The Happiness List

by Annie Lyons

  She and Andy had laughed all the time when they were first together. They loved comedy and would go to stand-up nights at local clubs or watch gigs on television. They had been dedicated fans of Blackadder too and could quote almost every episode verbatim. Of course, when the children had come along, things had changed – there was less adult humour and more fart jokes but still, she could remember her happiest moments as being the times in her life when she laughed so hard, she lost her breath.

  ‘I do not get it,’ said Georg after the film ended. ‘Why did they not just hire a winch?’

  Fran caught Heather’s eye and started to laugh. Heather joined in and then Pamela, followed by the rest of the room. Nik was beaming as he stood before them all. ‘I hope you enjoyed that. Laughter is a very precious but underrated tool. We tend to laugh a great deal when we are children but almost lose the ability to do it easily when we get older.’

  ‘Life gets so serious when you’re an adult,’ remarked Sue.

  Nik nodded. ‘Very true, but see what happens when we all take time to watch a funny film? We laugh like children, we forget the seriousness and we are united in that moment. It’s very powerful. So for this week’s homework, I want you to find the things that make you laugh – the comedy, the people or the dog.’ He flashed a smile at Fran. ‘Don’t force it, just enjoy it. Find the things that make you laugh and embrace them.’

  ‘Someone’s in a good mood,’ remarked Fran’s mother, as her daughter arrived home whistling the Laurel and Hardy theme music later that evening.

  ‘Yeah. Tonight was fun.’

  ‘Is it helping?’ asked Angela.

  Fran shrugged. ‘A bit.’

  Angela sat down next to her daughter on the sofa. ‘Charlie told me that a man called Gary asked you on a date.’

  Fran had been expecting this. ‘Uh-huh.’

  Angela knew her daughter well. ‘I’m not going to tell you what to do – obviously I’d rather you didn’t go out with a man named Gary but I’m just a hideous old snob.’

  ‘You said it.’

  Her mother blew a raspberry. ‘All I’ll say is give it some thought, darling. Okay? Anyway, I’m off to bed.’ She kissed her daughter on the cheek. ‘I do love you, you know that, don’t you? And I’m proud of you.’

  ‘Steady, Mum.’ Fran smiled. ‘I love you too. ’Night.’

  ‘’Night, dear.’

  After she’d gone, Fran poured herself a glass of wine and sat on the sofa, clutching her phone. Make up your mind, woman. Stop faffing and make up your mind.

  ‘Okay, fine,’ she breathed, flicking it into life, ready to send a text.

  The plan was simple.

  Go for dinner with the handsome man.

  Eat food, enjoy conversation, drink a little more than you possibly should but not so much that you end up snogging him.

  Thank the handsome man for a lovely time but tell him that it was just a one-off, go home and never speak of it again.

  Yeah. So simple. Unfortunately, Fran had never been great at sticking to the script. She started full of good intentions. She’d deliberately suggested the Spanish tapas restaurant where she had been with Andy on many occasions. That was a sure-fire way to sabotage the evening.

  Perfect, she thought as they entered the restaurant (Gary, the perfect gentleman holding the door open for her). She took in her surroundings as the sad ghosts appeared before her, each with its own unique memory.

  She spotted the table up on the mezzanine where they’d celebrated her birthday with her brother and his then girlfriend Melissa (she’d liked Melissa – she should try and get in touch with her again); the small table for two by the window, where she’d been grumpy because they were sitting in a draught and they’d had a row; and of course the table in the corner where they’d sung along with the Elvis impersonator, drunk two bottles of Rioja and gone home to have filthy sex on the dining-room table.

  Wow, Fran, you really are some kind of weird masochist, she thought as she paused for a second to catch her breath.

  The waiter led them to the argument table by the window, affording them a majestic view of the Croydon Road. Right on cue, a couple of teenagers shambled past, one of them hoicking a large gob of spit onto the pavement.

  ‘Lovely,’ joked Gary, accepting a menu from the waiter.

  Fran laughed. ‘Never let it be said that I don’t bring you to the best places.’

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ asked the waiter.

  ‘Sangria, please. Shall we share a jug?’

  ‘I’m driving so I’ll just have the one.’

  ‘A jug of sangria, please,’ said Fran, hoping that it didn’t make her sound like an alcoholic but feeling a sense of relief that Gary was clearly intending to go home after the meal. She relaxed. It would all go to plan. They would eat dinner, drink some sangria and talk. No biggie.

  Charlie had been overexcited before her mother left, skipping around like a miniature fairy godmother, full of expectation and wonder. ‘Have a lovely time with Gary, Mummy! I hope you have loads of fun!’

  Fran’s mother was babysitting again (‘Honestly, Fran, I may as well move in with you!’ she had quipped, but Fran knew she relished every second with her grandchildren). Angela had been similarly encouraging but in an altogether more low-key fashion. ‘Just enjoy yourself. Really. Have a good time.’ She stopped short of using the words ‘for once’ but Fran heard them all the same.

  Fran had turned to face them. ‘Listen, you two, it’s just dinner. No more, no less. Do you understand?’

  Charlie and Angela had exchanged purse-lipped looks of amusement. ‘Yes, ma’am!’ saluted Charlie.

  ‘Understood!’ declared Angela, copying her granddaughter so that they fell about laughing.

  It was a surprise to Fran, as the date progressed and the sangria flowed, how easy it was to be in Gary’s company. They talked about his life in the army. Fran noticed that he passed over his time in Afghanistan as if it was a mere blip in his life rather than the living hell she suspected. She could relate to that kind of topic avoidance and felt an odd fondness towards him as a result. He talked about his family, how much he loved his nephews and nieces, his mum and then how he’d come to set up Left Right Fitness and she thought, This is a nice man. A really nice man. Kind and funny. Lovely hazelnut eyes. I like him. I like him a lot.

  It might have been the sangria or the fact that Gary made her laugh repeatedly, but, as the evening went on, he appeared even more handsome to her; his strong jaw and kind eyes seemed ever-more appealing in the soft glow of the Spanish restaurant.

  ‘So how about you? Tell me about your life,’ he said.

  She shrugged. She was onto her third glass of increasingly delicious sangria. ‘There’s not much to tell. I work part-time as a freelance editor, which fits around the kids and helps with the bills. And then there’s the kids – Charlie, who you met briefly. She’s ten and an absolute treasure. And there’s Jude, who’s fourteen – he’s prone to teenage outbursts but basically a good kid. And Alan the dog. That’s it – me, the kids and a faithful hound.’

  As soon as she said this, she was aware of the fact that she was holding up her life to him like a ripped sheet, revealing the screaming gap where Andy had once been. Poor guy. He’d been backed into a conversational cul-de-sac. He’d have to ask her now.

  ‘It must be hard for you being widowed so young.’

  They both looked at each other with a hint of regret as if they knew they’d have to talk about it now – the black hole of grief, unforgiving and never-ending.

  They were interrupted by the whitebait and garlic prawns arriving in quick succession. Fran thanked the waiter before downing her drink and smiling gratefully at Gary as he topped it up for her.

  She cleared her throat. ‘It is hard. I miss him. Obviously.’ Gary nodded through a mouthful of whitebait. Fran was suddenly swept along by a wave of sadness and sangria. ‘I can remember sitting at this table with him actually. We had a row. I think it
started as something about my mother and I wouldn’t hear it so I had a go at his mother. It wasn’t pretty. We were both quite stubborn when it came to arguments. I remember one time when we didn’t speak for three days because neither of us would apologize and, in the end, we couldn’t remember why we’d started the argument in the first place.’

  Gary smiled. ‘You sound like the perfect couple.’

  Fran laughed. ‘Yeah – stubborn and bloody-minded but then I think the best partnerships are like that, aren’t they? You’ve got to have a bit of light and shade in your life.’

  ‘Very true. And what was Andy like?’

  The question caught Fran off guard. It had been a long time since she’d talked about him to someone who’d never met him. She was surprised how lovely it was to be asked and to answer.

  ‘He was funny, clever – a bit too clever sometimes – not at all sporty, although he did enjoy cycling. He was a great dad…’ Her voice trailed off as flashes of memories popped into her mind. Andy pushing Charlie too high on a swing, wrestling Jude on the sofa, handing her a cup of the weirdy herbal tea she liked.

  ‘Sorry, Fran. I didn’t mean to pry. It must be hard for you to talk about this stuff.’

  Fran realized there were tears in her eyes. ‘No, honestly, it’s fine. It’s actually good to talk about him but maybe a bit awkward for you?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Gary. ‘He was your husband, part of who you are, and I want to get to know you, if you’ll let me.’

  Fran didn’t know what to say. It was one of the loveliest things she’d ever heard. ‘Thank you. Really. I mean it. Now, don’t worry, I’m not doing a runner but I just want to pop to the loo and check my panda eyes.’

  ‘You look beautiful to me but then sometimes my contact lenses are a bit blurry so it’s probably a good idea.’

  She laughed and Gary smiled at her. God, those dimples were sexy.

  He walked her home after the meal. They paused by his car. ‘I had a lovely evening,’ he said.

  ‘Me too,’ said Fran truthfully. ‘Thank you.’

  He smiled and held out his hand. She took it – his grasp was warm and comforting. Fran was gripped by an unexpected urge. She leant forwards and kissed him on the lips. It wasn’t a lingering or even suggestive kiss but it was enough – a test to see how it made her feel.

  Do I still know how to do this? Am I still capable of being an attractive woman? And what’s more, do I enjoy it?

  She was pleased to learn that the answer to all three questions was a resounding yes. The sangria helped but she wasn’t drunk – she just felt brave, as if she was reconnecting with the woman she used to be. She knew the guilt would come as she sobered up, but for one precious moment, she felt free.

  Fran noticed that Gary didn’t try to kiss her again and she appreciated this. Instead, he looked at her with fond admiration.

  ‘See you around?’ she asked.

  ‘I hope so,’ he said, before climbing into his car and driving off into the night.

  ‘I hope so too,’ she murmured, heading up the garden path, wondering if she was drunk enough to face her mother’s inevitable interrogation.

  Chapter Twelve

  Pamela

  My Happiness List

  1. Just bake

  2. Dinner with Matthew and Barry – be in the moment! (DISASTER)

  3. Go dancing with Barry?

  4. Laugh like we used to!

  Pamela wasn’t surprised. Why would she be? They’d been married the best part of forty years. You couldn’t keep a spark going that long. Still. She’d thought he might be interested, that he might like to give it a go. For old time’s sake if nothing else. And yet he’d looked almost offended when she asked him – positively mortified in fact.

  He was sitting at the kitchen table eating his third slice of toast covered with far too much butter and marmalade. Oh, the horror in his eyes, as if she’d suggested something practically indecent instead of an afternoon of ballroom dancing. She did her best to ignore the smear of grease on his chin as he stared up at her agog.

  ‘I don’t think so, Pammy – not with my corns, I’d be in agony!’ He picked up his mug and drained the last of his tea. ‘Right, I’d best get on in the garden – those summer bulbs won’t plant themselves!’

  Don’t let it get to you, Pamela. Keep calm and carry on.

  She sniffed back her disappointment. ‘Yes, all right, maybe it was a silly idea. You go, I’ll clear these things.’

  As he smiled at her, she spotted the trace of twenty-year-old Barry behind the double chin. She’d fallen in love with that smile – cheeky and full of charm. Where was the man behind the smile? The one who used to make her cheeks blush and her knees weaken. She missed him.

  Barry reached over to kiss her on the forehead. ‘Thanks, love. I’ll see you later.’

  Matthew was coming into the kitchen as Barry made for the door. They did an awkward dance to let the other one pass, wordless except for a surly grunt from Barry. Pamela felt her shoulders stiffen with the effort of pretending not to notice. She heard the front door slam shut as Barry left and breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Can I make you some breakfast?’ she asked Matthew. ‘I’ve got bacon if you fancy a sandwich.’

  Matthew squeezed her shoulder. ‘You’re an angel, Mum but I’m just going to grab some toast. Doly wants me to go to the cash-and-carry before lunch.’

  Pamela smiled. She was pleased that he seemed to be taking this opportunity seriously and he was definitely making more of an effort at home. He’d even cooked for them the night before – a delicious chicken traybake using ingredients he’d paid for out of his own money. Pamela had been impressed and dearly hoped it would ease Barry’s attitude towards his son.

  ‘This food is delicious, Matty,’ she told him, trying to ignore her husband, who was frowning quizzically at a chunk of sweet potato.

  ‘I thought it was the least I could do after you’d helped me out,’ he said, smiling at his parents. ‘I do appreciate it.’

  ‘We’re happy to help, aren’t we, Barry?’ Aren’t we, Barry? Pamela clenched her fists as she silently willed him to say something positive.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Barry through a mouthful of food.

  ‘Is it all right, Dad?’ asked Matthew, reminding Pamela of a little boy again – a little boy seeking his father’s approval.

  Barry’s frown deepened. Come on Barry, thought Pamela. Say the right thing for once. She held her breath. ‘Very nice, son,’ he said, nodding at Matthew. ‘Although I’m not sure about these orange things.’

  ‘The sweet potatoes?’

  ‘Mmm, but the rest of it is very nice.’

  Matthew and Pamela grinned at one another and she felt herself relax.

  Maybe it was possible to live with your kids after they’d grown up. Maybe it just took a bit of time to get used to one another again. Matthew and Barry still had a way to go but this was definite progress.

  She smiled as she placed the plate of toast in front of Matthew and poured him a mug of tea. ‘So tell me, what are you working on at the moment?’ She loved to hear about his writing life – it was so exciting and far more exotic than hers.

  ‘I’m actually working on a script for something.’ He looked as if he wanted to say more but thought better of it.

  ‘Ooh that sounds good.’ Pamela smiled encouragingly.

  Matthew gave a vague nod. ‘And I’ve got a couple of freelance bits – nothing major, just stuff for weekend supplements.’

  ‘I’m proud of you, Matty.’ She stole a glance at him as he sat down at the table to butter his toast. ‘You know you can always talk to me, don’t you?’

  He stared up at her with wide eyes. ‘Of course. I love our chats.’

  She slid into the chair next to him. ‘I mean about stuff that matters to you – work, affairs of the heart and so on. I’m always here for you, Matty.’

  Matthew put an arm around his mother’s shoulder. ‘I know, Mum and I’m v
ery grateful.’ He took a bite of his toast. ‘Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you.’

  Pamela looked him in the eye. Please don’t ask me for money. Not again. ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘Is there any chance I could borrow some cash please? I’ve got this opportunity and I need some money up front. I can give it back to you as soon as I get paid for the newspaper articles.’

  Pamela felt her heart sink and her skin prickle with indecision. She didn’t want to let him down but she was experiencing a creeping sense of uncertainty and a wearying feeling of déjà vu. Matthew saw the look in her eyes. ‘I’ll pay you back,’ he repeated. ‘I promise. Or are you starting not to trust me, like Dad?’

  Guilt flooded her brain. He was a good lad. He was knuckling down now and he had made that lovely dinner. What kind of mother would she be if she turned him down? ‘No. No, of course not. I trust you. How much do you need?’

  ‘Five hundred?’ said Matthew as casually as if he was asking for a fiver. Pamela inhaled sharply.

  ‘Please, Mum? It’s important,’ he added, staring into her eyes. The little boy lost. The one who needed to be rescued.

  ‘You’re not in trouble are you, Matty?’

  He reached over and squeezed her arm. ‘No, of course not. I just can’t tell you what it’s for at the moment but I promise I will as soon as I’m able.’

  She nodded. I trust him. I have to for my own sake. ‘I’ll pop to the cashpoint this morning,’ she said, her shoulders sagging with defeat.

  Pamela saw the relief in his eyes. ‘Thank you, Mum. Thank you so much.’

  She smiled, swallowing down her worry. ‘Right, you’d better get off to Doly’s. I’ve got some baking to do for the kids’ club this afternoon.’

  ‘You’re a good woman, Mum,’ he said, reaching down to kiss her before he left, toast in hand.