by Annie Lyons
Fran flicked the switch on the kettle and set the biscuit tin on the table. ‘It’s more a case of what she hasn’t been saying. She’s been lying about everything. She said that she’s got a new dad called Gary.’ Heather winced. ‘She said that we’re getting married next year. And that I’m pregnant. No wonder some of the other mothers have been staring at my stomach. I should have noticed the warning signs when she drew this at the weekend.’ Fran plucked a picture from the side and held it out for Heather to see. Charlie had drawn four figures and a dog, labelling them in bright felt tip – Mummy, Gary, Jude, Charlie and Alan.
‘Bless her.’
‘Bless her? I should wring her bloody neck! She can’t go round saying stuff like that, she’ll end up in all sorts of trouble.’ Heather nodded, looking slightly cowed by the outburst. Fran sighed. ‘And that’s the thing – it makes me so bloody angry and I’ve got no right to that anger because it’s mostly my fault. I mean, I shouldn’t have dragged him along to the art gallery for a start. Charlie’s life is confusing enough as it is and that didn’t help.’
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ said Heather. ‘You’re doing your best. You’ve been through the worst thing imaginable. You need to cut yourself some slack.’
Fran placed a mug of tea in front of her, nodding wearily. ‘I know what’s happening. Charlie’s creating a new world that she thinks will make me happy,’ she said, unexpected tears springing to her eyes. ‘It’s not fair, Heather. It’s not fucking fair…’ Her voice broke off.
‘I know,’ said Heather, placing a hand on Fran’s arm. ‘Trust me. I know.’
Fran nodded. ‘She’s only ten, you know? She shouldn’t be taking that on herself, should she?’
Heather shook her head. ‘No.’
‘She’s trying to tell me to move on, isn’t she? She’s trying to help. But I just can’t do it, Heather. I can’t do it.’ She shook her head rapidly as the tears fell.
Heather grasped her friend’s hands and held them tightly. ‘You don’t have to do it on your own, you know? We’re here. Pamela and me. Okay?’ Fran gave a small nod. ‘And I honestly understand – I mean losing your husband is obviously completely different to losing your parents but grief is grief, it never goes away.’
Fran stared at her in surprise. ‘It doesn’t, does it? I don’t think people understand that. They think it’s something you get over, like a cold.’
Heather nodded. ‘Oh yeah. And then there are the ones who tell you that time is a healer.’
Fran shivered. ‘But you’re allowed to punch those people, aren’t you?’
‘Totally. It’s actually the law to punch them.’
Fran gave a weak laugh. ‘Oh, Heather, I’m a bloody mess.’
Heather shook her head. ‘No. You’re not. You’re actually facing it head on, possibly for the first time.’
Fran looked shocked. ‘Am I?’
Heather nodded. ‘Yeah and you’re being incredibly brave about it so keep going and remember, you’re not alone.’
Fran sniffed and wiped her face with a tissue. ‘Shut up. You’ll set me off again.’
Heather laughed. ‘Seriously though, you’ll get there.’
‘Where?’ The eternal question.
Heather thought for a moment. ‘I can’t tell you that because everyone’s different but, for me, it was when I accepted that Mum and Dad were gone and I could allow myself to be happy.’
‘Makes sense.’ Fran nodded. ‘And when did that happen?’
‘Probably when I met Luke. He gave me a reason to be happy again.’
Fran smiled. ‘Well, you deserve it.’
Heather fixed her with a look. ‘You do too and you’ll find whatever it is you need – it might be Gary or it might not but you can’t live for Charlie or anyone else. You have to find your own way.’
Fran put an arm round Heather’s shoulders. ‘You’re wise for a young ’un.’ Heather laughed.
‘Can Heather stay for tea?’ asked Charlie, sloping into the kitchen and putting an arm around Heather’s other shoulder.
‘I don’t know. Can Heather?’ said Fran smiling at her.
‘Well, Pamela is out at choir tonight and Luke’s working late. Again. So yes, I’d love to – thank you.’
‘Yay!’ cried Charlie, punching the air.
Fran shifted her weight on the sofa and tried to get comfortable but it was impossible.
And Charlie’s okay?
I think so. I’ve booked a few more sessions with her old bereavement counsellor so that she can talk it all through.
And what’s your take on her lying?
Fran sighed. The poor kid thinks it’s down to her to make me happy.
And who is it down to, Fran?
Don’t be clever. You know it’s down to me.
So what are you going to do?’ he asked.
If I knew that, would I be lying here having this conversation with you?
A knowing laugh. I guess not.
Heather thinks I’m in the middle of facing my grief.
Do you believe her?
Yeah, I think I probably do.
So keep going then. You’ll get there.
You always did have great faith in me.
You need to have faith in yourself now.
But we can still do this, can’t we? I can still talk to you, can’t I?
Of course, Fran. For as long as you need me, I’m here.
Chapter Fifteen
Pamela
My Happiness List
1. Just bake
2. Dinner with Matthew and Barry – be in the moment! (DISASTER)
3. Go dancing with Barry? (Not likely)
4. Laugh like we used to! (with Heather instead)
5. Try something new – lovely trip to art gallery with Fran & Charlie (and Gary!)
Pamela did her best to suppress the jitter of nerves she felt as she made her way to Hope Street community hall that evening. Nik had asked her and the other volunteers to arrive half an hour early. She was carrying a large bag containing all the ingredients for a batch of chocolate chip cookies. She’d chosen something easy to make because she wanted it to be fun but she also knew the recipe inside out. Pamela was anxious enough about teaching other people to bake and didn’t need the extra worry of getting muddled with some complicated recipe.
Heather had tried to reassure her before she left. ‘Seriously, Pamela, you’ve got this. All you have to do is be yourself – people love you and your bakes are amazing. It’s going to be fun. Everyone on the course is on your side. Don’t worry.’
‘Thanks, ducks.’ Pamela smiled as she gathered her ingredients. ‘I’ll see you in a bit.’
You’ve got this, you’ve got this, thought Pamela as she neared the hall. She knew it was silly to be worried. She could practically bake chocolate chip cookies in her sleep. It was just that she’d never done anything like this before. She’d never taught anyone anything, apart from the kids but that didn’t count. Laura had seemed able to cook from the second she could hold a wooden spoon and never needed her mother’s help. She had tried to teach Matthew and Simon to bake but they had always been more interested in the licking the bowl or flicking ingredients at one another. She smiled at the memory. She was missing Matthew and felt a little hurt that he hadn’t been round to see her. He’d sent her the odd text to check she was okay but that was it. She tried to put it from her mind, but still, it niggled.
She was so distracted and nervy as she entered the hall that she walked straight into the person coming the other way.
‘Pammy!’ exclaimed Barry, unable to disguise the relief in his voice at the sight of her.
‘Oh, so Nik did ask you to come,’ she replied indignantly, taking a step back.
Barry eyed her sheepishly. ‘Is that okay?’
Pamela shrugged. ‘Makes no difference to me what you do,’ she retorted, surprised at how off-hand she was being. In truth, she was glad to see Barry but she wasn’t going to tell him this o
f course – she had to make a stand, had to make him see how she felt. It was her only hope.
Barry looked hurt but didn’t have a chance to respond before Nik appeared. ‘Good evening, Pamela. Are you all set?’
‘I think so,’ she replied, walking past Barry without a backward glance.
Keep going, Pamela. You’ve got to make him see.
Nik followed her to the kitchen. ‘Thank you for agreeing to do this – don’t forget to try out anything else that interests you. We have a dance class, Sue is going to do some paper-crafting, your friends from the choir are coming and obviously Barry is running the gardening workshop.’
‘Mmm,’ said Pamela, her shoulders stiffening at the mention of her husband. ‘I’ll probably stay in the kitchen – it’s where I’m most at home.’
Nik smiled. ‘I hope I haven’t made things difficult for you by asking Barry along.’
Pamela folded her arms. ‘Barry Trott just needs to realize a few home truths,’ she said, surprised at how determined she felt.
Nik nodded. ‘We all do from time to time. My wife left me because I let her down.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Pamela. ‘What happened?’
‘I ended up here,’ he replied, spreading his arms. ‘She is in Denmark and I am here, realizing the home truths.’
‘I’m sure you’ll get there,’ said Pamela kindly.
Nik smiled. ‘I’m sure you will too.’
Pamela felt buoyed by Nik’s words as she set up in the kitchen. She was glad she’d taken a stand, not only for her sake but for Barry’s and Matthew’s too. She knew too many women of her age who put up with faltering marriages and unhappy families. She wasn’t prepared to do that. She wanted something strong and joyful, something she remembered from her youth – an essence of that carefree time, which could carry them into the future. Surely that was possible.
Half an hour later, Pamela heard the clamour of people arriving. She felt her nerves settle a little as Jim’s cheery face peered around the doorway.
‘Evening, Mrs T. What are we baking?’
‘Chocolate chip cookies. Pop on an apron and we’ll get started once a few other people arrive.’ She smiled as two more bakers walked in to the kitchen. She heard music pump through the speakers and the sound of the dance teacher giving instructions.
‘Okay, let’s make a start,’ she told her three bakers. She felt her shoulders relax as they smiled back at her, ready to learn.
You’ve got this, Pamela.
‘We need to cream the butter and the sugar together like this,’ she explained, after they had measured out the first ingredients.
‘I haven’t got a wooden spoon at home,’ said Jim sadly.
‘Well you can take that one home with you, lovey,’ said Pamela. ‘I’ve got hundreds!’
‘Aw thanks, Mrs T!’
She smiled. ‘So we need to put a bit of elbow grease into this. I find it’s a good way to get rid of your stress.’
‘I’m going to do this after the school run,’ said a lady called Emma. ‘And then after mealtimes. And bedtimes.’
‘Whereas I’m going to do it after I’ve spoken to my ex-husband,’ joked her friend, Tasha.
Pamela laughed. ‘You’re all doing brilliantly. Come on, Jim, the girls are showing you up!’
Jim mopped his brow. ‘This is hard, Mrs T, my arm’s aching already!’
She laughed. ‘Next we add the vanilla essence and egg.’ Pamela watched as they followed her instructions and realized that she was enjoying this. She’d never fancied herself as a teacher but there was something very satisfying about sharing her knowledge with others, even if it was only a simple cookie recipe.
Pamela was momentarily transported back to when she was a girl and she’d taught Ernie how to bake. It made her breathless with longing as she recalled him standing at her elbow, his big eyes staring up at her in awe as she showed him what to do.
‘Is this okay?’ asked Jim, holding out his bowl for inspection, bringing her back to the present. She realized that Ernie would have been about the same age as Jim now.
‘Looks perfect to me, Jim.’ Pamela smiled, as the warmth of the memory surrounded her like a hug. Jim grinned with pride. ‘So next we sift in flour, bicarbonate of soda and a pinch of salt. And then we add the chocolate chips – I like to use a mixture of white, dark and milk.’
‘They look amazing!’ declared Emma as Pamela lifted a tray of baked cookies onto the side a while later. ‘Mine always end up burnt at the edges.’
‘Try starting with a cooler oven, ducks – not hotter than 175 degrees.’
‘Okay, will do. Thanks, Pamela.’
‘Yeah, thanks,’ agreed Tasha. ‘That was great.’
‘Mmm,’ said Jim, who was licking his spoon. ‘How long until we can try them?’
Pamela grinned. ‘They’ll be cool enough to eat at tea break. Well done, everyone, that was great.’
‘So-o, how did it go?’ asked Heather, nudging Pamela when they met at the break.
‘I really enjoyed it,’ admitted Pamela.
‘See? I told you. You’re a natural,’ said Heather.
Pamela beamed. It was strange but she felt about a foot taller as a wave of newfound confidence washed over her. It was a lovely feeling – unexpected and welcome. ‘How about you?’
‘I did the dance thing. It was brilliant!’ smiled Heather, giving a little shimmy. ‘I channelled my inner Beyoncé. It made me remember how much I enjoy dancing. I might have to take it up again properly. I’d love to try a bit of ballroom.’
Heather’s eyes were bright like a child’s. Pamela’s heart went out to her. ‘I could teach you the basics. The waltz is easy – it would make a lovely first dance for your wedding.’
‘That would be amazing!’ cried Heather.
‘Look what I made,’ said Fran, appearing beside them, holding up an impressive hanging basket, bulging with colour.
‘Wow, how gorgeous,’ said Heather. ‘I might give that a try after tea.’
‘I know you’re cross with Barry at the moment,’ said Fran to Pamela. ‘And rightly so, but, man, he knows his stuff. I am completely inspired to try and do something with my weed-fest of a back garden.’
Pamela pursed her lips. ‘Yes well, if only he could put as much energy into being a husband and father, we wouldn’t be in this mess.’
Fran put an arm around Pamela’s shoulder. ‘I can remember arguments with Andy that lasted for weeks because we were too stubborn to talk to each other.’
‘He started it!’ huffed Pamela.
Fran gave a wry smile. ‘That’s what I used to say.’
Pamela looked chastened. ‘Oh I know, Fran, and I’m sorry. I know you’d give anything to have Andy back here to argue with.’
Fran squeezed her shoulder. ‘Sorry to state the bleedin’ obvious but life is short and staying angry with people is pretty much a waste of time and energy.’
‘It’s true,’ said Heather. ‘Annoying but true.’
‘I know.’ Pamela sighed. It made her wonder if she should speak to Barry – at least give him a chance. She noticed him stealing glances at her during the tea break and felt a tinge of regret for deliberately ignoring him.
‘Anyway,’ said Fran, ‘sorry if you thought the baking workshop was going well because that’s all about to change – you’ve got me next and I am blessed with a frightening ability to burn everything I put into the oven!’
Pamela laughed. ‘Sounds like my kind of challenge!’
The choir had set up in the corner. Pamela waved to Nat, who was grinning at her from the front row, whilst Caroline gave a politely nodding smile. Their MD, Guy, turned to address the room. ‘Good evening, everyone. We’re the Hope Street Community Choir and we’re going to sing a couple of songs, after which, you are cordially invited to join us for a singing workshop. We meet here fortnightly on a Thursday for singing, laughter and cake, baked by Hope Street’s favourite baker – Pamela Trott.’ Pamela blushed as the ch
eer went up. ‘We’re going to start with one of our favourites – “California Dreamin’ – so please join in if you’d like to!’
Pamela sang along with the choir for a while, spurred on by their energy and enthusiasm. The hall was buzzing with activity and she felt inspired by the sense of community, of belonging and being together – it was something she didn’t think about very often but something she valued a great deal.
‘Right, come on, Mary Berry,’ said Fran, when the song ended. ‘You’re about to face your baking nightmare!’
‘Thank you to my wonderful volunteers for showing us a veritable smorgasbord of new hobbies,’ declared Nik at the end of the evening. ‘Personally, I found it wholly inspiring and hope that it’s given you lots of ideas. This week’s homework shouldn’t be a big surprise – I want you to either find something completely new to throw yourself into or immerse yourself in something you already love. This is about continuing to learn, growing confidence and enhancing our own sense of well-being. Good luck and thank you all again.’
Pamela smiled at Nik and noticed that Barry was looking over at her, like a lost soul. She shot a glare in his direction and felt a pang of guilt as he turned away sadly. She remembered Fran’s words and made her way over to where he was sweeping up spilt compost with a dustpan and brush. He glanced up at the sight of her shadow.
‘Oh hello, Pammy,’ he said with a fearful edge to his voice, clearly worried that he was about to get shouted at.
‘I hear you’ve inspired Fran,’ she said.
Barry smiled as he stood up. ‘She wants me to go round and give her a few suggestions.’
Pamela nodded. ‘That’s nice of you.’
The silence inched towards awkwardness. ‘So. How have you been?’ he asked.
‘Fine,’ she told him. ‘I like staying with Heather. She’s very appreciative.’ Pamela hoped he might take the hint.
He didn’t. ‘That’s good. Any idea when you might come home?’
She stared at him in amazement. ‘Is that all you’ve got to say? When are you coming home? Have you even tried to work out why I left?’
Barry stared at her in desperation. ‘I’m sorry, Pammy, I’ve never been very good at feelings. Please tell me what you want me to say.’