. A Facebook notification popped up – Gemma had tagged her in a post. It was a picture of Heather and Freddy smiling at one another with the words,
Hanging out with my favourite auntie.
‘Look.’ She held out the phone for Luke to see.
He frowned at the picture. ‘Oh wow, look at you,’ he said, making no comment about the baby.
‘Isn’t Freddy cute?’ she insisted.
Luke shrugged. ‘Yeah, I guess. How was Gem? Feels like ages since I’ve seen her.’
Heather felt a prickle of disappointment. ‘Yeah, it was great to see her – she was tired but well. She loves being a mum.’
‘That’s good.’ She moved to snuggle next to him, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. ‘Oh hello,’ he said, leaning down to kiss her.
‘Hello.’ She smiled, pulling back slightly. ‘So listen…’
‘Uh-oh, sounds serious. What’s up?’
Heather felt her mouth go dry. Where to start? This was a big life question. She didn’t want to mess it up and she didn’t want to scare off Luke either. ‘Well, when I was with Gemma and Freddy today, she mentioned in passing that she didn’t think you were very keen on having kids.’
‘She said that?’
Heather felt a twist of panic that he wasn’t flatly denying it. ‘She did. And it made me realize that we’d never talked about it properly and that I’d stupidly assumed that we would just have kids one day.’
Luke sat up and ran a hand through his hair. ‘O-kay, well if I’m honest, I haven’t given it much thought.’
Heather turned to face him and was taken aback by his guarded expression. She reached for his hand. ‘Well, maybe we should talk about it. We’re about to get married – it feels pretty important.’
Luke shifted in his seat. ‘O-kay.’
Heather took a deep breath. ‘Well, personally, I know I’d like a family. I love the idea of miniature versions of you and me and I think we’d make great parents. What about you?’
Luke gave a faint smile. ‘I don’t know. I guess I still feel as if I’m too young to think about it. To be honest, I’m not about planning years into the future. I’ve got you, I’ve got my job. We’re getting married and that’s enough for now.’
Enough for now. That sounded reasonable. Maybe rushing into the future was wrong. Maybe it was better to live in the present. ‘But you’re not ruling out kids?’ she asked.
He put an arm round her shoulder and kissed her cheek. ‘Of course not. I think we should enjoy our lives now and see what happens.’
She stole a glance at him. ‘Okay, well I’ve kind of offered to have Freddy overnight for Gemma.’
‘Oh. Huh,’ said Luke, nodding slowly.
Heather nudged him. ‘Listen, it’s going to be great. He’s my godson and he’s very cute. It might just give us some perspective on parenthood.’
Luke gave a resigned smile. ‘Okay. I’m not great with babies but, you know, if you’ve offered and it helps out Gemma then fine.’
Heather nodded. Enough for now. She stood up, feeling heavy with tiredness. ‘It’s been a long day,’ she said. ‘I’m going to grab a glass of water and head up to bed.’
He caught hold of her hand. ‘Okay, beautiful. I won’t be long. I love you, Heather Brown.’
‘I love you too.’
I really do love you, she thought as she filled a glass from the tap and stood frowning out at her reflection. And maybe that was enough for now but there was a seed of uncertainty threatening to take root in her heart. What if Luke never wanted kids? Would Heather be happy with that? What did she actually want from her life? Would enough for now be enough for ever? Maybe the truth she blurted out in the pub was just that. Maybe she really was a lost soul, still searching for what she needed and maybe, at the moment, she needed the course more than she cared to admit.
Chapter Eight
Fran
Happiness List Thing
1. Accept a world without Andy (too soon!)
2. ‘Digital Detox’ day with kids
On Sunday morning, Fran woke to bright sunshine and the sinking feeling that she couldn’t justify yet another pyjama day. It was time to leave the house. She knew that if they stayed in, Charlie would be glued to her iPad whilst Jude shut himself in his room, playing Bob Dylan protest songs as a pointed gesture to the fact that she had taken away his phone and grounded him for a fortnight. Fran couldn’t face the heavy atmosphere that would descend or the fact that she would be very likely to spend another wasted afternoon poring over Pinterest without being entirely sure what she was looking for.
She loved the idea of home improvements but since Andy died, the thought of making changes to the home they’d shared filled her with horror and sadness. The cruel irony of the situation was that she could afford to get the work done now thanks to the money from Andy’s life insurance. Also, Fran’s brother had had the good sense to become an independent financial advisor so their future was secure. Fran wasn’t rich but she wasn’t under financial pressure.
Her job as an editor had always been a constant. She’d been lucky in this respect. She’d worked for a large publisher in the years before marriage and kids. During this time, she’d had the happy fortune to acquire a little-known author, who went on to become a global phenomenon. When Fran bit the bullet after Charlie was born and decided to go freelance, the superstar author demanded to keep her as his editor. The publisher agreed because they loved Fran too. This meant that she was able to earn decent money from the author’s annual bestseller and pick and choose her other projects as well.
‘You’re so lucky, Fran,’ her former colleagues would cry. ‘You’ve got the dream job that fits around your kids and the money’s good. You’ve hit the jackpot.’
They stopped saying this after Andy died of course. The superstar author sent her an obscenely large bouquet. The publisher sent a tasteful one and told her to take as much time as she needed. One month later, she received a courteous and kind email from the editorial director saying that the superstar author had just delivered his latest bestseller. Should they get someone else to take over for now?
This was less than two months after Andy had died and Fran had barely left the house. She didn’t care about this book or anything. How could people still be writing books, still be thinking this was important when she could barely put one foot in front of the other? She sent a short, polite reply to let him off the hook. She didn’t care. It didn’t matter.
Two years on, the superstar author was now the proud owner of a multimillion-pound movie franchise and Fran wished him well. He still sent her a magnum of champagne every
Christmas. She was glad he hadn’t turned into a rich tosser.
Fran still worked on freelance projects but her heart wasn’t in it. It was just a job to her now. She used to feel deeply passionate about the written word. Now she couldn’t give two hoots. She felt like this about a lot of things though. It was as if someone had pressed the ‘pause’ button on her life for the past two years and she couldn’t imagine ever hitting ‘play’ again.
She looked around her bedroom now, at the faded curtains with their olive tree design. She had panic-bought them from John Lewis shortly before Jude was born, convinced that the addition of a small baby to her life would mean that she would never have time to shop again. She remembered decorating this room with Andy shortly after they moved here in pre-children days – they had spent a cheerful Saturday playing mix tapes of cheesy Eighties songs whilst they painted the walls in a shade of Willow Tree. Andy had wanted them to go for Churlish Green from the Farrow and Ball range until Fran pointed out that amusing as the name was, it probably wasn’t worth spending three times the amount on the paint.
‘Why don’t you get a decorator in?’ her mother suggested about a year after Andy died. ‘Freshen up the place a bit.’
And why don’t you keep your beak out, thought Fran. Some days she could take her mother’s flashes of inspiration and some days, it made her want to scream with frustration. She knew what Angela was thinking, of course.
She’s keeping everything just as it was, like a museum of grief.
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Fran through gritted teeth, knowing that she wouldn’t.
Her mother eyed her for a moment. She was bossy but not unkind. ‘I know that your dad would be only too happy to help,’ she said. Fran smiled and nodded. ‘At least you had the good sense not to hang on to his clothes,’ added Angela. ‘I know too many women who cling on to them, like some kind of widow’s comfort blanket. It isn’t good for your mental health.’
‘Tragic,’ nodded Fran, thinking about the bags of Andy’s clothes hidden in the loft.
My grief, my way.
‘Right kids,’ she called, standing at the top of the stairs. ‘Who’s up for an adventure with the added incentive of bacon rolls?’