Everything is Fine: The funny, feel-good and uplifting page-turner you won't be able to put down!

by Gillian Harvey

  ‘It’s … it’s OK,’ she said at last.

  ‘So … I got an email through from Mindhack Publications,’ he continued clearing his throat and changing the subject. They’ve had a lot of enquiries – people ringing up, emailing …’

  ‘That’s brilliant!’

  ‘Yes, apparently one of the clips has gone viral.’

  ‘Oh wow – fab news!’ It was hard to get her mind off the kiss, now he’d admitted how he’d felt. Well, it had been nice. ‘So,’ she continued, trying to sound professional and on the ball, despite the fact that her heart had started to race. ‘Your publisher is keen that you do a few book signings, maybe a reading? Would you like me to put out some feelers?’

  ‘Sure, yes.’

  ‘OK. Well, I’ll get onto it and we can discuss the details.’

  ‘Brilliant. Thanks, Jess.’

  ‘Welcome. See you soon.’

  Hanging up her phone, she saw that pupils were now starting to stream out of the gate. Anna was walking with a group of girls she didn’t recognise. When she saw the car, she said something and ran over.

  ‘You OK?’ Jessica said, as her daughter got into the car.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘All right this morning?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Sorry I didn’t ring.’

  A shrug.

  ‘I really did mean to.’

  ‘I know.’ Anna looked at her then, her eyes bright. ‘But you’re busy – I get it.’

  ‘Never too busy,’ Jessica said, rubbing her daughter’s leg slightly before starting the engine. ‘I’ll do better, I promise.’

  She was about to suggest that they popped out for something to eat as a treat later, when, as they pulled up outside the house, she realised yet again someone was standing on the doorstep. This time it was Dave, with a bunch of lilies. Her favourites.

  ‘What’s this?’ she asked as she got out of the car.

  ‘Just saw these, and you know …’ he said. ‘We are engaged after all!’ He winked.

  ‘You’re what?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Engaged … but,’ Jessica said, with a smile that felt more like a grimace.

  ‘When were you going to tell me?’ Anna’s face visibly paled.

  ‘Well, we hadn’t really—’

  ‘Your mother thought I should come round and we could tell you together,’ Dave said, nudging Jessica slightly. ‘We thought you’d like to hear it from both of us.’

  ‘But I thought you’d … Hadn’t you split up or something?’

  ‘We’d …’ Jessica unlocked the door and tried to put an arm around her daughter.

  But Anna had had enough. Silently, she walked into the house and disappeared upstairs, her feet thudding with insolence.

  ‘Poor kid,’ Jessica said, feeling the familiar guilt rush through her system. ‘Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he replied. ‘Kids, eh!’

  It wasn’t ‘kids’ though, was it? Anna was reacting as anyone would in her confusing situation. And Dave had made it worse. Had he not even considered how Anna might feel?

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, doubtfully.

  ‘I wanted to come over to say we ought to start discussing ideas. But I’d better let you sort that out first.’

  That? Did he mean Anna? His theoretical stepdaughter-to-be?

  ‘Ideas?’ she said.

  ‘Yeah. Flowers. Venues. Lots to do.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she said, in what she hoped was a deliberately sarcastic tone.

  He kissed her then, a big, familiar but non-sexual smacker, right on the lips.

  ‘Goodbye, bride-to-be. And sorry, you know, for the upset.’

  She waved and smiled as he drove off, but couldn’t shake a nagging concern, as she dropped the elaborate bouquet on the hall chair and padded up the stairs to console Anna with more lies and half-truths.

  Did Dave actually think this engagement was real?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Just dropped my entry off to the @ArtisArt competition. So excited! #ampainting #penisguy @StarPR

  Hugo’s Tweet was accompanied by a large photograph of the piece of artwork in question. And so far had received 1.2k retweets. He was clearly embracing his penis-guy identity as far as social media went.

  She didn’t click to read any of the 126 comments that the tweet had received, but liked it and hoped against hope that Candice wouldn’t notice that her boss was the subject of the painting. She might not even look that closely, surely? And the online thumbnail was pretty small unless you clicked on it.

  Before she could think about it too much, the phone rang on her desk. An unknown number. ‘Star PR, Jessica speaking!’

  ‘Hi, Jessica.’ It was one of those callers who expected Jessica to know their voice without actually introducing themselves.

  ‘Oh hi! How are you?’ she asked, desperately flicking through her in-brain database of potentials.

  ‘Yeah. Yeah all right.’

  ‘Great.’

  There was a pause in which Jessica could actually feel her heart hammer against her rib cage.

  ‘So,’ the caller continued. ‘I was finking about my career and that.’

  ‘OK?’

  ‘An’ I fought maybe I need a better team on the case, you know?’

  ‘Right.’ So a potential new client, hopefully? Either that or she was being sacked.

  ‘Yeah, I mean, it’s good to get some adverts an’ that, but you know them nappy fings, they’re not exactly me, not really.’

  Tamzin Peters. Jessica’s heartbeat slowed now she’d identified the voice. ‘Right.’

  ‘So, I fort maybe, I dunno, you could ’elp?’

  ‘Yes. Yes of course.’ Jessica straightened herself in her chair. ‘Well, obviously we’d love to work with you, if you’re looking for new representation.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, I fort maybe I could come in or somefink?’

  ‘Yes, no problem at all.’ Jessica began to scroll through her online diary. ‘How’s tomorrow sound?’

  ‘Actually, I fort I might pop in in a minute,’ Tamzin said, sounding a bit put out. ‘You naw, get on wiv it an’ that?’

  ‘Oh …’ Jessica paused for a minute, looking at her schedule. She could shift some things around. ‘OK, sure of course!’ Business was business after all.

  After giving Tamzin directions, she hung up the phone and asked Candice to set up the meeting room: a small, glass-fronted affair in the office, which boasted four royal-blue plastic chairs, a small table and a plastic pot-plant with dusty leaves.

  Jessica cleared the empty cups from her desk and tucked her hair back behind her ears.

  Minutes later, Tamzin appeared in the doorway. Candice – a big fan of Dagenham and Diamante – virtually fell over herself in her haste to greet her. ‘Hello, Tamzin!’ she said, sticking out a manicured hand. ‘I’m Candice, Jessica’s, ah, assistant! Let me show you to the room.’

  ‘Aw, ain’t it cute!’ Tamzin exclaimed on seeing the tiny meeting room. ‘Really dinky, innit!’

  ‘Yeah, we’re a boutique firm – we prefer to keep things smaller and intimate,’ Candice said, delivering the well-rehearsed line.

  ‘Thanks, Candice,’ Jessica smiled, appearing in the doorway looking – she hoped – efficient and welcoming. ‘Hi again, Tamzin.’ She stuck out her hand, but Tamzin had other ideas.

  ‘Hi, babe!’ she exclaimed, planting an elaborate kiss on each of Jessica’s cheeks, one of which was coated in cover-up where a spot had appeared overnight.

  They sat opposite each other, Tamzin wiping her mouth on the back of her sleeve as she did so.

  ‘So, you’re thinking of …’ Jessica began. But before she could go on, she saw Tamzin’s face change.

  ‘Ere, who’s that?�
� she asked, pointing at the glass panel behind Jessica.

  Jessica turned and nearly jumped out of her skin. Dave was standing there, his face practically pressed up against the glass, clutching a huge bouquet of flowers.

  #BadTiming

  ‘Oh hang on,’ she said trying to maintain her carefully crafted calm and business-like exterior. ‘I’ll just have a word.’

  She opened the door and stuck her head out. ‘Hi, Dave, I’m sorry, it’s not a great …’

  But he interrupted her.

  ‘You’re too good to be true,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Can’t take my eyes off of you …’

  ‘Look, seriously, Dave, what are you talking about?’ Couldn’t he see she was busy?

  But it got worse. He began to croon, in a surprisingly high, almost girlish voice. ‘You feel like heaven to tooouuucchhhh.’ He pushed the flowers into her hand and picked a microphone out of his inside jacket pocket. Candice, over at her desk, reached down and soon the screech of feedback emitted from a speaker concealed under her desk. She was also holding Dave’s phone, Jessica realised. Filming.

  ‘I wanna hold you so muuuuccchhhhh.’

  ‘Dave, this really isn’t …’ Jessica wondered, briefly, whether Dave had completely lost the plot.

  She glanced back over her shoulder and saw that Tamzin had now started filming everything on her mobile phone too.

  At least it couldn’t get any worse, Jessica thought. But like most thoughts of this nature, this was almost immediately proven wrong.

  Four men, at least one of whom she recognised from the gym, marched in, wearing tuxedos as music suddenly burst out in the background. They began to dance, elaborately, and picked Dave up, placing him in the centre of their group just in front of Jessica. ‘I love you, babbbyyy, and if it’s quite all right, I need you babbbyyy,’ they chorused.

  She began to feel a little bit faint. Perhaps this wasn’t really happening? Perhaps she was ill? That was it. She was ill, in bed and hallucinating.

  Before she had time to react, hands suddenly grabbed her and she was held aloft by the four men. They spun her round like a doll, setting her down in front of Dave just as he … Just as he … Just as he began to kneel down.

  ‘Let me love youuuu, baby, let me love youuuuuu!’ he finished, putting down the microphone and opening a ring box which he brought out of his pocket with a flourish.

  She looked up. The four men looked at her expectantly. In the background, Candice was watching, entranced. Natalie was standing by the doorway, practically giggling with delight. And, of course, Tamzin’s phone continued to record the whole bizarre spectacle, no doubt for the world (or at least her several million Twitter followers) to see.

  It wasn’t the right time to ask him to sit and talk to her; to work out how they felt. To ask him to cool it, or suggest that they go on a few dates. Or find out whether he really thought they could make it work in the long term or whether he was really committed to making a family with Anna. That sort of thing would really bore their audience.

  So, really, she had no choice.

  ‘Oh Dave!’ she gushed. ‘I’d love to marry you!’

  He pushed the ring onto her finger, stood up and planted an enormous kiss on the lips. His friends grinned, then everyone burst into spontaneous applause. As proposals go, it was pretty bloody perfect.

  Except, of course, it was completely and utterly fake. At least, she thought, it must be. Then again, surely even Dave wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble just to get a few hits on social media?

  With a sudden lurch, she looked up at the face of the man she’d just publicly promised to marry and saw that his cheeks were flushed, his eyes were bright. And the smile upon his face was completely and utterly genuine.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  It was later than usual when Jessica left the office and headed to her car. Candice and Natalie had left at 5.30, but with Anna out at Jenny’s tonight, she’d stayed an extra hour to clean up her inbox, sort through the pile of paperwork that had been gathering in her in-tray and attempt to recover from Dave’s unexpected serenade and proposal.

  As usual, her car was parked in one of the bays marked out for their shared office space, and as she walked towards it, she saw some movement. A small figure with dark, curly hair was standing next to the passenger side, facing away from her. ‘Bea?’ she said, as she approached, wondering what on earth her friend was doing at Star PR’s offices, the other side of town from the hospital where she worked.

  ‘You didn’t answer your phone earlier,’ her friend said, without turning around properly.

  ‘No, sorry, I was going to—’

  ‘Does it ever occur to you,’ Bea continued, turning and staring at Jessica with eyes so puffy and sore from crying that she was barely recognisable, ‘that other people have things going on their lives too?’

  ‘Bea! What’s happened!’

  Her friend barked out a short, dry laugh. ‘What am I even doing here?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Jessica raced round the car and wrapped an arm around her friend’s stiff shoulders. ‘I’m glad you’ve come here. I should have returned the call, I shouldn’t have cancelled on you. I should have …’ she trailed off, realising the list of should-haves would probably take about an hour if she recited them all. When had she become such an awful friend?

  Bea made a move as if to shrug the arm off, but then something changed within her and she collapsed against Jessica, her chest heaving with sobs. Jessica dropped her bag and wrapped both arms tightly around her, feeling her face, hot against her shoulder like a sick child’s. ‘Shhh,’ she said, not knowing how else to react at seeing Bea – the strongest person she knew – in such a state. ‘Shhh, it’s OK.’

  Minutes later, they drove out of the car park, Bea staring silently out of the passenger window. ‘Bea,’ Jessica said again, softly. ‘What’s happened? You have to tell me.’

  ‘I don’t even know where to start.’

  ‘Try though,’ Jessica glanced across. ‘Please.’

  So Bea tried. She told Jessica how she and Mark had been trying for another baby since two years after the twins were born. ‘I didn’t tell anyone,’ she said. ‘It’s just, I suppose, I wanted to have a girl. You know, silly really,’ she wiped a hand across her face, smearing make-up, tears and snot across her skin.

  ‘So, nine years?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Bea glanced over. ‘You feel daft at the start, you know, trying for another baby after you’ve had twins. Then you feel embarrassed that’s nothing happening.’

  ‘But it’s normal, you of all people must know that!’

  ‘That’s the thing with infertility though,’ Bea said. ‘It’s one thing knowing all the stats and the facts, it’s totally another when it’s happening to you. After a while, I even began to get jealous of some of the new mums – can you imagine! A midwife cooing over your new baby and wishing it was hers!’

  ‘But that must have been torture for you!’ Jessica said, pulling on the handbrake and unclipping her seatbelt as she stopped the car in front of her house. ‘Come on. Come in.’

  Over a coffee, Bea told her how she’d had all the tests four years ago, when it had become really apparent that something was up. But nothing could be found. ‘We have what’s called unexplained secondary infertility,’ Bea told her, wryly. ‘Which is pretty much the same as the doctors saying they don’t have a clue why you’re not banged up by now.’

  Jessica set a plate of biscuits – ginger ones, coated in dark chocolate – on the table. ‘So, did you try any treatment or anything?’

  Again, the short, clipped laugh. ‘Oh, only for about three years,’ Bea said. ‘Let’s see. Clomid.’ She counted on her finger. ‘That’s a lovely tablet that makes your hormones go into overdrive so you fire eggs out at a rate of knots,’ sh
e explained. ‘Then IUI, where they stick needles into your stomach and then you go into a clinic where a doctor shoots a syringe of your hubby’s sperm up your baby tunnel,’ she said, raising a second finger. ‘Then the joys of IVF. Three times, two failures – each felt as if someone was reaching in and ripping my heart out, not to mention draining our bank balance.’

  ‘So, you’ve been going through all these years of hell and you haven’t let on at all?’ Jessica felt a tiny, inappropriate surge of anger. ‘Why didn’t you confide in me?’ After all, she’d been crap recently, but some of this had happened years ago.

  ‘I know,’ Bea was silent for a second, then looked up. ‘When we started trying, I thought it would be easy. I wanted to surprise everyone with our happy announcement!’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Then time went on, things got more serious. And I suppose there was never the right time to say anything. Then the IVF, well, that was more recent …’

  ‘Right.’

  They sat and sipped their coffee silently for a moment before Jessica said: ‘Hang on, you said three IVFs …’

  ‘That’s right …’

  ‘And two failures? Does that mean … are you?’

  Her friend’s eyes told her all she needed to know.

  ‘Not any more,’ she said, grimly. ‘I was, briefly. Eight weeks. Then the early scan the other day and … no heartbeat.’ Tears began to silently slip down her cheek and splash onto the wooden counter. ‘God, I’m so angry at myself! The way I’ve chirpily told women not to worry about an early miscarriage, that it wasn’t even a baby yet, or that they can try again in a few months.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘But it was a baby, Jessica. To me. All the embryos we produced, all those tiny collections of cells. All babies.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Jessica asked, after a pause.

  ‘I don’t know. Nothing, I think. Mark wants to stop, and he’s right. We’ve barely a credit card that isn’t maxed out; it’s going to take us years to pay off our misery.’