The Seven Secrets of Happiness

by Sharon Owens

  And then she remembered her car parked neatly at the back door of Tom’s cottage. And Tom couldn’t even drop it off at her flat because she had the keys safely in her handbag.

  Oh, fuck this, Ruby thought. My car is still at his house. I forgot all about the stupid bloody car. Oh well, this is just great. This is just sweet altogether. My car is out there in the middle of nowhere. There’s no way I can get it back without him seeing me. Noah would bark his head off for a start. And I can’t send someone else out to fetch it without insulting the man completely. What the hell am I going to do now?

  Ruby stayed in bed all afternoon and didn’t even bother to eat lunch.

  At eight o’clock that evening the phone rang for a third time. Tom, three glasses of wine in him, had become desperate. He might as well get the full brush-off and do it properly he told himself as he let the phone ring for a full five minutes. But Ruby didn’t hear the phone ringing because at that moment she was in the Errigle Inn with Jasmine, having a third glass of wine herself.

  ‘Ruby, stop being a total wimp and give the guy a call,’ Jasmine scolded her.

  ‘No, I can’t. My confidence has deserted me entirely,’ Ruby sighed.

  ‘You don’t have to sleep with the poor man, Ruby. Just get your car back and then make a date to have another drink with him,’ Jasmine advised gently.

  ‘I’m afraid to face him again,’ Ruby admitted.

  ‘Why? Do you still fancy him?’ Jasmine asked immediately.

  ‘Sort of. Yes, I do fancy him.’

  ‘I knew you did.’ Jasmine nodded wisely.

  ‘Well, obviously I fancy him,’ Ruby said crossly. ‘But nothing can happen.’

  ‘Not right away,’ Jasmine agreed. ‘Not until you feel good and ready.’

  ‘Not ever,’ Ruby said.

  ‘Oh, Ruby, you’re being silly now,’ Jasmine scolded.

  ‘But I feel awful, Jasmine. I feel like I’m committing adultery,’ Ruby whispered.

  ‘I’m going to the bar for a refill,’ Jasmine groaned. ‘I’ll get you one too, shall I?’

  ‘No, just a lemonade for me, honestly. I’m plastered already on three glasses of wine.’

  ‘Ruby, they’re only pub measures, for God’s sake. Added together they wouldn’t even fill a decent-sized wine glass. I’m getting you one more drink and then maybe you’ll be able to pick up the phone and ring Tom.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Well then I’ll ring him for you,’ Jasmine said, patting Ruby’s hand.

  ‘I’ll fire you if you do,’ Ruby said crossly.

  ‘Ruby, you’ve got to stop threatening to fire me,’ Jasmine smiled. ‘We both know you’ll never do that. I’m the best sales assistant in Belfast and you know it.’

  ‘Okay, I won’t fire you,’ Ruby admitted.

  ‘Look, have a sleep on it and you might feel better tomorrow, yeah?’

  ‘Okay.’ Ruby nodded with more enthusiasm than she felt.

  27. The Mystery Man

  As expected, Ruby’s nerves were in tatters by the following morning. She had a throbbing hangover and she felt even sicker with shame for avoiding Tom’s calls. She knew there were three missed calls altogether on her phone, but she simply couldn’t bring herself to pick up the receiver and call Tom back. Even though she knew he was a lovely man who’d surely understand that her romantic feelings were in turmoil these days. And, to put the final touch to her misery, it was her birthday! She’d almost forgotten about it, given all the emotional upheaval.

  ‘I’ll call him for you,’ Jasmine said firmly as they opened up the shop at nine thirty.

  ‘No, thank you very much, but that’d be a bit childish,’ Ruby said quickly.

  ‘So tell me, is lying in bed with a pillow over your ears the height of maturity nowadays?’ Jasmine said quietly.

  ‘Yes, well, I couldn’t help it. I was very upset by that news story on the radio,’ Ruby told her. ‘It brought everything rushing back to me. I thought I was going to be sick. My stomach just flipped over.’

  ‘So tell Tom that,’ Jasmine advised. ‘He’ll understand.’

  ‘No. He’d only think I was being hysterical,’ Ruby sighed.

  ‘Ruby, will you get over yourself? You are not being hysterical at all. You are a very sensitive woman. It’s not a crime to be sensitive.’ Jasmine gave Ruby a hug.

  ‘I know it isn’t, but it’s just very bloody awkward sometimes,’ Ruby said. ‘I wish I was more of a risk-taker.’

  ‘Hasn’t it taken Tom over six years to begin dating again?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Ruby admitted.

  ‘Well then, he must be even more sensitive than you are,’ Jasmine said.

  ‘That’s a good point,’ Ruby nodded.

  ‘So call him.’

  ‘Um, no.’

  ‘Give me his number,’ Jasmine said.

  ‘No, please don’t bother.’

  ‘He might think you’ve been taken ill, Ruby. Have you thought of that?’ Jasmine pointed out.

  ‘Oh God, no, I haven’t,’ Ruby fretted.

  ‘You’ve got to put the poor guy out of his misery. Wait a minute, there’s a van pulling up outside the shop. A florist’s van, a dead posh one! You’re getting a bouquet, Ruby. Oh, it’s so beautiful. Pink tulips and pink roses, if I’m not mistaken,’ Jasmine smiled. ‘There you are, you silly moo. Tom’s not cross with you at all.’

  ‘Poor Tom. He’s been so kind. Jesus, I feel like such an idiot now,’ Ruby said, blushing, as Jasmine graciously received the flowers and thanked the delivery guy. ‘Read me the note quickly,’ she added.

  ‘Give me two seconds to open the envelope, would you? Oh. Hang on a second, these flowers are for me,’ Jasmine said slowly. ‘Oh dear, Ruby, I’m so sorry about this! There’s no name on the card, which is weird. It just says, For Jasmine. Oh God, I hope you’re not too disappointed! What do you think, huh? I’ve got myself a secret admirer or something?’

  ‘You must have,’ Ruby said primly. It was obvious she was slightly annoyed that the gorgeous flowers were not for her after all.

  ‘Are you very disappointed?’ Jasmine said gently.

  ‘No, don’t be daft. Well, maybe I’m a tiny bit disappointed,’ Ruby admitted.

  ‘You must be, but I’m sure that if you call Tom back today you can sort it all out very easily. Now, I wonder who sent these. Oh, how strange.’

  ‘Indeed…’

  ‘Look, I’ll put these in some water,’ Jasmine said. ‘Then I’ll call Tom for you.’

  ‘No, no! I won’t give you his number anyway.’

  ‘Ha, sorry, but you can’t stop me that easily. Think again. I’ll just look up Camberwell in the phone book,’ Jasmine said lightly. ‘It’s not MI5 he works at. It’s only up the road, you numskull. Honestly I’m going to have to kidnap the pair of you and tie you on to a couple of chairs, and force you to sort out this relationship once and for all.’

  ‘Oh right, to heck with it – you win. This is crazy. I’ll call him right now,’ Ruby said bravely, jabbing the numbers into the shop phone. ‘I’ll phone him and tell him something came up last night. Though what could have caused me to be out of contact for an entire day, I don’t know. Don’t listen to me, please. You go into the kitchenette and shut the door. Hurry, it’s ringing.’

  Jasmine went scurrying across the shop with her huge bouquet of tulips and roses. She set the flowers carefully into the sink and filled it half full with cold water. Then she stood against the door, holding her breath, listening hard.

  ‘Hello? Hello, is that Mrs Kenny? Hi, Mrs Kenny. How are you? Yes, it’s only me, Ruby. Listen, can I please speak to Tom for a minute? Is he terribly busy?’ she heard Ruby say nervously. Then there was a pause as Ruby waited for Tom to be found. ‘Tom? Is that you? It’s me, Ruby. You called me last night? Yes, I know, the car… I’m so sorry… Yes, I had to go out all day yesterday. Something came up… Today after work would be fine. Okay, I’ll see you then. Thanks, Tom.’

&nb
sp; Ruby put the phone down and closed her eyes.

  ‘He’s coming to pick me up after work.’

  ‘Well, thanks be to God! That wasn’t so hard, was it?’ Jasmine said cheerfully, coming out of the kitchenette.

  ‘You rascal, you were listening,’ Ruby said.

  ‘Yes, of course! I was listening to every word. Now did he sound pissed off or anything?’

  ‘No, he sounded fine. A bit nervous but fine,’ Ruby admitted. ‘I think he’s willing to give me another chance.’

  ‘There you are then. You got clean away with your attack of hysterics,’ Jasmine laughed. ‘Lucky girl!’

  ‘Oh, Jasmine, am I doing the right thing here? I haven’t even scattered Jonathan’s ashes yet. The urn is still in my sitting room upstairs.’

  ‘We’ll do it together. Any time you like,’ Jasmine offered. ‘We could go somewhere nice this weekend?’

  ‘What about your secret admirer?’ Ruby asked. ‘What if he turns up with another bouquet for you? An even bigger bouquet, if indeed that’s possible?’

  ‘He can wait,’ Jasmine said at once. ‘This is far more important.’

  ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you, Jasmine Mulholland, I really don’t. Come here and give me a hug.’

  ‘It’s okay, Ruby, everything will be okay,’ Jasmine said, squeezing her friend tightly and then backing off again in case anyone saw them through the window and started up a rumour.

  ‘I hope so,’ Ruby sighed.

  ‘Yes, sure haven’t we made it this far in one piece?’

  ‘I suppose,’ Ruby agreed.

  ‘There’s only one thing,’ Jasmine said then as she flicked her long hair over her shoulders.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s your birthday today.’

  ‘Well, yes it is,’ Ruby said, sighing slightly. ‘But after what happened with Tom, I didn’t exactly feel like celebrating.’

  ‘Silly moo! Just as well I got you this,’ Jasmine said brightly, handing over a small parcel wrapped in pink foil that she’d been hiding behind the counter. ‘Happy birthday, Ruby. You bloody idiot.’

  Ruby carefully opened the dainty present. It contained the most exquisite silver brooch in the shape of a bird. There were red stones for the eyes.

  ‘It’s really lovely, Jasmine,’ Ruby said, welling up with the surprise of it.

  ‘I thought it looked like a phoenix,’ Jasmine said. ‘You know, the phoenix rising from the ashes and all that caper?’

  ‘Thank you, you’re an angel,’ Ruby said.

  ‘Ah, I’m not.’

  ‘You are,’ Ruby said.

  ‘Okay then, I am.’

  28. The Absent Mother

  Dorothy Lipman wasn’t always happy that she had persuaded Emily Nightingale to join her at the painting group in the Bronx. Yes, it was nice to introduce a friend to a new hobby. The classes didn’t cost much and it was a great way to get out of the house and meet people. And Dorothy had been a member of the painting group for so long she almost felt like one of the teachers herself. But Emily was proving to be a very stubborn beginner. Stubbornness must be an Irish trait, Dorothy eventually decided.

  ‘You see, if you were to put some more Prussian blue on that side of the canvas then the sunflowers would look far more intense,’ Dorothy suggested carefully. ‘Just a suggestion, of course,’ she added. Emily could be incredibly touchy about her painting skills. Dorothy had observed this curious phenomenon many times before, usually in the most hopeless of the amateurs, labouring away under the illusion that they had talent to equal Vincent van Gogh.

  ‘Yes, but I like the green background,’ Emily said firmly. ‘It’s nice and summery.’

  ‘Well, yes it is. But you’ve got plenty of green in the leaves of the flowers already.’

  ‘All the same, I think some more green would be best,’ was the curt reply.

  ‘Have it your own way,’ Dorothy smiled.

  ‘I will,’ Emily muttered, vigorously mixing yellow paint with a small hint of orange for the outer petals.

  ‘Any sign of your daughter coming over to visit you?’ Dorothy asked then, taking a discreet sip of cola from a bottle in her shopping basket.

  ‘Um? What did you say?’ Emily was miles away from Ruby just then, in just about every respect.

  ‘Didn’t you say once that you had a grown-up daughter back in Ireland?’ Dorothy said brightly.

  ‘I did, yes. But I never said she was coming over here on a visit,’ Emily sniffed, glancing around the warehouse studio in case anybody else could overhear. But the other painters seemed engrossed enough in their tasks.

  ‘Why is she not coming to see you? Is she very busy?’

  Emily sighed gently. Would she ever be able to get away from her responsibilities? she wondered.

  ‘She runs her own business, you see. A dress shop. She’s very busy all the time, yes indeed.’

  ‘You know, Emily, it’s none of my concern, but I reckon you should make it up with your daughter. It’s a shame when families don’t speak. And then one day one of you gets a phone call and it’s too late to speak to them any more.’ Dorothy sounded like the sort of woman who’d known her fair share of suffering down the years.

  ‘Dorothy dear, I am on perfectly fine terms with my family. I’m just having a little break from them, that’s all. I’m just having a break from all of it. You don’t know what it’s like in Ireland. Everybody there is obsessed with everybody else’s business. Obsessed beyond reason, I’m telling you. That’s why Ireland never had an empire… because they were all too busy spying on one other. Mocking each other’s regional accents. Trying to find out how many cabbages or carrots everyone had growing secretly among the potato drills.’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, Emily. Secret cabbages! But, anyway, do go on. So what happened with your family? Tell me the big story,’ Dorothy said, washing out her brushes in a big jar of clean water. ‘Don’t you just love acrylics? Oils are so damn messy. And they stink the house out.’

  ‘There is no big story,’ Emily said casually, waving her own paintbrush in the air.

  ‘In New York, everybody has a story,’ Dorothy said then. ‘But here we don’t spy on one another or go around counting cabbages. We just ask the questions straight out. Yes sir, we got enough scripts here for eight million movies…’

  ‘Well, there isn’t any brilliant movie script with me and mine, honestly. I simply got bored sitting on my arse, sorry, my backside… sitting on my backside at home, it’s as plain as that. My husband isn’t a great one for travel or trying new things. My daughter is too busy with her little shop in Belfast to hang around the bright lights of Fermanagh with me. So I decided to come here for a while. Just for a change of scene.’

  ‘Why New York?’

  ‘I had a relative here. The flight was handy enough to arrange. And New York was too far away from Ireland to be bothered getting homesick.’

  ‘Okay. Is your daughter married?’ Dorothy asked next. ‘Have you any grandchildren?’

  ‘No… she’s not married. No children.’

  ‘Is she engaged? Seeing anyone?’

  ‘She was married. He died if you must know,’ Emily said briskly.

  ‘Oh my word. When did he die? What happened?’

  ‘A car accident. It was two years ago. Two and a half years ago.’ Emily stood back and studied her canvas thoughtfully. Maybe there was too much green in the composition, but she’d never be able to admit that to Dorothy now.

  ‘Emily, forgive me for asking, but why on earth did you come to New York and leave your poor daughter behind like that? She must need you, lady. Hey, there is something big going on here. Why did you come to New York to work in a crummy old bakery when your only child needs you to love her?’

  ‘I’m telling you, Dorothy! Ruby doesn’t need me. She never has. She couldn’t wait to leave home the minute she turned eighteen. Never wanted anything to do with us, from the moment she went to
college in Belfast.’

  ‘Honey, I’m sure that’s not true. She was only eager to grow up and be an adult, I’m sure. You should be proud of her, Emily. Not like my lazy son – he’s twenty-nine and still sitting in my house drinking beer.’

  ‘I don’t really know any more,’ Emily sighed. ‘Children can be so difficult…’ She dabbed a pale yellow highlight on her central sunflower. ‘I think you might have been right about the blue background,’ she murmured, anxious to change the subject. God, but these New Yorkers were a very forthright bunch. Back home in Ireland your husband could be lying drunk in the gutter with a black eye and nobody would dare to open their mouth about it. For a fleeting moment Emily was almost longing for Ireland and its buttoned-up ways. But Dorothy wasn’t quite ready to let the matter rest. She looked Emily right in the eye and took a deep breath.

  ‘Honey, I’m right about a lot of things. You just wait and see. Whatever you’re doin’ over here, it ain’t worth it. This ain’t no holiday, Emily, let me tell you. You’re just running away from something, same as a scared teenager.’

  ‘Well, you seem to know an awful lot about human nature,’ Emily said crossly. ‘I don’t know why you bother with running a dog-grooming parlour, I really don’t. You ought to set yourself up in business as a shrink immediately. You’d make an absolute fortune.’

  ‘I’ve been told that before, now you mention it. But I think I’ll stick with my dogs,’ Dorothy said, smiling brightly. ‘Dogs are a lot easier to deal with than humans. Oftentimes they’re smarter. And they’re usually a lot more grateful for my kindness as well.’

  But Emily only pursed her lips together like a clam and began to lather Prussian blue paint on to her canvas like a woman possessed. Well now, here was a fine thing: Dorothy Lipman telling her that she was no better than a scared teenager! What would Dorothy Lipman know anyway! Dorothy was eleven years divorced from an abusive husband, with two high-flying lawyer sons that she rarely saw any more. And a third layabout son that she said was just waiting on her to die and leave him the house. Some day soon she’d have to tell her stay-at-home son that she’d sold half the equity of her three-storey brownstone house in Brooklyn years ago to an investment company so she could pay for a much-needed hip operation. In fact, Dorothy was only going to give him one more year to get his act together and then she was moving to a smaller apartment in the suburbs to retire. She wanted a little place with better heating, lower ceilings and no stairs. Her son would probably never speak to her again when he discovered that he’d have to fend for himself in the Big Bad World. Poor Dorothy didn’t have to look far to see her own problems. Emily felt a bit sorry for her New Best Friend then.