The Happiness List

by Annie Lyons

  ‘Nice to meet you all,’ said Heather. They were a lovely group – full of easy banter and funny stories of motherhood. Heather started to relax, her unease about Gemma’s story shrinking. She was sure Gemma was right – Ed had simply got the wrong end of the stick. She had no reason to think that Gemma would lie. It was a simple misunderstanding. Ed and Gemma were clearly having a hard time. She would make her excuses and go and find her in a minute – offer support, see if she could help.

  A movement out of the corner of her eye caused her to look towards the front door, where she noticed Luke and Gemma talking. He put a hand on her arm but Gemma shrugged him off. Heather looked away and tried to focus on what the women were saying. When she glanced back towards the hall, Gemma and Luke had disappeared.

  ‘So I said to him, if you think we’re having sex a month after I pushed out a baby just because it’s your birthday, you’ve got another think coming!’ said Maddy. Heather and the rest of the group laughed.

  ‘I like you,’ slurred Ali, putting an arm around Heather’s shoulder. ‘We’re planning a big night out soon – you should come.’

  Heather laughed. ‘You’re gluttons for punishment – didn’t you go on a big night out a couple of Fridays ago?’

  The mums glanced at one another and shook their heads. ‘No. We were waiting for Gemma to give us a date she could do,’ said Claire. ‘Actually, we should pin her down today.’

  Heather felt her mouth go dry as the realization hit her, like a smart slap round the face.

  She’s lying. You oldest, closest, most trusted friend is lying to you. You bloody, bloody fool.

  Heather rushed into the living room. ‘Where is she?’ she demanded. ‘Where’s Gemma?’

  The room fell silent. Gemma’s father approached and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Heather, whatever’s the matter?’

  ‘We can’t do this, Luke!’ came an insistent voice. ‘It’s wrong.’

  They turned as one towards the baby monitor, its red light flashing a warning.

  Danger. Danger ahead.

  ‘Who says we can’t? Are you telling me you’re not attracted to me? Because I was getting a completely different message the other night.’

  Marian rushed towards the baby monitor. ‘I think we should switch that off.’

  ‘Leave it!’ hissed Heather, taking a step forwards.

  ‘Of course I’m attracted to you but Heather suspects. I know her. I can see it in her eyes. And I can’t do it to her. She’s been through enough. She’s like a sister to me. This is wrong and it has to stop.’

  ‘But I love you. I’ve always loved you. Since that first night in the club – I saw you first but you said you weren’t interested because of Ed and then…’

  ‘And then we made a stupid mistake – a moment of madness. But it can’t go on.’

  Heather looked over at Ed, who had sunk into the nearest chair – they were like a mirror to one another’s hurt. ‘Heather,’ said Marian, reaching for her niece. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ said Heather, rushing from the room. She ran up the stairs and reached the landing as Gemma and Luke emerged from Freddy’s room.

  ‘Heather!’ cried Luke, trying to mask his shock. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I was just saying bye to Gemma because we should really go – I’m starting to feel a bit rough.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ said Heather quietly, amazed at how calm and in control she felt. ‘It must be quite a burden, carrying those lies around with you.’ Luke and Gemma exchanged a look that said it all. ‘Here’s a piece of advice,’ said Heather, pointing a finger at them both. ‘If you don’t want people to know about your grubby little affair, don’t broadcast it over the baby monitor.’

  Luke gawped at her. ‘Heather, listen, I can explain. This is all a mistake.’

  Heather turned to face him. ‘Yeah. It is. A huge mistake. And it’s cost you everything. So, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to drive myself home now. You need to find yourself a car and a place to live and I want all your stuff gone by the end of tomorrow, okay?’

  ‘Heather, don’t do this,’ said Luke, trying to grab her arm.

  She shook him off. ‘Don’t touch me. It’s over.’

  ‘Heather,’ said Gemma, her face pale and misting with tears.

  Heather turned to face her. ‘How could you?’

  ‘I’m so sorry, really I am. It was a stupid mistake. Please don’t give up on me,’ she cried as the tears fell.

  Heather stared into her eyes. ‘You were the one who gave up on me, Gemma – always remember that. We are through.’

  Heather turned on her heels and walked down the stairs, her body shaking with anger. She hurried to the car and flung herself inside as Gemma’s mother rushed out after her. ‘Oh, Heather, I’m so sorry,’ she cried. ‘I can’t believe how stupid Gemma’s been. Please don’t leave – where will you go?’

  Heather looked up at her from the driver’s seat. ‘I know exactly where to go. I’ll be fine,’ she said, before driving away.

  An hour later she parked the car outside her house and walked along Hope Street. She made her way up a familiar garden path and rang the doorbell. There was a sound of movement from inside before the door opened.

  ‘Heather, lovey, whatever’s the matter?’ asked Pamela, opening her arms to her. Heather accepted the embrace with gratitude and burst into tears.

  You can always find the resilience to survive life’s dark times – you just need the right people on hand for support. As Heather allowed Pamela to lead her inside, she was surprised that the most overwhelming feeling consuming her was not disappointment, betrayal or even anger, although these were all bubbling under the surface, of course. The overriding emotion she felt at that precise moment, was relief – pure, mind-blowing relief.

  Chapter Twenty

  Fran

  Happiness List Thing

  1. Accept a world without Andy (too soon!)

  2. ‘Digital Detox’ day with kids

  3. Go on even more walks with Alan

  4. Have dinner with a nice man (NOT a date) & laugh if appropriate

  (he is nice and I did laugh)

  5. Stop feeling guilty and like Gary (EPIC fail)

  6. Take up gardening again (with a little help from Baz & Mum)

  7. Work myself into an early grave helping local elderly people with their gardens – most fun I’ve had in ages

  8. Get punched in the face by grief and take it

  It was Andy’s birthday on Saturday and ever since he’d died, they’d marked it as a family. It felt important. They were honouring his memory, keeping it alive. They didn’t do it in a ghoulish way. There was no empty chair at the table, just a meal with Andy’s and Fran’s parents, her brother Jack, and Andy’s best friend, Sam.

  Fran looked forward to and dreaded it in equal measure. It was painful to realize that her husband would have been forty-three but forever remained forty-one. It was painful to watch the children grow up without him, as she observed each new milestone alone – one more tooth lost, another prize won, even Jude’s hormone-laced mood swings. They all made her catch her breath as she remembered that he was no longer there to share them.

  So it was a comfort to mark the day, to get together with his parents and tell them stories of the children or laugh with Sam about how Andy would have reacted to Jude’s alarmingly orange hair. It was like going to bed with a hot water bottle when you’ve got a stomach ache – there was pain but there was something to soothe it too.

  However, Fran was starting to wonder if she was the only one who felt this way as the week progressed and the awkward phone calls began. It was Sam who phoned first.

  ‘Hey, Fran,’ he cried in a tone that she had become used to from people since Andy died. It was the ‘I’m painfully aware that you’re a widow,’ sympathy tone.

  ‘Hi, Sam.’ When Fran first knew Sam, she’d thought that he was a tosser. He and Andy had met at university when t
heir worlds were filled with chasing girls, drinking and behaving like arses. That was fine then but as they’d grown older, Andy had moved away from this world whilst Sam seemed to cling to his wasted youth like a sweaty T-shirt on a hot day.

  When Andy and Fran were first together, she’d endured nights out with Sam and his succession of hugely vacuous and hugely breasted girlfriends all called things like Tammy or Tiggy. Eventually she told Andy that she would rather poke herself in the eye with a spork than endure another evening of Sam sharing details of his sordid love life and insisting they consume multiple Jägerbombs.

  ‘You’re such a snob, Fran. He’s a very sweet guy deep down.’

  ‘He must keep it well hidden,’ she’d retorted.

  Over time, Sam did change. He was still an idiot but after a failed marriage to the no-nonsense Fiona, he seemed to mellow. Fran was relieved when he only made two inappropriate jokes as best man at their wedding and surprised as he told the room how lucky Andy was to have found such a feisty, intelligent woman to be his soul mate. It was Fran who suggested him as godfather for Jude because she had mellowed too and knew how much Andy loved his friend.

  ‘I’ll take him to his first strip club,’ promised Sam with a moronic grin when they asked him.

  ‘We wouldn’t expect anything less,’ said Fran with a smile.

  As the last one to see Andy alive, Sam became a person of even greater significance to Fran. He was very supportive to her and the kids in the weeks and months following and often took Jude and Charlie out for day trips. Unsurprisingly, they loved him because he was edgy and fun and would let them eat ice cream for lunch.

  After he dropped them off following one particular day trip, Fran invited him to stay for dinner and, as they sank bottle after bottle of wine and talked about how much they loved and missed Andy, certain other truths emerged.

  Sam fixed her with a steady gaze, or as steady as he could manage in his drunken state. ‘I used to think you hated me when I first knew you.’

  ‘I did,’ joked Fran, before punching him playfully on the arm. ‘Nah, not really. I thought you were a twat. But then I was a cow.’

  ‘That’s true,’ he grinned.

  ‘Oi! You’re not supposed to agree with me.’

  He laughed. ‘Well, I was scared of you.’

  ‘Quite right too,’ she said, folding her arms. ‘Are you still scared of me?’

  He raised one eyebrow, holding her gaze. ‘A bit,’ he laughed. ‘But I was always jealous of Andy for meeting such a smart, beautiful woman.’

  She stared at him. He was a good-looking twat. She had to give him that. And he was here. And Andy wasn’t. And she was drunk. And gut-twistingly, mind-blowingly sad. She lurched towards him and planted a kiss that was awkward on every single level.

  Sam pulled away. ‘Woah, Fran.’

  Fran leapt up. ‘Fuck. Sorry. Fuck. That was—fuck.’

  ‘It’s fine, really it’s fine. It’s just the booze and the grief and everything. Listen, it never happened, okay. And we’re cool, okay? So I’m going to go. Okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Fran, praying for a thunderbolt to put her out of all her miseries in one fell swoop.

  Sam planted a gallant kiss on the top of her head before he left. ‘I’ll call you in the week.’

  Fran sat, staring off into nothing as she heard the front door click shut.

  So, Fran Parker – who’s the tosser now?

  Fran had been terrified that things would be paralysingly awkward with Sam after that but they weren’t at all. He took on the role of supportive, idiotic friend, filling hers and the children’s lives with so many acts of kindness and fun. She realized why Andy had loved him and that now, she did too. Over the past year, Sam had been in a relationship with a girl ten years his junior in age but twenty years older in maturity. Her name was Ellen and Fran liked her a great deal. They were expecting their first child very soon.

  ‘So-o, Fran, listen. I’m really sorry but I think Ellie and I are going to have to give it a miss on Saturday – the baby’s due any day and we don’t want to risk being too far away from the birth centre. I’m sorry – you know we’d love to be there.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Fran reassuringly, because it was. What else could she say? And as excuses went, this one was solid gold. ‘Wish Ellie all the love and luck for the big push.’

  ‘I’m more nervous than her – she’s amazing!’ said Sam, sounding awe-struck. ‘We’ll be thinking of you all – and Andy of course. I’ll have a beer for him on the day.’

  ‘I know. Thank you. Take care, Sam.’

  ‘You too.’

  It was fine. Absolutely fine. It didn’t mean that people weren’t thinking of Andy or didn’t love him. Or her. They loved them very much.

  Two days later she got a call from Andy’s parents.

  ‘Fran dear, we’re not going to make it over on Saturday. Colin’s had a bad cold and I don’t think he’s up to it.’

  ‘Oh right. That’s a shame,’ said Fran. She’d detected Andy’s parents taking a step back over the past year or so. They kept in touch for the grandchildren of course but she sensed that they found the anniversaries unrelentingly painful.

  ‘I am sorry, dear. We’ll be thinking of you and Andy of course. You know that, don’t you?’ There was such an edge of sadness to her voice, a desperation.

  Please understand. Please don’t make us come. We lost our only child – we went from being parents to being childless. It’s too much for us. We simply can’t take it.

  Fran felt her eyes prick with tears at the thought. ‘Of course. We’ll make another date soon, shall we?’

  ‘Oh yes, that would be lovely,’ said Jill, sounding overwhelmed with relief. ‘We adore seeing the children – do give them our love, won’t you?’

  ‘I will.’

  Fran lay back on the sofa and tried to relax but something was digging into her shoulder. She turned over and attempted to knead the knotty cushion it into something more comfortable but it was useless. She flopped back down and stared at the ceiling. That crack was definitely getting bigger.

  What’s up? he asked.

  Apart from widowhood and its resultant constant state of misery?

  That’s quite dramatic, even for you.

  Thank you. No, it’s Saturday – everyone’s pulling out. Apparently, marking a dead person’s birthday is a real drag.

  But you still want to?

  It feels important. And Charlie still needs to, I think – although, sometimes I worry that I’m just projecting.

  But it’s important for you.

  You know it is. Anyway, I’ve defrosted the mince for the lasagne and made a cake so it’s happening.

  Well, I appreciate your efforts. I’m sure it will be fine, my love.

  I admire your faith, I really do, but I get the feeling there’s a storm coming.

  Fran felt a weird kind of relief when Saturday came. She had planned a lovely breakfast with the kids and was expecting her parents and brother at midday. She had made the lasagne and Andy’s favourite cake for lunch.

  Fran hadn’t reckoned on Jude sleeping in until eleven or Charlie having a meltdown because the card she’d made for Andy’s memory box wasn’t absolutely perfect.

  ‘It’s fine, Charlie, honestly. Daddy would love it.’

  ‘But how can you know that? He’s not here and it’s all messy and I hate it!’ she shouted, stomping up the stairs.

  ‘Charlie! Charlie!’ Upstairs, a door slammed. ‘Great. Marvellous. That’s just great,’ said Fran, pouring herself another cup of coffee and turning on the soothing sounds of Radio 4, as Alan chose that moment to drop a dead mouse onto her slipper.

  ‘What were you screaming about?’ groaned Jude, appearing in the kitchen ten minutes later. ‘You woke me up.’

  ‘Alan brought me a rodenty present,’ replied Fran. ‘Thanks for coming to my rescue.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ mumbled Jude, pulling a juice carton from the fridge
and taking a large gulp.

  ‘How about a glass, Jude?’ she suggested.

  ‘How about chilling, Mum?’

  Deep breaths, Fran. ‘So, Granny and Grandpa should be here in about an hour.’

  ‘Waffor?’

  She stared at him, trying to ignore the grain of hurt at the centre of her chest. ‘It’s Dad’s birthday?’

  Jude sighed. ‘Oh yeah.’

  ‘Jude, it’s important.’

  ‘For you, maybe.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ demanded Fran.

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Forget it, Mum. It doesn’t matter.’ He grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and went back upstairs. Moments later, she heard the sound of Jude’s guitar and singing; his voice sweet and mournful. It made her feel heavy with sadness that she couldn’t reach him. He could open his heart to the world with music but was unable to tell his own mother how he felt.

  As they finished lunch later that afternoon, Charlie and Jack excused themselves to take Alan around the block for a walk. Fran gazed at the remainder of her family – her parents making polite conversation and Jude, silently brooding – the truth in their midst.

  ‘So tell me,’ she ventured after an ill-advised third glass of wine. ‘Apart from Charlie and Alan, are you all simply here out of a sense of duty?’ Three sets of eyes fixed on her, hesitating just a fraction too long. ‘Your silence is very reassuring,’ she said, taking a sip of wine.

  ‘Fran, dear,’ began her mother. ‘We’re here because it’s important to you.’

  ‘We want to support you,’ echoed her father with a hurried nod.

  Fran turned to Jude. ‘You’re very quiet. Is that what you think too, Jude?’ She had a dangerous edge to her voice, daring him to contradict her.

  ‘Fran,’ warned her mother.

  Fran kept her eyes fixed on her son’s. Those blue eyes. So like his dad. But his gaze was glowering, ready to boil over. She wanted him to let rip. She needed to hear it. Like pulling a plaster off a wound. Like a slap round the face. He didn’t let her down.

  ‘Of course I’m only here out of duty. Why else would I be here? How fucking weird is it to want to mark a dead person’s birthday? It’s not normal!’