The Happiness List

by Annie Lyons

  A good woman and a complete walkover, thought Pamela, filling the sink with hot soapy water.

  There was a thin drizzle in the air as Pamela walked to the hall that afternoon, carrying her bag of baked goodies. Chocolate chip cookies. The kiddies always loved them. When she thought about baking, she realized that it was the thing that underpinned her, like the foundation to her life.

  She’d always baked, even as a child. Her mother hadn’t been a patient woman but Pamela was a quick learner and soon she could make sponges good enough to be entered into competitions. Her mother was never impressed, of course but Pamela often heard her boasting to her friends.

  ‘Oh yes, Pamela won first prize in the adult category – and she’s only eight!’ she would exclaim.

  ‘Oh, but you must be so proud, Daphne.’

  Pamela had waited for her mother to agree but she merely smiled and shrugged. A smile and a shrug. That was the best she ever got. But Pamela kept trying – she kept baking to try to please her mother and, of course, she made cakes to spoil her beloved younger brother, Ernie, too.

  Her mother had been a young widow like Fran but that was where the similarity ended. She seemed to resent being left to deal with the spirited Pamela and little Ernie. Pamela gladly took it upon herself to look after her younger brother. She doted on Ernie and loved to spoil him. She would make currant buns and feed them to him like a tiny bird. He loved it, of course, but she had to be careful that her mother didn’t see; she was oddly jealous of their bond so Pamela and Ernie kept themselves to themselves, happy in their own world.

  Ernie died when he was twenty, from a brain tumour. Just like that. Out of the blue. Pamela returned home from a day’s work at the bank and was startled when her mother met her in the hall, her face pale with shock. Pamela didn’t believe her at first – she thought it was some cruel trick – but when her mother started to cry, she realized the terrible truth. She ran upstairs and vomited into the sink.

  Pamela was surprised at how upset her mother was after Ernie died – maybe she was overwhelmed with guilt or maybe it was self-pity but either way she grieved, drowning her sorrows in alcohol and blaming everyone but herself.

  Pamela was relieved when she met Barry a few months later, particularly as they fell in love so easily. They married the following June and she spent the next forty years throwing herself into family life.

  Pamela opened up the hall and set her bag on the counter in the kitchen. She loved this toddler group – she’d been running it for years and watched generation after generation walk through these doors. Sometimes mothers who’d come here as children would bring their own toddlers. Pamela felt a great satisfaction when this happened – life renewing and repeating itself, just as it should.

  She set up the tea urn and made three large jugs of squash and put them in the fridge. Then she fetched the toys from the cupboard, carefully setting up the baby mat in one corner and the ride-on toys at the opposite end to avoid accidents. Finally, she put out a table of craft activities with trays of crayons, glue, stickers and glitter.

  ‘Afternoon, my loves, come on in. Hello, Maisy,’ she said to her first customer, an adorable two-year-old with curly hair. Pamela was rewarded with a gummy grin, which made her heart soar.

  The hall began to fill with children and parents, mostly mums. Pamela chatted to them as they arrived, serving drinks and smiling indulgently as small hand after small hand appeared over the hatch to take a biscuit. Pamela refilled the plate and smiled as she noticed a group of her regulars arrive. There were about five or six of them who came every week – single, young mums with cheeky boisterous children. She’d grown fond of them. They were friendly and mouthy – a breath of fresh air in Pamela’s quiet world.

  ‘All right, Mrs T?’ grinned a girl of about twenty with a tattoo on her left wrist spelling the name ‘Cheryl’.

  ‘Hello, Angel dear. How are you?’

  ‘So-so, Mrs T. So-so,’ she said, helping herself to a biscuit. ‘Damn, these are good. Wish I could bake like you, Mrs T.’

  ‘You could, lovey. They’re not difficult to make.’

  Angel shrugged. ‘I dunno how to. Cheaper to buy them cookies from Aldi, innit?’

  ‘Not at all! Home-made is always cheaper,’ cried Pamela.

  ‘You should do cooking classes, Mrs T,’ joked Angel.

  The germ of an idea planted itself in Pamela’s mind. ‘I’ll give it some thought.’

  Pamela was always surprised at how refreshed she felt after toddler group. The children were full of energy and questions – they were funny, cheeky and occasionally naughty but they faced everything with pure wonder and raw emotion.

  Pamela loved watching them play – a tiny world of discovery, laughter and tears. It made her think of her own children, of the times she’d cajoled, scolded and comforted and she felt that tug of longing again. She noticed one of the mothers sitting on her own while her young son, Jack, hurled himself round the room on a miniature trike. The poor woman looked exhausted so Pamela made an extra-strong mug of tea and carried it over to her.

  ‘Are you all right, ducks?’ she asked.

  The woman looked up at her, eyes glazed with tiredness and gave a weary nod. ‘Jack’s very full-on, you know? He never stops.’

  Pamela handed her the tea. ‘Well, you just sit and drink this while he lets off some steam. I’m Pamela by the way.’

  ‘Thanks, Pamela. I’m Lauren.’ The woman smiled, moving her coat from the seat next to her so that Pamela could sit down. They watched the kids play in smiling silence. ‘It’s really good of you to run this group,’ said Lauren after a while. ‘Do you have any grandchildren?’

  ‘Not at the moment,’ admitted Pamela, ‘but I live in hope.’

  ‘I suppose you could say you’ve got thirty surrogate grandchildren right here, couldn’t you?’ said Lauren with a smile.

  Right on cue, a small boy called Arthur with spider-like eyelashes and huge brown eyes ambled up to her. ‘For you,’ he insisted, pressing a crayon drawing of what looked like a dinosaur into Pamela’s hands. ‘T Rex – raaaaaaaar!’ he added with a cheeky grin. Pamela felt her throat thicken.

  ‘Yes,’ she said to Lauren. ‘Yes, I suppose you could.’

  As she walked back along Hope Street later that afternoon, Pamela felt as if her world had clicked into sharper focus. She’d been running the toddler group for so many years that she’d taken for granted or perhaps never properly understood how important it was to the community. She was so deep in thought that she didn’t see Fran coming towards her with Alan in tow.

  ‘Earth to Pamela,’ called Fran as she nearly walked straight past her.

  ‘Oh, sorry, Fran, I was miles away.’

  ‘Everything all right?’ asked Fran.

  Pamela smiled. ‘Everything’s fine. I’m just on my way back from toddler group.’

  ‘I’m amazed you’re still running it. You must be exhausted – all those tiny varmints making mess and noise.’

  Pamela laughed. ‘Actually, I was just thinking how much I love it and how much people value it.’

  Fran gave an enthusiastic nod. ‘Definitely. Nat and I always say that we wouldn’t have got through those early years without your industrial-strength coffee and heavenly biscuits.’

  ‘You don’t always see what’s right in front of you, do you?’

  ‘Very true,’ said Fran.

  ‘By the way, ducks, how was your date with little Gary Walters?’ she asked, raising one eyebrow.

  Fran stared at her in surprise. ‘How did you know about that?’

  Pamela grinned. ‘If you don’t want to be seen going on a date with a lovely man, don’t sit in the window of the local Spanish restaurant for all to see.’

  Fran laughed. ‘Good point. It was lovely. He’s one of the good guys.’

  ‘He is – a real treasure.’ Pamela stole a glance at her friend. ‘Are you going to see him again?’

  Fran sighed. ‘I don’t know. We had a good t
ime but I’m not sure about dating and I don’t want to string him along – he’s too nice.’

  ‘Sometimes you have to let yourself fall a bit,’ said Pamela.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Fran. ‘Anyway, I’d better go and fetch Charlie. See you on Wednesday?’

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

  Pamela was in high spirits as she let herself in through the front door, her mind set on cooking a family dinner so that they could sit down and share tales of their day. That was the key to building bridges between Matthew and Barry – good old-fashioned face-to-face communication. Her joy soon dissolved at the sound of angry voices flooding from the kitchen.

  ‘You’re a liar!’ shouted Barry.

  ‘I am not a liar. I’m just not going to tell you where I got it because you’re always so bloody unreasonable.’

  ‘That’s because you’re always lying.’

  ‘You don’t trust me.’

  ‘No. I don’t trust you.’

  ‘Wonderful. What a lovely thing for a father to say to his son.’

  ‘Well. if the cap fits…’

  ‘Oh, piss off, Dad.’

  ‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that!’

  ‘Why not? This is exactly why I won’t tell you where I got the money. You always behave like this – so supercilious and ready to be disappointed.’

  ‘Because you always give me cause.’

  ‘Oh. for fuck’s sake! What do I have to do? What on earth do I have to do to get you to trust me?’

  ‘Tell me where you got the money.’

  ‘I gave it to him,’ said Pamela quietly.

  Barry and Matthew turned around and gaped at her. Pamela was surprised how calm she felt, as if she was seeing things clearly for the first time in a while. They were always going to be like this, her son and her husband. They were always going to argue. It was never going to end. Unless she changed things. It was down to her.

  ‘Pammy!’ cried Barry. ‘Why did you do that? What possessed you?’

  She turned to face her husband. ‘He’s my son and he asked me. Do I need another reason?’ She shot a glance at Matthew. ‘And I don’t believe he would let me down.’ Matthew looked at the floor and Pamela felt her chest tighten with doubt. ‘You wouldn’t let me down, would you, Matty?’

  ‘He does nothing but let you down, can’t you see that?’ shouted Barry.

  Pamela’s gaze flicked from her husband to her son and back again. The sight of the pair of them galvanized her into action. She spied the money on the kitchen counter and reached forwards to grab it.

  ‘What are you doing, Mum?’ asked Matthew, a look of confusion on his face.

  ‘I’m cutting you off, Matty. It’s high time you stopped seeing me as a gigantic purse!’

  ‘I don’t, Mum. How can you say that?’ he began.

  Pamela held up a hand to silence him. ‘If whatever you need the money for is so important, you will find a way.’

  ‘Bravo, Pammy!’ cried Barry, looking pleased.

  Pamela turned to him. ‘I’m glad you’re happy, Barry Trott, but, for the record, I am not. I can’t stay in this house with you two going hell for leather so I’ve come to a decision.’

  Barry looked scared. ‘What do you mean, Pammy?’

  ‘I’m leaving.’

  ‘What?’ cried Barry, a look of panic spreading across his face.

  ‘You don’t have to that,’ insisted Matthew. ‘I’ll go.’

  ‘Oh no you don’t,’ said Pamela. ‘If you think anything of me, you will stay here and sort this out. Both of you.’ Matthew stared at her. Little boy lost being read the Riot Act by his mother. Pamela would have felt guilty in days gone by but not today. She’d had enough.

  ‘But Pammy!’ pleaded Barry.

  Pamela folded her arms and fixed him with a look. ‘I’ve decided, Barry. I need a break.’ She walked out of the kitchen and went upstairs to pack an overnight bag. When she returned downstairs, she could hear them bickering.

  ‘This is your fault,’ said Barry.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right, Dad – all my fault.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  She walked out of the front door, along Hope Street. She had an odd feeling as if she was gliding through a dream but she knew it was the right thing to do. She’d never been surer of anything in her life.

  She thought of going to Fran’s but, as she reached the front gate, she remembered that she was out picking up Charlie so she kept on walking.

  ‘Pamela! Are you okay?’ cried Heather as she opened the front door.

  Pamela realized that her hands were shaking and she wasn’t sure if it was from exhilaration, anger or a combination of the two. ‘I’ve left home,’ she said, surprised at how good it felt to say these words. ‘Is there any chance I could stay in your spare room for a bit please?’

  Heather looked at her with such kindness and concern, like a daughter to her mother. Pamela couldn’t ever remember Laura looking at her like that. ‘Of course, come in. You can stay as long as you need to.’

  ‘Thank you, Heather,’ said Pamela, stepping over the threshold as the full realization of what she’d done hit her. It was a scary but hopeful feeling, as if she was finally taking control of her world, inching her way towards the life she needed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Heather

  Happiness List

  1. Marry Luke!

  2. Sunday walk and choose wedding venue with Luke Fran & Charlie

  3. Exercise more (persuade Luke to go running?)

  - Boot camp with Fran & Pamela

  4. Go dress shopping with Gemma and laugh like we used to!

  Pamela was proving to be the perfect houseguest and no one was more surprised than Heather. For a woman who could give Mr Nosey a run for his money, she was surprisingly unobtrusive. She was also wonderfully thoughtful.

  ‘I don’t want to get in your way,’ she told Heather as she handed her the basket of washing she’d just ironed. ‘But I saw this and had a spare half-hour so I thought why not?’

  ‘You really don’t need to but I’m very grateful that you did,’ said Heather. ‘And what are these beauties?’ she asked, pointing at the tempting batch of cupcakes on the side.

  Pamela smiled. ‘It’s a new recipe I’m trying. I thought you and Luke could be my guinea pigs – they’re rhubarb and custard.’

  Heather picked one up and took a bite. She stared at Pamela in amazement. ‘Oh my God, I am never letting you leave.’

  Pamela looked delighted. ‘I’m glad you like them.’

  ‘Like them? I feel like proposing marriage to them!’ declared Heather. Pamela laughed.

  Initially, Heather had been concerned that having Pamela in their midst might prove awkward or uncomfortable, but as Luke was often late home, she started to relish her new friend’s company. Heather loved the way that Pamela would lay out the tea things along with some delectable baked item at four o’clock and insist they have a cuppa and a catch-up. It reminded her of coming home from school when her mum was alive, sitting at the kitchen table, sharing a plate of chocolate digestives and tales of their day.

  Heather felt bad that she had dismissed Pamela as a busybody when they first met. She’d never tell her anything she didn’t want the whole world to know but she valued Pamela’s friendship – kindness ran through her veins like writing through a stick of rock. She liked a gossip but then in all honesty, who didn’t?

  Even Luke seemed positive about Pamela’s presence. ‘It’s like having a housekeeper,’ he said, grinning, as she placed a plate of freshly prepared pancakes in front of him one morning before he headed off to work. He covered the pancakes in maple syrup and cut a piece. ‘Oh my God,’ he said as he chewed. ‘These are better than my mother makes and she’s a bona fide New Yorker.’

  ‘Praise indeed,’ said Heather with eyebrows raised.

  ‘I’m pleased you like them,’ said Pamela.

  ‘Let’s just say, I’m going to
call them “pamcakes” from now on,’ declared Luke. Pamela blushed.

  Heather wasn’t sure if it was Pamela’s presence or if things were going well at work or if they were simply in a good place but Luke seemed more attentive these days. He made unexpected, thoughtful gestures – a bouquet of flowers, her favourite chocolate bar and Post-it notes with sweet messages hidden around the bedroom. She took heart from Fran’s reassurance that he would probably come round to the idea of fatherhood and looked towards the wedding with a renewed sense of positivity.

  She was using her day off later that week to go wedding-dress shopping with Gemma. She had managed to book an appointment with Caitlin Danvers, whose dresses were highly sought-after and completely stunning. Heather wasn’t extravagant but she’d decided that it was practically compulsory to blow a big heap of cash on your wedding dress.

  ‘So what are your plans for today?’ she asked Pamela, picking up her bag ready to leave for work.

  Pamela gestured at the ingredients on the side. ‘Baking for your boss. I’m going traditional today with a Victoria sponge and a carrot cake.’

  ‘Gets my vote,’ grinned Heather. ‘Have you heard from Barry?’

  Pamela folded her arms, a look of determination on her face. ‘He and Matthew know where I am,’ she said. ‘It’s up to them to sort their differences rather than waiting for me to do it for them.’

  Heather smiled. ‘Good for you. Happy baking. I’ll see you later this afternoon. Don’t forget we’ve got the course tonight.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it. Have a good day, ducks.’

  A bank of heavy cloud sat defiantly in the sky as Heather made her way along Hope Street. Commuters were already hurrying along the pavement, late for trains. Heather felt the first spot of rain and rummaged in her bag for an umbrella just as her phone started to buzz with a call. She glanced at the ID before answering.

  ‘Gem?’

  ‘Oh hey, Heth. Is this a bad time?’

  ‘No. I’m just on my way to work. Is everything okay?’

  ‘Yep, everything’s fine. I was phoning about the wedding dress appointment – I’m really sorry, something’s come up. Is there any chance we could rearrange?’