by Annie Lyons
‘I only want you for your muscles,’ she’d joked before wincing at how inappropriate this sounded. Shut up, woman. You’re making it worse.
‘Well, obviously I feel hideously objectified but I’ll live with it,’ Gary had said with a grin.
Fran hadn’t been able to look him in the eye after that.
‘Big day then,’ said Gary, fixing her with a gaze that made her stomach skip. Get a grip, Fran.
‘Yeah, a bit.’
He paused in the doorway. ‘I hope it goes okay. You know where I am if you need me.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, feeling that odd sense of regret again as she watched him drive off.
Well, that was a mightily confusing day, she thought as she folded washing later that evening. On the one hand, she relished Gary’s friendship and didn’t want to spoil that, but, on the other hand, she felt an urge to be brave and see what happened if she snogged his face off. It was all a tad bewildering and she wasn’t entirely sure what to do about it.
Fran picked up a pile of Jude’s clothes and carried them to the landing. His light was still on so she tapped on the door.
‘Yeah?’ She pushed it open. He was sitting on the bed, earphones clamped round his head, strumming his guitar. He smiled up at her – her beautiful boy with his shock of orange hair. She saw whispers of Andy in his face now and something else, as if he was becoming a new, different version of his dad. It used to make her cry but now it made her smile. That had to be progress, surely?
‘Your laundry, sir,’ she said, placing the clothes on the side.
‘Thanks, Mum.’
She nodded. ‘Don’t stay up too much longer, okay?’
‘’Kay. I just want to finish this song.’
‘It sounds great by the way.’
‘Thanks.’ She paused in the doorway. ‘You okay, Mum?’ he asked, glancing up at her.
She smiled. ‘Yeah. So, it will be cool if Gary’s brother can get you tickets for that Ed Sheeran gig next year, won’t it?’
Jude nodded. ‘He’s a nice guy.’
‘Ed Sheeran?’
‘You know what I mean, Mother.’
‘Yeah but it was funny, wasn’t it?’
‘In a slightly lame way.’
‘Rude.’
‘Seriously though, Mum, I haven’t seen you as happy as this since…’
‘I know.’
‘You deserve to be happy.’
Fran blinked back the threat of tears and leant forwards to kiss her son on the forehead. ‘Bed,’ she said.
‘Love you, Mummy,’ he joked.
She shook her head and smiled. ‘I love you too, Julian Parker.’
Fran went downstairs and poured herself a glass of wine. Carrying it into the living room, she glanced at the battered old sofa where Andy used to sit. It had been worn out when they’d got it – a second-hand offering from Sam possibly. Andy had declared it to be the most comfortable sofa in the world, whereas Fran always felt as if she was slipping down the back, like Alice into the rabbit hole. She had been on the verge of replacing it before Andy died and had even picked out a beautiful new one from John Lewis.
She plonked herself down now and lay back. It was beyond uncomfortable and yet she felt a lurch of sadness, like she did when she got rid of the kids’ unwanted toys – as if the memories left with them. But of course, that wasn’t true. It was just stuff. And you couldn’t hang on to it for ever.
So, tomorrow’s the day.
Yep.
Well, don’t be sad – you’ve always hated this sofa.
True.
You don’t sound convinced.
It’s just that it feels a bit final.
It’s only a sofa, Fran.
Yeah, I guess.
You heard what Jude said. And you’re starting to realize it yourself, aren’t you?
Maybe.
So what do you want, Fran? You’ve spent all this time trying to work it out. It’s time to be honest. Tell the truth. It’s okay.
She sighed. I’m tired, Andy. I’m tired of being sad. I want a little bit of happiness again.
Then go for it, my love. Reach out and take it. I want you to be happy again too. It’s time to let go.
Fran and Heather rushed forwards to greet Pamela as they met for the final session of the course the following week.
‘You made it!’ cried Fran.
‘I made it,’ beamed Pamela, carrying a promising-looking tin under her arm.
‘How’s Barry?’ asked Heather.
‘Complaining because of his new diet but he’s lost three pounds already,’ smiled Pamela. ‘Mind you, I had to hide these cakes from him – he’s a devil.’
‘Tell him I’ll be round as usual for our walk tomorrow,’ said Fran. Barry was under strict instructions to exercise every day and had been accompanying Fran on her daily dog walks.
‘Ooh, that reminds me, he asked me to give you this,’ said Pamela, pulling a leaflet from her bag and handing it to her.
‘The Memory Garden,’ read Fran. ‘Oh yes, he was telling me about this woman who planted a garden after she lost her husband. She ended up founding a charity which uses gardening as therapy for when life gets tough – this looks very interesting.’
Nik clapped his hands to get their attention and they took their places. ‘Dear friends. Here we are for the very last time. I can hardly believe how quickly these ten weeks have flown by but I also feel that we have been through a great deal together in such a short space of time.’ There were murmurs and nods of agreement around the room. ‘Tonight, I would like us to consider what we have learnt and I would also like it to be a celebration of where we are now. I would therefore like to invite you to share your stories if you would like to. In the true spirit of hygge, please think of this as a safe place, without agenda or judgement. As I am encouraging you to share, I would also like to share my story with you. For me, this has been so much more than a course where I was the teacher. You too have taught me about community, about humanity and about friendship.’
Fran felt an unexpected jolt of emotion at these words. She noticed Pamela’s eyes mist with tears and took hold of her hand and smiled as Heather did the same.
Nik continued. ‘Back home in Denmark, I had everything – a good job in television, the perfect wife, the beautiful family. But I lost them all because I was selfish. I drank too much and I forgot the value of what it is to be happy. So, I came to England to try and rediscover what I’d lost. I went to a course, not unlike this one, and learnt everything I have tried to teach you. I am planning to go back to Denmark to hopefully make amends with my wife and family. I want to thank you for your part in helping me to do that because I am a different man to the one who first met you and I am grateful to you for helping me.’
There was a pause before Pamela jumped to her feet and started to clap. Fran and Heather rose to join her along with the rest of the room.
‘Thank you. Thank you, everyone.’ Nik smiled. ‘You are very kind. But tonight is about you. So please, I open the floor to whoever would like to share their story.’
The group eyed one another nervously before Sue stood up and started to speak. Everyone’s story was different, but Fran was struck by how each person had managed to find something that brought them joy, whether it be starting a business or volunteering at a refuge or singing in the choir – they had all found a different slice of happiness.
When it was Fran’s turn, she felt her mouth go dry. She always had something to say – a witty comment or self-deprecating remark, but this was different. It was time to get serious about happiness. Heather gave her an encouraging nod as she stood up and Pamela reached out to squeeze her hand.
Fran looked around the room, at this unlikely bunch of comrades.
‘I’m getting a new sofa tomorrow,’ she said.
There were nervous, uncertain glances from everyone except Pamela and Heather, who were smiling at her, their gazes steady and proud. She took a deep breath.
<
br /> ‘Most of you know that my husband died two years ago. It was very sudden and I felt as if someone had ripped my heart out of my chest and stamped on it.’ The room was pin-drop silent. ‘At first, I was absolutely furious – with him, with life, with everything really. And sometimes the grief was like an ocean – I was drowning, gasping for air. I couldn’t get my breath. And sometimes, it was like a shadow over my heart – dark and viscous and fucking awful. And people would say “you’re so brave”.’ Fran shook her head. ‘But I wasn’t. I was scared shitless and completely helpless. So I packed the grief away. I took it out from time to time and looked at it but I didn’t face up to it. And we had this sofa – it was Andy’s favourite. And after he died, I would sit on it and have these imaginary conversations with him. And that was a comfort but actually after this course and all of you…’ She looked towards Heather and Pamela, who were both crying and smiling, before glancing back at Nik, who was nodding with kind encouragement. Fran turned to the group. ‘…I don’t need to do that anymore. And so my version of happiness is this – in the here and now. And tomorrow it will be gardening at Mrs Loveday’s. And then dinner with my kids. And celebrating with Pamela and Barry next week. And that’s enough. Because the grief will always be there and I will always miss my husband. But I am allowed to be happy. And I want to be too.’
The room seemed to hold its breath before everyone rose to their feet. As Fran found herself surrounded by tearful, kind people, embracing and praising her, one clear thought resonated in her mind.
You are loved. Give in to it.
‘Oh, wasn’t it wonderful tonight?’ said Pamela as they strolled out onto Hope Street later that evening. ‘You were wonderful, ducks,’ she added, patting Fran’s arm.
‘Thank you. It felt good.’ Fran smiled.
‘I think we should go for a celebratory drink,’ said Heather. ‘Who’s with me?’
‘Why not?’ agreed Fran.
‘Good idea,’ said Pamela. ‘Simon’s staying for a few days so I’ll give him a quick call to let him know what I’m doing.’
‘You seem very happy, young lady,’ said Fran turning to Heather with eyebrows raised.
‘A wise friend told me to take things one day at a time so I’m doing just that.’
‘She sounds awesome.’
‘She is,’ grinned Heather. ‘But there’s another reason why I’m feeling chipper.’
‘Oh yes? Has Ryan Gosling been bombarding you with texts again?’
Heather laughed. ‘Of course! But aside from that, I’ve decided to train as a dance teacher.’
‘Oh wow. That’s fantastic!’ cried Fran, hugging her friend.
Heather smiled. ‘It was Pamela who got me thinking about it with her ballroom brilliance. I used to run a dance club at my last school. It was the one thing about my job I loved so I decided to give it a go.’
‘I’m proud of you,’ said Fran. ‘Put me down as your first pupil – I have zero talent but I’ll be a very enthusiastic learner.’
‘Well I do love a challenge,’ said Heather as Pamela finished her call. ‘Now come on, that Prosecco won’t drink itself – to the pub without delay!’
They hadn’t made it far along the street before Fran spotted Gary walking towards them.
‘Good evening, ladies.’
‘Hello, Gary lovey,’ said Pamela with a smile.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked Fran, when what she actually meant was, I’m so glad to see you.
‘I got your text.’
‘Oh. Right. Well, I didn’t mean for you to come over right away.’
‘I know. But I wanted to.’
Fran spotted Pamela and Heather, grinning at her like couple of loons. She laughed. ‘How about I catch you up?’
Heather lent forwards and whispered in Fran’s ear. ‘I bet you a tenner you don’t make it.’
‘See you later, Fran!’ said Pamela with a wink as they left.
Fran shook her head in amusement before turning to face Gary. ‘So. Here we are.’
Gary drew nearer and looked into her eyes. ‘Here we are.’
Come on, Fran, you sent the man a bloody text inviting him on a date and here he is – your big chance. Right in front of you. Don’t blow it now.
‘Yeah, about that text.’
‘Mhmm.’ He fixed her with a look that bore into her soul. Tell me the truth, it said.
She swallowed. ‘The thing is…’ His gaze was constant, the merest smile playing on his lips. Oh my God. I think I want to kiss him. ‘I like you,’ she blurted.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You like me.’
‘I like having you around,’ she added. Wow – practically a declaration of love.
He was smiling at her now, hanging on her every, lame, insubstantial word.
‘You’re not making this easy for me,’ she said.
She was having trouble keeping eye contact – his gaze was turning her insides to honey. He stared at her for a second longer before reaching forwards and kissing her – an astonishing, wonderful, electric kiss.
‘Does that make it easier?’ he asked as he drew back.
She stared into his eyes and allowed herself to fall. ‘Shut up and kiss me again.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
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!)
6. Teach other people how to bake
7. Let Matty go and be kinder to Barry
8. Appreciate what I have & how lucky I am…
9. Treasure the past, live for the present
Pamela glanced over to where Jim was climbing a stepladder, trailing a line of yellow, blue and red polka-dot bunting behind him.
‘You be careful, ducks! I don’t want any injuries today.’
‘I’ll be fine, Mrs T. I know exactly what I’m doing…woah!’ The ladder wobbled and Fran rushed forwards to steady it. ‘Thanks, Fran,’ breathed Jim.
‘No problem,’ she said. ‘How about I stay here and hold it for you so that we avoid any unnecessary trips to A and E.’
‘How many more balloons do we need to blow up?’ complained Jude, looking despondently at the half-dozen pearlescent ruby and silver coloured balloons scattered at his feet.
‘I love blowing up balloons,’ declared Charlie.
‘That’s because you never actually blow them up,’ pointed out Jude. ‘You inflate them so far before letting go cos you like the farting noise.’
‘That is totally not true,’ said Charlie, half-inflating the silver balloon she was holding before releasing her grip and giggling with delight as it whizzed around the room to comical effect. ‘Actually, I do like doing that,’ she admitted.
‘Okay, Parker children, you need to crack on,’ instructed Fran. ‘Have you tried using the balloon pump? I’m sure I put one in the bag.’
‘Now she tells us,’ said Jude, rolling his eyes at Charlie.
‘Here we are,’ said Pamela, bustling out of the kitchen with a tray. ‘Triple chocolate muffins for my little workers.’
Charlie and Jude fell upon them with glee. ‘Thanks, Pamela – these are epic,’ said Jude.
‘Is there a job you can do where you get paid in chocolate muffins?’ asked Charlie with genuine interest as she took a large bite.
Pamela smiled at them. There was lots to do before the party this afternoon but she was loving every second. If she had learnt anything over the past few weeks it was that life was fragile and precious. It was important to enjoy the small moments – the friendship, the laughter, the farting balloons. This was the stuff of life.
People always said that health scares were wake-up calls but Pamela hadn’t really understood that properly until now. As she faced the
fear of losing Barry, it was as if her life was brought more sharply into focus. On the night after his heart attack, when the doctors had assured her that he was in a stable condition and Laura had begged her to get some rest, she had gone home to an empty house, thinking that she would collapse into an exhausted sleep.
It didn’t happen so at two in the morning, she found herself pacing the floor, trying not to let the desolate thoughts take hold.
What if Barry has another heart attack while I’m here at home?
What if he dies and I’m not there?
What would I do then?
She phoned the hospital and spoke to the night nurse, who assured her that Barry was sleeping and that she should try to rest too. She made herself a mug of warm milk and carried it into the box room in search of comfort.
She traced a finger over the photos of Laura as a baby, then Matthew appearing a few years later and finally Simon – her three beautiful children, all doing their best at life, all working towards their own versions of happiness. Looking at these photos used to make her feel hollow with longing – desperate to go back and re-inhabit that world of small children with their sticky faces and tight fierce hugs. But things had changed. The creeping acceptance that her children had flown and would be okay was taking root.
I had that moment and I’m lucky. But it’s in the past and that’s where it has to stay – a treasured moment and a cherished memory. I’ll always have them but I have to live in the present now.
It was her life with Barry that was most important. Pamela could see that now. They had both taken the other for granted, but after forty years of marriage, was it any wonder? All she wanted at this moment was for him to get better so that they could enjoy the rest of their lives together. She would indulge his gardening, he would encourage her baking and they could be happy.
She felt a tear drop onto her favourite photograph – the one of the three children sitting on the beach in Weymouth, their ice-cream-covered faces grinning out at her. She let herself cry as the sadness and joy mingled.