The Happiness List

by Annie Lyons

  ‘How did you do that?’ she cried. ‘It’s absolutely perfect.’

  Caitlin beamed. ‘Years of practice. I think this is going to suit you perfectly. It’s simple but so gorgeous – you’ve got the lace overlay design and I’m proposing a champagne-coloured slip.’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ Heather grinned. ‘Where do I sign?’

  As they prepared to leave, Fran turned to Caitlin. ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ she said. ‘I am going to curtsey – you are the absolute queen of wedding dresses.’

  Caitlin laughed and shook their hands before they left. ‘It was good to meet you all. This job is lovely but today it felt very special.’

  Pamela, Fran and Heather linked arms as they walked along the street.

  My happiness buddies, thought Heather with a smile. I never even knew I needed them and now look at us.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said as they paused to say their goodbyes. ‘This was honestly one of the best days of my life.’ Pamela pulled her into a bosomy embrace.

  ‘Trust me, this is just the warm-up for your wedding – it’s going to be brilliant,’ Fran told her.

  ‘Enjoy your lunch.’ cried Pamela as Heather waved them off in the direction of the station and headed down towards the Tube. Heather’s renewed sense of hope about the future made her feel like dancing until she remembered that you didn’t really do that in London. Still, she broke the other golden rule and smiled at all the people on the Tube. She didn’t care if she looked like a crazy woman. She was getting married – it was actually happening. The pieces of her life were slotting into place. All Heather needed to do was make sure that she and Luke enjoyed more quality time together. That started today with her surprise lunch visit.

  She emerged from the Tube station and made the short walk to the glass-fronted offices of Luke’s building. She paused outside and her heart soared as she spotted Luke emerging from the lift. He didn’t see her so she pushed through the revolving doors and called to him.

  ‘Luke!’

  He was on his way across the atrium, his smiling eyes fixed on someone who was sitting close to the reception desk. He turned and stared at Heather with a look of surprise and something else she couldn’t quite read at that distance. She glanced over to where he was heading and felt an almost electric jolt as she recognized the person waiting for him.

  ‘Gemma!’ she cried, feeling nothing but joy at seeing her cousin.

  Gemma’s gaze flitted towards Luke and then back to Heather with an expression of joy and fleeting sheepishness. ‘Hey you!’ she cried, stretching out her arms ready to hug her cousin. ‘This is a lovely surprise. How was the dress fitting?’

  ‘It was great. I mean I missed you but it was great.’ Heather smiled, pulling her close. ‘But what are you doing here? I thought you were going to see your boss?’

  Gemma nodded slowly. ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I was doing and then I remembered that Luke worked around the corner so I thought I would pop by and say hello and, you know, catch up about your big day. It’s exciting that you’ve booked the venue.’

  Heather grinned. ‘Yeah and I’ve just picked my dress so I was kind of hoping to take my fiancé out for lunch to celebrate.’

  Luke nodded rapidly. ‘Sounds great. Where shall we go? Gemma, will you join us?’

  Gemma cleared her throat. ‘No, honestly, it’s fine. I should get back to Mum and Freddy – he’s got a bit of sniffle. But it was great to see you both.’ She gave Heather a tight lingering hug.

  When they pulled apart, she noticed tears in Gemma’s eyes. ‘Oh Gem, are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine. It’s my stupid hormones and I miss you, you know? I’m going to come and see you again soon, okay? Bye, Luke,’ she said, giving him a cursory peck on the cheek, before hurrying off through the doors.

  ‘Poor Gem,’ said Heather, watching her go. ‘I hope she’s okay.’

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Luke, taking her in his arms and kissing her gently. ‘Let’s go and get lunch. I want to hear everything about the dress fitting without you telling about the actual dress obviously.’

  She smiled up at him as he leant down to kiss her again and they walked out into the sunshine.

  Best. Day. Ever.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Fran

  Happiness List Thing

  1. Accept a world without Andy (too soon!)

  2. ‘Digital Detox’ day with kids

  3. Go on even more walks with Alan

  4. Have dinner with a nice man (NOT a date) & laugh if appropriate

  (he is nice and I did laugh)

  5. Stop feeling guilty and like Gary

  It had been a bad idea. A really bad idea. As soon as she’d agreed, she started to wonder if she could get out of it. But she couldn’t. Not without seeming rude and, like most British people, Fran would rather make herself hopelessly miserable than enter into any potentially difficult conversations.

  The problem was that it was too soon. She’d only been out with Gary once, and although it had been lovely, she needed more time to prepare for the possibility of a second encounter. So when he phoned, instead of staying calm and making up an excuse to give herself more time, she panicked.

  ‘Hey, Fran, I was wondering what you were up to at the weekend?’

  Fran heard the alarm bells go off in her head. Why are you panicking? It’s a harmless question. Now think. Do you want to go out with him or not? Take your time – no need to rush.

  ‘I’m taking Charlie to the National Gallery on Saturday – we go every now and then. I can remember my mum taking me to see The Sunflowers when I was a kid and not quite believing they were real,’ she gabbled.

  Gary laughed. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen them.’

  ‘You should come with us.’

  WHAT? Where did that come from? That is not taking your time, you idiot!

  ‘Are you sure?’

  See? Even Gary’s surprised that you’re inviting him on a day trip with your daughter. If anything, you’re probably terrifying the poor man. Quick – retract the offer!

  ‘Yeah, ’course! It’ll be great.’

  And by ‘great’, I presume you mean complete and utter disaster.

  ‘In that case I’d love to,’ said Gary.

  ‘Okay, let’s say eleven o’clock in the entrance hall.’

  ‘Looking forward to it.’

  Fran hung up and sank into the nearest chair. ‘You’re really, really bad at this thing called life,’ she muttered.

  The situation worsened when she told Pamela. ‘Ooh, that sounds like fun. I’ve never been to an art gallery before.’

  ‘You should come too,’ said Fran.

  For God’s sake, Fran. What is the matter with you?

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  Really? You’re going on a trip to an art gallery with Charlie, Pamela and Gary. You should ask your mother along too. Cat. Pigeons. The whole works.

  The weather was bright and warm as Fran, Pamela and Charlie made their way across Trafalgar Square on Saturday morning. Charlie paused to shake hands with Yoda the street performer and read the pavement art. Fran smiled as she watched her daughter, enjoying the welcome kiss of sun on her face.

  Maybe it would all be okay. Maybe something good would come out of bringing together this unusual mix of people – like when someone first put maple syrup with bacon and created a little piece of culinary heaven. Fran just prayed that it wouldn’t end up being like a ham and pineapple pizza which was, regardless of Charlie’s view, wrong-all-wrong.

  She felt a shiver of nerves as she led them up the steps to the main entrance and spotted Gary waiting as arranged.

  ‘Hi, Charlie,’ he said, holding out his hand. Fran was oddly touched that he’d addressed her daughter first.

  ‘Hi, Gary,’ said Charlie with a grin. ‘Wow, your hands are like bear paws. I’m going to call you Bear,’ she declared.

  Gary laughed before turning to Pamela. ‘Hello, Mrs T.
Fran told me you’ve never seen a real Picasso either,’ he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

  ‘No, lovey, and I’m rather excited!’

  ‘Come on,’ said Charlie, leading her by the hand. ‘I know where they are. We’ve been here like a million times!’

  Fran could feel Gary’s eyes on her. ‘Hello,’ she said, turning to look into his face, making a deliberate decision not to kiss him. A sangria-induced peck on the lips was one thing but in the cold light of day, with your daughter and slightly gossipy friend nearby? Probably best avoided.

  ‘It’s good to see you. Shall we?’ he asked, offering her his arm.

  It was an unexpected but charming gesture. Fran accepted with a smile, feeling like a Jane Austen heroine as they swept up the stairs.

  She loved the excited murmur of this gallery – she had often mused that every nationality in the world must pass through it each day, taking in the Picassos, the Monets, the Van Goghs. Some people barely registered the paintings, pausing only to look at them on a phone screen before taking a snap they would never look at again and moving on. Others stood or sat in quiet reflection, couples resting their heads on one another’s shoulders, students looking bored, children loving the shiny dark wood floors and huge pictures. She used to come here when she worked in London, ducking in off the busy street; taking a moment to stop and break the rhythm of the chaotic everyday.

  ‘Goodness, look at that poor girl,’ cried Pamela as they stood in front of the giant painting of The Execution of Lady Jane Grey a while later.

  ‘She was only sixteen,’ said Charlie sadly. ‘Poor Jane.’

  ‘Why don’t they help her?’ asked Pamela, pointing to the other figures in the painting. ‘I mean that woman’s no use to anyone – she’s fainted!’

  ‘Because they can’t,’ said Charlie. ‘That man’s going to chop off her head in a minute.’

  ‘I didn’t realize art was so brutal,’ commented Pamela. ‘She looks like a lovely young girl.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Charlie, taking her hand. ‘I’ll show you The Ambassadors – it’s Mum’s favourite because of the stretchy skull.’

  ‘Oh, okay.’ Pamela smiled and let Charlie lead her by the hand.

  ‘She’s a great kid,’ said Gary, as they followed on behind.

  Fran nodded. ‘Yeah, she is. I’m lucky.’

  ‘They’re lucky to have you too. It can’t have been easy. Sorry, understatement of the year, right?’

  ‘Just a bit.’ Fran smiled. ‘But we keep going.’

  Gary nodded. ‘Fran?’

  Uh-oh. This was the part where it got tricky, where he asked her difficult questions about how she was feeling and what she thought about him. The trouble was, she didn’t know. Gary was great – kind, funny, attractive and, most importantly, he understood. He got that this was difficult, that it wasn’t a boy-meets-girl situation. It was a ‘boy-meets-widow, who still thinks about her husband a lot’ situation. Difficult didn’t even come close. On paper, Gary was ideal – they liked one another, he made her laugh, he didn’t put her under pressure. It was perfect. Apart from one tiny detail.

  ‘I can’t do this, Gary,’ she said, turning to face him. She saw a flicker of disappointment in his eyes – it was fleeting before it was replaced with a look of kindness.

  He smiled and nodded. ‘I understand.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she told him, because she was. Sorry to let you down. Sorry to let myself down. Sorry that things can’t be different.

  ‘Can I ask one thing?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Did I come on too strong? Did I scare you off?’

  She stared into his eyes. ‘No. Not at all. It’s just that…’

  ‘Just what?’

  She gave him a sorrowful look. ‘You’re not Andy.’

  He held her gaze for a moment before taking her hand and kissing it. ‘No. But I’m here if you need me, okay?’

  Fran cursed herself. He was so kind, so lovely. Why couldn’t she make herself like him? And yet she knew the answer only too well. ‘Thank you.’ She blinked back tears. ‘And I’m sorry.’

  He looked into her eyes. ‘You have nothing to be sorry about. Okay?’ He kissed her hand again.

  Nothing to be sorry about and yet why do I feel as if I’m letting the whole world down?

  ‘But aren’t you coming for lunch with us?’ said Charlie after Gary told her he had to catch a train.

  ‘Not today,’ said Fran, feeling her throat go dry with guilt.

  ‘Yeah, sorry, Charlie, I have to work.’ Fran sent him a silent thank you for the lie.

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame but we’ll see you soon?’ she asked, reaching over to hug him, seeming tiny against his broad frame.

  Gary caught Fran’s eye and she looked away. ‘Come on, Charlie, let Gary go.’

  Yes, let him go and then we can get on with our lives and pretend that nothing has happened. It was all a big mistake.

  Gary patted Charlie’s head. ‘Bye, lovely girl,’ he said before disappearing into the crowd.

  Fran felt Pamela link an arm through hers. She turned, her eyes misting with tears. ‘I just can’t do it at the moment,’ she whispered.

  Pamela squeezed her hand in reply. ‘Well, I’ve had a lovely morning. Thank you so much for showing me those paintings, Charlie – it was all new to me but wonderful. And now I don’t know about you but I’m starving. How about I treat us to lunch?’

  Charlie grinned, immediately distracted by the idea of food. ‘Can we get pizza or McDonald’s or Pret?’

  ‘All three if you like!’ said Pamela beaming. She pulled Charlie into a hug as Fran shot her a grateful smile.

  ‘Yay!’ cried Charlie, linking arms with them both, all thoughts of Gary fading for now.

  A few days later, Fran found herself in the unusual position of having a spare hour before she had to pick up Charlie. Her editing was done for the day, the washing was folded, the house was reasonably clean and so Fran was lying on the sofa with a snoring Alan beside her, nursing a mug of tea. She cast around the room feeling fidgety and then annoyed at herself for being unable to relax. This was supposed to be blissful, wasn’t it? The kind of moment most mothers dreamt of – a whole hour. A whole hour. She stretched her aching arms behind her head and eased out her back. Alan greeted the disturbance by opening one eye and frowning quizzically at her.

  ‘Sorry, doggy. Just trying to get comfortable,’ she told him. He went back to sleep. She lay with her eyes closed and tried to take a power nap. How many times over the past fifteen years would she have relished the opportunity to indulge in a little snooze? About forty thousand times. That’s how many. And yet, she was restless, her mind wandering as images of Gary’s annoyingly handsome face flitted past. She snapped her eyes open. How ridiculous. Maybe she should read? Or watch TV? Or try a mindfulness exercise. She might even have some raisins in the cupboard, although they were probably out of date.

  She heard a key in the front door. Jude. Brilliant. She would make him sit and talk to her. They could eat biscuits whilst sharing stories of their day and enjoy some quality mother–son time.

  ‘Hey, Jude,’ she sang, Beatles-style. He had always giggled at this when he was small, loving the fact that he had his own song.

  ‘Nnnng?’ he grunted, peering round the door frame, a surly textbook-teenager look on his face.

  ‘Wow, what a treat to see my smiley, jolly son,’ teased Fran.

  ‘Don’t start, Mum,’ he warned.

  ‘Sorry. I’ll try to be less embarrassing by remaining silent and attempting to turn myself invisible.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘I’ve got homework. Lots of homework,’ he said, backing out of the living room and thumping up the stairs.

  ‘Alone again,’ muttered Fran. Alan let out a bored sigh. ‘Don’t say you’ve had enough of me too!’ she cried, ruffling his ears.

  Her phone buzzed with a call and she snatched it up gratefully, glancing at the caller ID. It was Charlie�
��s school.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mrs Parker? It’s Phil Metcalfe from Felmingham Primary. Charlie’s absolutely fine but I was wondering if you might be able to come in for a chat please?’

  Fran was walking so fast that Charlie had to run to keep up with her. She needed to get home as quickly as possible without seeing anyone she knew. If she could just make it through the front door and find a random object to kick, she might be able to calm herself in order to work out how on earth she was supposed to feel. At that current moment all she felt was shame and anger – hot, burning, destructive.

  ‘Mum, wait up!’ cried Charlie, half running, half skipping along behind her mother. But Fran kept going, she didn’t look back. She was furious with Charlie even though she knew she had no right to be. It wasn’t her fault, really it wasn’t but who else was there to blame? ‘Mum, please! Ow!’ Fran glanced over her shoulder to see Charlie sprawled on the pavement outside the Trotts’ house. She stared up at her mother with pleading eyes. ‘Ow, Mummy. I hurt my knee.’ Fran was about to make her way over when she spotted Heather emerging from Pamela’s house.

  She saw Charlie and rushed over. ‘Oh no, what’s happened?’

  ‘I fell,’ explained Charlie rather obviously, starting to cry. ‘It really hurts. And Mummy’s cross with me because I’ve been telling lies at school!’

  Heather glanced at Fran, who gave an exasperated nod. ‘Come on, let’s get you home,’ she said.

  ‘Please can Heather come in for a bit?’ asked Charlie tearfully.

  Heather smiled at Fran. ‘I’m free if you need me. I just popped in to fetch a couple of things for Pamela,’ she said, holding up a carrier bag.

  Fran realized she needed someone to talk to and Charlie loved Heather. ‘Sure, that’d be great.’

  They helped Charlie into the house, administered first aid and sat her on the sofa with a bowl of ice cream, an alarmingly bright and noisy cartoon on the television and Alan standing guard.

  ‘So what happened?’ asked Heather, following Fran back to the kitchen. ‘What’s Charlie been saying?’