Happiness for Beginners

by Carole Matthews

  As soon as I can speak again without keeling over, I shout, ‘You can all go down to the tea room and have a drink and a biscuit. You’ve done really well today. Good work everyone! It’s soon going to be home time, so I’ll see you all tomorrow.’ There’s a mad dash out to the yard. I think it was the word ‘biscuit’ that did it.

  I’m not sure that they all understand the significance of this, but that’s the way that it should be. I’m the designated worrier.

  ‘Well done, you beauty,’ Bev says as I join the group again. She crushes me to her. ‘You’re a little star.’

  ‘This is our saviour.’ I tip my head towards Shelby.

  She lets me go and makes a beeline for him. ‘Come on, give us a hug, big boy.’ Shelby looks quite startled as she wraps herself around him like a boa constrictor and squeezes.

  When he’s starting to turn blue in the face, I whisper, ‘Put him down now, Bev.’ And, thankfully, she lets go. The ink is barely dry on the contract and I don’t want my friend crushing him to death with her joy.

  Alan nods his approval, but his face – now returned to its usual passive mode – gives nothing away. I’m assuming he’s joyously happy like the rest of us, but who knows?

  ‘You’re pleased, Alan?’ I venture.

  ‘Aye.’ He flicks a thumb towards the yard. ‘I’m going to see if pig’s all right.’

  He wanders off. As I said, overjoyed.

  ‘So.’ I sidle up next to Lucas. ‘Surprised?’

  ‘Stunned is more the word I would have chosen.’ He looks at me squarely. ‘I did wonder why dad was showing more interest than usual about this place.’

  I hope that I don’t flush too much. I’m hoping that his father’s interest isn’t purely out of altruism for the students and animals. I’d like to be in the equation too.

  ‘Cut him some slack,’ I say, lowering my voice. ‘He’s been great and he’s helping us to fund the first few months until we get on our feet there.’

  ‘He’s loaded,’ Lucas points out. ‘It’s nothing to him.’

  ‘That may be. However, he didn’t need to come to our assistance,’ I remind him. ‘But he has. For that, I’m very grateful. The new site is really beautiful. I can’t wait for you to see it.’

  ‘It’s just a shame they’re going to decimate this one.’

  ‘I know.’ I put my arm round his slender shoulders. ‘Nothing in life stays the same. Sometimes that’s for the better. Sometimes it’s infinitely worse. But it’s life, Lucas, and we all just have to do our best to work round it.’

  ‘I’m glad that you’re not closing Hope Farm. I know that I moan a lot, but I’ve no idea what I’d do if I couldn’t come here every day.’ He risks a grin at me. ‘I quite like it really.’

  I hug him. ‘Some days you do hide it well,’ I tease. ‘But I’m glad you feel like that.’

  ‘Don’t get slushy,’ he says. ‘I can’t stand it.’

  ‘OK.’ I let my arm drop from his shoulder. ‘Let’s go and prise your Dad away from Bev.’

  How can I tell him that despite our last minute rescue, he might not be coming with us? It’s the only thing that’s blighting my happiness today and I don’t want to burst Lucas’s bubble either, especially after he’s done so well with the younger kids. Besides, it’s Shelby’s job to tell him what’s going on and the future plans he has. Despite being eternally indebted to the fabulous Mr Dacre, I could still kill him when it comes to how he deals with his own son.

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Too soon, it’s the day of the benefit concert that Shelby is throwing for us and I’m all of a-jitter. He’s called it Hope Farm Festival, which sounds very grand. I’m trying very hard to concentrate on the task in hand, but keep starting something, forgetting what I’m doing halfway through and starting something else. Gah.

  We’re due at Homewood Manor for six o’clock as Shelby is holding a champagne reception before the concert starts. We’re taking a small, hand-picked selection of the more amenable animals and they were all washed and groomed earlier today in the hope that they might actually stay clean for five minutes. Some of them have even managed it. I’ll swear that they’re worse than a bunch of toddlers.

  I’ve drafted in a handful of our students’ parents to help look after the animals during the festival as I want Bev, Alan and our young people to be able to relax and enjoy themselves today. I might even give it a go myself.

  I’ve had nothing to do with the actual organising of this evening, that’s all been down to Shelby and the folks who he’s press-ganged into helping him. We’ve exchanged a number of rushed telephone calls about the logistics and updates on progress this week but of our kiss, there’s been no further mention. I have been trying to organise one little surprise for the evening, but I’ve no idea how successful I’ve been. I have my fingers crossed that I can pull it off.

  The weather for the day is set to be fabulous, so that’s one less thing for me to worry about. We so rarely have warm, balmy evenings even in the height of summer, but it looks as if we have struck gold. Perhaps all my stars are coming to align or something and the universe is looking kindly at me.

  Checking my watch, I realise that we need to be loading up the truck soon. Bev and Alan have been to the Manor this morning to set up our little area, taking the banners to advertise the farm and the fencing to keep the animals from running amok. Thankfully, my reliable volunteers have all arrived and, as soon as they’ve finished their tea and biscuits, we’ll get Buzz, Tina Turner plus Dumb and Dumber all loaded up. Some of the bunnies have already gone down there this morning with Alan and Bev along with a few of the prettier chickens – the ones who have feathers and the usual complement of legs and eyes. We know full well that our challenged chickens tend to be more robust than some of the fluffier breeds – they’re survivors against the odds – yet, because of how they look, people can shy away from handling them as they don’t want to hurt them.

  Once we get the animals loaded, Bev returns. ‘Alan’s set it all up nicely,’ she says. ‘It’s looking great. I think Shelby has bought up the world’s supply of bunting.’

  ‘Good. Good.’

  She gives me a hug. ‘No need to look so terrified. It will all be wonderful. All we have to do is turn up and drink champagne. How hard can that be?’

  ‘I should go and get changed.’

  ‘Me too. Did you have a shower this morning?’

  ‘Yes, Mum.’ I give her a look.

  ‘We adore you even when you smell of pig shit, but the celebrities of Homewood Manor may have delicate noses. They may be more used to Jo Malone and Givenchy than eau de manure.’

  ‘I have washed. I will, eventually, comb my hair.’

  ‘What are you wearing?’

  ‘A dress,’ I inform my friend. ‘A new one.’

  ‘Never.’ She looks at me aghast. ‘From where?’

  ‘I popped out and did a quick tour of the charity shops in Aylesbury on Thursday evening.’ This is akin to me canoeing the entire length of the Amazon or circumnavigating the earth in a hot air balloon.

  ‘Blimey,’ Bev says. ‘You are pushing the boat out. You didn’t tell me.’

  ‘I don’t tell you everything.’ I give her a cheeky wink. Though, in all honesty, I thought if I mentioned needing a dress, she’d be fixing me up with her leopard-skin number and I don’t think that this is an animal-print kind of do.

  We wave the truck goodbye and I try not to fret.

  ‘Come on,’ Bev says. ‘Let’s get a wiggle on. We don’t want to be late for our own party.’

  My stomach lurches with nerves. ‘I just want to go and see if Teacup is OK.’

  ‘He’s fine. And, if he’s not, it’s too late to do anything about it now. ‘ Bev grabs my arm and marches me towards the caravan. ‘I’ve brought my make-up so that I can do you too.’

  I knew she’d want to cover me in slap again and I already realise that resistance is futile. Bev armed with a carrier bag of cosmetics is an
unstoppable woman.

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  Throwing fiscal caution to the wind, Bev and I splash out on a taxi to take us to Homewood Manor. We might well go home in the truck with a bunch of troublesome, smelly animals and Alan, but at least we’ve arrived in style.

  We ask the taxi driver to drop us at the gates so that we can enjoy the walk up the drive to the house. Bev pays and we climb out. Then we pause for a moment and look at the grand house.

  ‘Who’d have thought,’ Bev says and links her arm through mine.

  ‘Not me,’ I admit.

  ‘You’ve done us proud, Molly,’ she says sounding quite emotional.

  ‘You haven’t seen the new land yet,’ I tell her. ‘But I’m sure you’ll love it.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what it’s like. It just means that the good work of the farm can continue. The animals won’t end up on the scrapheap or in a glue pot and you won’t have to go out into the real world to get a proper job.’

  I laugh at that. ‘You neither. I reckon we’d both be unemployable now.’

  ‘Not if they saw us poshed up like this,’ she says. ‘Gawd, we look like ladies of the manor.’

  ‘Infinitely better than looking like ladies of the night.’ After my extensive tour of charity shops, I found a Coast chiffon dress in Oxfam. It’s black with pastel-coloured roses and has a floaty, two-tiered skirt which the assistant told me had a high-low hem – who knew? All I can tell you is that the front stops just above my knees while the back drapes down to the ground. I bought some gold, strappy sandals too and only hope that I don’t turn my ankle as my usual footwear of choice is welly boots. I’ve teamed it with a black cashmere wrap that was Hettie’s – which only has one tiny moth hole in it – and a little clutch bag that she had squirrelled away. My hair is freshly washed and trimmed courtesy of the kitchen scissors. I can only hope that Christian Lee doesn’t look too closely at it.

  ‘That is one show-stopper of a dress,’ Bev says. ‘You scrub up well, love. That is seriously going to turn heads.’

  I know that we’ll be mixing with the glitterati tonight and I did want to try and blend in as best I could – given the fact that I’m in a charity shop frock and not Gucci. Besides, there’s only one head that I’d like to turn. ‘I do feel good in it,’ I admit, giving a little swish of my skirt. ‘Not bad for a tenner.’

  ‘Total bargain,’ she agrees. ‘Someone, somewhere should regret binning that.’

  Bev looks lovely tonight, too. She’s wearing a mauve maxi dress with shoestring straps, a sparkly silver shrug and silver sandals.

  ‘I’m so going to bag myself a television star tonight,’ she says. ‘Even a minor one would do. As Shelby Dacre already seems to be taken, I’ll try for someone out of Holby City or Corrie.’

  ‘Do you think it will all be famous people?’ I ask anxiously.

  ‘It bloody well better be. Famous people with fat wallets and loose morals, I hope.’

  ‘They’ll be starting without us if we don’t get a move on,’ I warn.

  ‘Let’s go and knock them dead,’ Bev says.

  So we link arms and make our way down the meandering drive, the scent of summer sweet in the air and a knot of anxious anticipation in my stomach.

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  At the back of the house, the party is already in full flow. The garden is strung with bunting and hundreds of fairy lights and looks beyond magical. On the stage a string quartet plays an Ed Sheeran tune. There are groups of deckchairs for seating in front of them and hay bales scattered around. The smell of barbecuing food drifts towards us. The set-up might be similar, but the atmosphere is so different to the afternoon event we attended before. It’s so sophisticated and grown-up. I don’t think that I’ve ever been to anything remotely like this before. The tickets have, apparently, cost a small fortune and I’m glad that Shelby gave all of us at the farm free passes as we’d never have been able to afford to come. I know nothing about Shelby’s world, yet even I can recognise some of the well-known faces among the guests.

  Bev and I look at each other and, in unison, say, ‘Blimey!’

  ‘This is going to be a good night,’ she whispers. ‘I can feel it in my water.’

  I screw up my nose. ‘TMI.’

  ‘The animals are down in the corner where we set up before. We’ll take a circuit of the lawn, do some star-spotting and then we’ll go to see them. I don’t want to smell of goat when I get a selfie with Danny Dyer.’ She cranes her neck. ‘I thought Alan might be down there already, but I can’t see him.’

  ‘I hope he’s wearing his best band T-shirt.’ I’m certainly glad that I made the effort to spruce myself up. If he turns up looking like he normally does we’ll have to hide him.

  ‘Are we having a bet?’ Bev asks. ‘Just don’t tell him if I get it right. He seems to have finally forgotten that he offered me a hot date and I don’t want him reminding.’

  ‘Hmm. I’ll go for Kings of Leon.’

  ‘Cheeky one,’ she says. ‘I’ll go conservative and have a guess at Coldplay.’

  ‘I like it.’

  We cross the terrace and pick up two glasses of chilled white wine as we go. Bev and I clink them together and Bev says, ‘To us. Here’s to a brilliant night and a secure future.’

  ‘I’ll drink to that,’ I agree and so we do.

  Toast finished, we’re about to negotiate walking down the steps onto the lawn when I see Shelby at the other side of the party near the stage. He looks so debonair in a dinner suit that my heart goes into overdrive and pitter-patters so much that I have to stop and take a few deep breaths.

  ‘Holy flipping moly,’ Bev whispers. ‘He is smokin’ hot!’

  He is. I can’t deny it. Then he looks up and our eyes meet across the crowd. I’ve never really believed in all this romance stuff, probably because it’s never happened to me. But, at this moment, everyone else fades away and it’s just Shelby and me. The air feels charged as if there are extra atoms and stuff. Amid the hubbub, a bubble of calm links us. There’s definitely a chemistry between us, a connection – I’m sure of it. Though this may be the very reason why he’s a national heart-throb. Perhaps every woman feels the same when he looks at her. Ah, well.

  Then someone touches his arm and pulls his attention away from me. My heart sinks just a little bit as I come back into the here and now with Bev babbling on beside me. It will be impossible for me to grab even a few minutes with him tonight even though I realise that’s not the reason we are here.

  ‘… he’s on TOWIE or is it Made in Chelsea? I don’t know. One of them.’

  ‘What?’ I say.

  ‘Back in the room,’ Bev tuts. ‘If you’re not even listening to me how are you ever going to know your reality stars? Come on, let’s get closer to him so I can check him out.’

  I’ve still not a clue who she means.

  Yet she yanks on my arm and I move with her. But as Bev and I negotiate the stairs, I see Shelby making his way through the crowd, shaking hands, kissing cheeks, patting shoulders as he goes, but I’m absolutely sure that he’s making a beeline for us.

  Bev nudges me. ‘Incoming,’ she says, but I’m already more than aware of it.

  With perfect timing, as we reach the bottom of the stairs, Shelby arrives in front of us. ‘Ladies,’ he says, eyes glittering. ‘You’re both looking absolutely beautiful tonight.’

  ‘Thanks, Shelby,’ Bev says and she leans in for a kiss on the cheek.

  Then Shelby reaches forward, puts a hand on my arm and kisses me softly. I’m thrilled when his lips linger a moment too long and I can feel the warmth of his fingers on my skin.

  ‘This looks absolutely fantastic,’ I tell him. ‘I’m blown away.’

  ‘I’m glad you could make it.’

  ‘You’re kidding. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’

  ‘Let’s hope that we raise a ton of money for the farm.’

  ‘I hope so too.’

  ‘You ladies bot
h have a drink?’ We hold up our glasses. ‘Can I get you anything else?’

  ‘We’re hot to trot,’ Bev says.

  ‘My role is to mingle tonight, so I hope that you’ll excuse me. Molly, I’d like to introduce you to some people even though I know it’s your idea of hell.’ He grins at me. ‘Is that OK?’

  ‘It’s the least I can do after you’ve organised all this.’

  ‘Good.’ He gives my arm a gentle squeeze. ‘I’ll catch up with you later.’

  Then he’s gone, swallowed by the crowd again.

  We both watch him go. Bev says, ‘If you do have a fling with him, can I have him when you’re done?’

  ‘I’m not going to be having a fling with him,’ I assure her. ‘Our business relationship is purely platonic.’

  ‘You’re forgetting that you told me about getting jiggy with him in the hay?’ Bev’s eyes widen.

  ‘Sssssh!’ I look round to make sure that no one else heard, but no one is paying any attention to us. ‘I shared that with you in confidence.’

  ‘And I shall take your sordid secret to my grave with me,’ she swears. ‘Bet you want to do it again, though.’

  I sigh. ‘Of course, I do. I’d be mad not to.’

  ‘Tell me again how good he was.’

  ‘No.’ I hold up a hand. ‘He’s my landlord now and that would put me in a very compromising position.’

  She snarfs at that.

  ‘You know what I mean. Besides, look at my competition.’ I wave a hand at the beautiful people on the lawn. ‘Look at them.’

  ‘Actresses, models, soap stars, singers.’ She shakes her head at me. ‘I bet none of them can trim the toenails of a stroppy alpaca single-handedly.’

  ‘That’s probably quite true. Nor indeed would they need to.’

  ‘Don’t underestimate the importance of these skills.’

  ‘You are a fool,’ I laugh.