Other memories began to flash up, happy ones: summers spent making daisy chains in the meadow behind Granny’s cottage, making the journey at dawn to the market in a van bursting with the perfume of cool fresh flowers, pinching pieces of fern – my favourite foliage of course – and other small flowers and making fairy bouquets with offcuts of ribbon from the haberdashery stall …
The sound of rustling fabric interrupted my thoughts. Maureen had moved away and was back in her own chair. She spoke soothingly, bringing our attention back to the room and after a few moments, invited us to open our eyes. Laura stretched her arms above her head and I blinked to refocus my vision.
My face was wet with tears and when I looked across at Laura, so was hers.
‘How do you feel after that?’ Maureen held out a box of tissues and we both took one.
Laura wiped her cheeks. ‘Good. Relaxed. I didn’t realise it had made me cry.’
‘And what brought on those tears?’ she probed.
Laura twisted the tissue round and round and stared down at her hands. ‘Guilt, I think.’
My heart melted for her; what could she possibly have to feel guilty about? She was good to her dad, a hard worker and a saint when it came to dealing with me.
‘You have a good heart and a great capacity for love,’ said Maureen kindly, ‘but don’t forget that you are also worthy of love. It’s fine to let others lean on you, but value yourself and remember that your happiness is just as important as theirs.’
Laura flushed and a fresh crop of tears appeared in her eyes. ‘Do you think?’
Maureen inclined her head. ‘I know.’
‘I’m probably to blame.’ I gave my friend a watery smile. ‘Laura has been my rock just recently.’
‘I can tell,’ said Maureen. She tilted her head. ‘Fearne, what was going through your mind during the healing?’
‘Oh …’ I shrugged casually, not meeting her eye. ‘Memories. Games I played with my brother. Things I used to love doing. Happy times.’
‘Would you say your life is happy now?’ she asked in a soft voice.
Her direct question put me on the back foot. I felt the familiar constricting of my throat.
‘I can’t … I don’t …’ I flicked a glance at Laura, hoping she might step in but she simply nodded encouragingly. I took a deep breath. ‘No, it isn’t.’
‘Perhaps you’ve lost sight of what makes you happy,’ she persisted.
I nodded, tears blurring my vision. My brother had lost his life and I hadn’t worked out how to fill the gap he’d left behind.
‘My advice to you is to be kind to yourself, allow yourself to find your way back to happiness. Maybe you’ve put up barriers to protect yourself but don’t be scared to connect with people and let them into your heart.’
I stared at her, unable to voice my feelings. A wave of annoyance flared in my chest: if only it was that simple. I was ready to leave now, I needed some air. I hadn’t expected to be affected as deeply by this session, but I felt totally exposed as if my skin had been peeled back and Maureen could see everything about me.
‘Thank you, that was really … useful,’ I said hurriedly, getting to my feet. I handed her back the stone I’d been holding. ‘Is that quartz?’
She didn’t take the crystal from me, she held my gaze instead. ‘You chose selenite. It’s a calm stone. It brings a deep inner peace, perfect for someone who might be grieving.’ She folded her hand over mine. ‘You keep it. A gift from me. I wish you well for the future, Fearne.’
My voice had evaporated but I managed to smile and nod my thanks.
‘And this?’ Laura held out her blue stone. The metallic flecks twinkled where they caught the light. ‘What did I choose?’
Maureen smiled knowingly. ‘Sodalite. It eliminates mental confusion and improves communication to help you verbalise your feelings. I hope it has helped?’
Laura’s eyes flicked briefly to mine. ‘I think so. I’ll certainly try.’
Maureen insisted on Laura keeping her crystal too and after clasping both of our hands and wishing us well, she sent us on our way.
Once we were out in the corridor, we headed for a squishy sofa and both collapsed onto it with relief.
‘Never again.’ I groaned, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyeballs. ‘How weird was that? So apparently I’m a misery guts and you need to work on your communication skills.’
I shoved Laura’s arm playfully, expecting her to join me in poking fun at what had just happened. But when she met my eye, her face had gone deathly pale.
‘There’s something I’ve got to tell you.’ Her voice shook. ‘Something I’ve been trying to tell you but I haven’t had the courage.’
A trickle of fear ran down my spine, a hundred awful possibilities whirring through my head.
Please don’t be ill. Please.
My mouth had gone dry. ‘What is it? Tell me?’
‘It’s not a bad thing, it’s a good thing, at least …’ She swallowed as if she might be sick. ‘I hope it is. Because if you didn’t think it was, then …’
‘Jesus, Laura, my heart is going like the clappers here.’ I gripped her hands. ‘Put me out of my misery.’
‘It’s Hamish and me,’ she blurted out. ‘We’re seeing each other.’
I was lost; what was so earth-shattering about that? ‘Well that’s nice for you, when?’
‘No,’ she said slowly, ‘I mean we’re together; as in I love him.’
Laura and Hamish? My Laura, and my brother’s best friend.
My jaw dropped open. Of all the things she could have said, that one hadn’t even crossed my radar. They’d known each other for years, but not well and there’d never been a spark between them. Or at least so I’d thought. And I saw them both separately all the time and neither of them had mentioned it.
Laura was staring at me, waiting for my reaction, but I was so stunned I couldn’t react.
‘Well, that’s unexpected,’ I managed shakily. ‘Since when?’
There was a beat of silence.
‘We swapped numbers at the funeral and—’
My gasp stopped her in her tracks.
Freddie’s funeral. July last year. The worst day of my life. Correction: second worst. The day I found out he was dead was off the scale.
I sat back against the sofa, taking this in. Laura squeezed my hand but I slid my fingers from her grasp and turned my face away. While I was burying my big brother, our two closest friends were setting up their first date. I felt physically sick.
‘How could you?’ My voice was barely audible, and tears spilled down my cheeks. I shook my head, trying to remember the events of the day. ‘Of all the places. And as for Hamish, I thought he was genuinely cut up at the funeral. But now it turns out he was working on his chat-up lines.’
‘It wasn’t like that, I promise.’ She held her hands up, pleading with me. ‘Initially we thought we should stay in contact because we were worried about you. I didn’t even see him again after that until December. We just texted each other or talked on the phone.’
‘What happened then?’ I said stonily.
‘Hamish found tickets to some Christmas party he’d been supposed to go to with Freddie and he got really down. He rang me to tell me how much he missed his best friend and I suggested we met up.’
I folded my arms. ‘He could have rung me.’
‘How could he?’ Laura sighed. ‘You were suffering yourself, he didn’t want to burden you with his grief.’
My heartbeat was thumping so loud that I could hear it whooshing in my ears. ‘And all that time you never thought to tell me?’
‘A million times,’ she groaned. ‘But we wanted to be sure that it was serious before we told you. It hasn’t been easy to find the right moment.’
We, we … already they were a couple. A pair. And three was a crowd, everyone knew that.
I should have been happy for her, for them both. But all I could feel was betrayed. The two
people who’d been my closest allies, by my side, helping me through the last few months, had secretly been dating, laughing behind my back, having fun, having sex even … Bile rose in my throat. I’d never felt so alone in my life.
I glanced around the spa pointedly.
‘And you think this was the right moment?’ I tried to keep the emotion from my voice, which resulted in an icy staccato tone that sounded nothing like me at all. ‘When we’re supposed to be having a nice day together.’
She reached towards my arm. ‘Maureen gave me the courage …’
‘Stop.’ I shrugged her off me and jumped up. ‘I can’t listen to this. I’m going to be sick.’
I stormed off along the corridor and Laura ran to catch me up.
‘Fearne, wait! Please be happy for me. Remember what Maureen said, that I deserve happiness.’
It was true. Even through the mist of my anger I knew it was true. Laura did deserve to be happy. I hated that I was behaving like this: angry and selfish. But right now it felt like another loss. Only this time I was losing both Hamish and Laura, to each other.
‘Please leave me alone,’ I said in a shaky voice, reaching the door of the changing rooms. ‘I’m going home.’
‘Maureen was right,’ Laura said sadly. ‘You have forgotten what makes you happy. And until you find it you’ll never be able to move on with your life.’
I whirled round to face her.
‘Why are you so obsessed with me moving on?’ I drew air apostrophes over the words. ‘And what exactly am I supposed to be moving on to, anyway?’
‘Oh, Fearne.’ Laura’s shoulders slumped.
I pushed the door open and went inside; the wounded look on her face nearly undid me. If she spoke, I didn’t hear her, which was just as well. Because I simply wasn’t ready to hear it.
Chapter Three
The row hovered over me all the way home like my own personal rain cloud. I felt wretched; I’d never quarrelled with Laura before. If it hadn’t been for Scamp, I’d have probably made a den under my duvet and stayed there for the rest of the weekend, curled up with my own misery.
I was ashamed of my reaction to her news; of course Laura deserved to be happy and she deserved my support. But I was hurt too. We’d always been there for each other; I didn’t have any secrets from her and I couldn’t believe she had fallen in love with someone and not confided in me. And not only was Hamish in on the deception, he was the cause of it, which made me feel more isolated and despondent than ever.
My spirits lifted a little as I pulled up outside our – my, I corrected myself automatically – house, a pretty little Victorian terrace on the outskirts of Chesterfield; there, perched in the front window was Scamp. Ears pricked and front paws, one white, one black, resting on the back of the armchair I’d put there especially for him to keep a lookout. I was pretty sure that he was waiting for Ethel to come home, which melted my heart and made me perhaps a bit over generous with the dog treats to compensate.
Freddie and I had bought the house between us seven years ago; we’d had the best fun doing it up and for a time it had been known as party central among our friends. For the months following his death, I’d hated the special kind of silence Freddie had left behind him. Having Scamp to come home to had helped No. 78 Pineapple Road feel like home again.
‘Hello, you gorgeous boy.’ I crouched down to let Scamp give me his usual enthusiastic welcome and felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I took it out and read the screen: text messages, from both Laura and Hamish. I wasn’t ready to listen to them. Not yet. Instead, I cancelled the dog walker who’d been due in at lunchtime and took Scamp out for a long walk.
‘You’re the best thing to happen to me this year, you know,’ I told him as we stopped at a pedestrian crossing. He looked up at me adoringly, two chocolate brown eyes under expressive bushy eyebrows. The crossing started to beep and Scamp tugged me across the road, eager to get to the park on the other side. Once through the gate, I let him off the lead, laughing as he lolloped off to the spot where two months ago he’d found a discarded sausage; he never gave up hope of finding another. I envied him his optimism.
Ethel had left me a letter asking me to look after him if anything happened to her. A dog fills a space in your heart you didn’t know was there, she’d written. And she’d been right; Scamp had quickly worked his way into my affections as well as my home, and I was simultaneously looking forward to and dreading the day that Ethel returned to her house next door. Scamp ran back to me, his tail wagging wildly, and dropped a filthy tennis ball at my feet. I picked it up gingerly and Scamp yelped with glee as I threw it for him. Part Border collie, part Jack Russell, he had longish legs, wiry fur and perky ears. Despite his arthritic hips and advancing years he raced after the ball with all the enthusiasm of a puppy. At least I was making someone happy today, I thought wistfully, thinking of Laura alone at the spa.
So much for our lovely day of pampering. I wondered whether she’d left after I did, or maybe she’d phoned Hamish and asked him to join her. I shook the image of them both from my head for now. At some point I’d have to get in touch with them, but until I worked out what I was going to say I needed to keep myself occupied.
There was one obvious job I could do: sort out Freddie’s room. Until Christmas, I hadn’t been able to clear any of his belongings; his coats had still hung on the hook in the hall, a heap of discarded trainers below them. The shelves in our little living room had bulged with his books and DVDs and his dumbbells still served as a doorstop. Since the start of January, I’d been tackling a room at a time, gradually removing traces of my big brother. All that remained was his bedroom. I’d been putting that off until last; it was such an intimate space and it was going to feel like such an invasion of Freddie’s privacy. Hamish had offered to help me and I’d accepted. Now it looked as if I was going to have to do it alone.
Or …
I could get some work done instead. Perfect, I thought briskly. Work it was; Freddie’s room could wait for another day.
I called to Scamp, clipped his lead back on and we set off for a lap around the lake before heading home. Data crunching might not be the most thrilling way to spend the day, but at least I’d get ahead on the big project my team was delivering to clients next week. And, maybe working on a Saturday would give me some extra leverage with my boss, Bernie, because I had a favour to ask. Again.
By six o’clock that evening my eyelids were beginning to droop from staring at the screen for so long. But as a distraction tactic it had worked – every time I’d found my thoughts returning to Laura and Hamish, I’d given myself a shake and focused hard on my report. I’d squirrelled away in comfort: in front of the fire, with Scamp pressed to my thigh and my laptop on my knee. I’d work this way every day if I could, I thought, stretching my arms above my head before composing an email to Bernie, my boss, to give him an update.
Tuesday was D-Day for our big annual presentation. Clients from Japan, Portugal, Germany and South Korea would be tuning in to a video call to watch what we at Zed Market Trends were predicting would happen in the world of office paper over the next five years.
Being a senior market analyst in the paper industry might not sound thrilling; in fact, everyone I told about my market niche had a habit of glazing over. Until, that was, I got them thinking about the supply chain (or paper chain as I jokingly described it). From forests in Indonesia, to paper mills in Scandinavia right through to the UK’s stationery retailers, billions of pounds were invested to keep our home printers supplied. And it was the trend-predictions made by my company that helped steer that research and development across the world. Heady stuff …
OK, well, I found it interesting anyway.
I emailed Bernie my PowerPoint slides ready for Monday and a second later a reply pinged into my inbox:
Working on a Saturday? Very dedicated! All we’re waiting for now is the data from Seattle and I can work on the summary.
I typed one back:
That should be in by Sunday night. There’ll be plenty of time on Monday for the team to have a run-through before the presentation on Tuesday.
The presentation which I had no intention of delivering. The prospect of all those international boffins hanging on my every word filled me with dread. Giving presentations used to be a piece of cake for me, but now I abstained from cake completely whenever I could. My heart sank as another email popped up from Bernie:
Fearne, you are going to deliver this presentation, aren’t you? Because it’s time you got back in the saddle. It’s been a long time since Frankfurt.
Frankfurt.
I shuddered so violently at the memory that Scamp scooted closer and pushed his nose onto my lap.
It had been on a work trip to Frankfurt that I’d felt the full force of losing my brother. After Freddie’s funeral I’d crunched up my grief into a tight ball, pasted on a smile and headed off to a trade show in Germany with Bernie to give a talk to Norwegian engineers about 3-D printing. As I stepped from the taxi outside the conference centre, a motorbike courier pulled up in front of me. He swung his leg over the bike and pulled his helmet off to reveal a close-cropped blond head. He could have been Freddie’s twin.
‘Freddie?’ I’d gasped, grabbing the sleeve of his leather jacket.
As the complete stranger stepped back from me in alarm, the world had spun and gone black.
I came to, clammy and confused, surrounded by a group of Germans and a very worried Bernie with his arms around my shoulders. I recovered quickly, or at least I thought I had, until an hour later, when Bernie and I had commenced our presentation to the Norwegians. Grief exploded like an airbag in my chest and I couldn’t breathe, let alone talk. Bernie had been brilliant. He’d organised a taxi to take
me back to the hotel and given the presentation without me. Since then, the thought of speaking in public brought me out in a cold sweat.
My Kind of Happy - Part One: A New Leaf Page 2
