The Secrets of Happiness

by Lucy Diamond

  ‘He seemed all right when I met him,’ Rachel had said, surprised to hear of Becca’s misgivings. That didn’t cut any mustard with Becca, though. Yeah, she thought sourly, pulling on some leggings that just about passed for sportswear. Of course it had gone all right for Rachel and Adam – because Rachel was a proper fitness instructor, respected by other adults, due to her impressive athleticism and natural air of competence. Becca, on the other hand, with her bouncing bosoms and lardy behind . . . well, she didn’t need to dwell on it. They all knew what had happened last time, and her skin still tingled with mortification whenever she replayed the scene. By now, she had built up this second appointment so much in her mind that she was half-afraid she’d give Adam a shove straight into the river as soon as she clapped eyes on him.

  ‘Please don’t,’ Rachel said wearily when Becca voiced her concern. She had been a bit tetchy ever since she’d spotted another red love bite on Mabel’s neck that morning, and the two of them had had a bust-up over breakfast. (Scarlet had immediately begun composing a song on her violin about the incident, entitled ‘Vampire Boyfriend, You Are Gross’.)

  Having assured her sister there would be no river-shoving or client deaths, Becca cycled off to meet the dreaded Adam in the same place as last time, not daring to be a minute late. Rachel had laboriously typed up a programme that Becca would supposedly oversee, starting with a five-minute warm-up (including jumping jacks and skipping – ha!) then a three-mile run, some torturous-sounding lunges, sit-ups and press-ups, and another shorter but faster run, followed by a cool-down. As little as she looked forward to seeing this client again, Becca had the feeling she might kind of enjoy watching him suffer his way through that lot. She would be really strict, too, and blow her whistle at him any time he appeared to be flagging. That might teach him to watch his manners in future. Yeah!

  Back through the city centre she cycled, winding her way down past the majestic cathedral and Bishop’s Palace and round the bend till she reached the river front. It had rained in the night, and the Wye looked full and fast-flowing as she cycled over the old stone bridge. Nearly there. Keep your cool, she reminded herself. Sixty minutes and it would be over. Plus, if she kept him running and leaping about fast enough, he wouldn’t have any breath left to insult her.

  ‘Hello again,’ came Adam’s voice as she wheeled the bike across the grass and onto the riverside path. He was striding along towards her in his running kit, his expression inscrutable. He wasn’t scowling and sneering this time at least, but all the same, it was kind of awkward meeting him again when their last encounter had involved her throwing balled-up paper in his face.

  ‘Hello,’ she said coolly. Professional and chilly, that was her motto today. Nothing he could say would get to her: fact. She pulled out Rachel’s exercise plan and pretended to study it, glad he didn’t know how clammy her hands suddenly were. ‘So! Let’s get on with it, then.’

  ‘Ahh,’ he said, as if he found something amusing. ‘Have you still got the hump? I thought we were over all that now.’ His sorry-but-not-all-that-sorry expression reminded Becca of the similar face Scarlet had shown that morning, when Rachel had told her off about ringing the RSPCA and reporting Lawrence’s mother for not looking after Harvey properly. (‘Well, it’s true!’ she had replied, unrepentant. ‘She doesn’t give him enough hugs. And she never brushes him properly like I used to.’)

  ‘I have not got the hump,’ Becca assured him. ‘So . . .’

  ‘I did say sorry,’ he reminded her. ‘I am sorry. This is all a bit of a novelty to me, you see.’

  ‘What, doing exercises?’ Becca retorted. ‘Or being civil to people who are trying to help you?’

  Whoops. So much for professional composure. Now he was back to glowering, his jaw ominously taut.

  ‘Joke, obviously,’ she said, hastily. ‘And apology accepted. Now – shall we get on with it?’

  He ignored her, fiddling with some app or other on his phone; one of those fitness trackers, she guessed, and her earlier resolve seemed to buckle. She wasn’t very good at this, she thought to herself pessimistically – well, not with him, anyway. Fifty-eight minutes to go.

  ‘So! Without further ado,’ she went on, ‘let’s warm up. Marching on the spot first, arms by your sides. Let’s do this!’

  It wasn’t long before Becca was rather enjoying herself. Quite frankly, the power of making a grown man do all sorts of stupid things in public was awesome. Especially when she took it into her own hands to improvise a little and embroider some of Rachel’s (quite boring) instructions. Oh, she had him skipping up and down, she had him clapping his hands overhead as he marched, she got him doing the grapevine move she remembered from her own aerobics classes all those years ago. ‘And clap, that’s it,’ she called out, trying not to laugh, as he grapevined his way along the river path, in front of dog-walkers and pram-pushers, looking ungainly and uncoordinated and basically ridiculous. Revenge was sweet.

  ‘What the hell is this warm-up?’ he grumbled eventually. ‘I feel like flaming Beyoncé.’

  Perhaps it was time to stop making a spectacle of the man. They did tend to hate it, blokes, if they thought a woman was laughing at them, didn’t they? And the last thing she wanted was him complaining about her to her sister. Becca shrugged innocently. Nothing to do with me, mate. Just following orders. ‘Rachel swears by it,’ she said, trying to keep a straight face. ‘And do you feel warm?’

  ‘Yes,’ he had to concede.

  ‘Excellent! Warm-up completed,’ she said, pretending to do a big tick in mid-air. ‘Now for the really tough stuff. We’re off for a nice three-mile run. Well – you are. I’m going to cycle alongside you, cheering you on.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Cheering me on?’ he echoed.

  ‘Yeah! Woo! Go! And again! Lovely running! Super running! Woo! You can do this! Yeah! Feel the burn!’ she yelled, forgetting momentarily that she was supposed to be playing it cool and professional. She had never been much of a natural at either. ‘Not really,’ she added meekly, seeing him look appalled. ‘Just another joke. Right – come on, then. Off we go.’

  By now he was positively scowling – maybe she’d overegged the pudding there – but he did start running, at least, and she quickly hopped onto her bike and pedalled hard to catch up. She just had to hope that there wouldn’t be any rogue squirrels or overexcited dogs causing her to fall off the ruddy thing today. He would love that, wouldn’t he? Might even actually crack a smile for once.

  ‘So,’ she said, once she was level, ‘why did you decide to get a personal trainer, then? What’s your story?’

  He glanced sidelong at her without breaking his stride. ‘My story? Does there have to be a story?’

  She considered the question, then reflected on Hayley, the stressed fiancée; Rita, the overeating lady who missed her friends and allotment; and the two women she was booked in to see later on, Jackie and Elaine, both of whom were determined to lose a few stone having become concerned, apparently, that their husbands didn’t fancy them any more. ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘There’s always a story.’

  ‘Well . . .’ He fell silent all of a sudden, his face inscrutable. Aha. So there was a story – one that he didn’t want to tell her. But before he could answer, his phone rang and he stopped to take the call. ‘Hello, Adam Holland speaking? Yes. Yes, I did. I’ve asked Polly to check over the figures, but if the merger is to go ahead, then . . .’

  Having screeched to a halt, Becca frowned at him, but he didn’t seem to notice. Er . . . hello? In the middle of a session here? Warm muscles rapidly turning chilly, three-mile run kind of meaningless if you stop for a phone call? He didn’t seem to pick up on her WTF? vibes, though, and carried on as if she wasn’t even there.

  ‘Right, on we go,’ he said a few minutes later, shoving his phone back in his pocket and resuming jogging.

  Just like that. Okay. You’re the boss. Becca pulled a face as she cycled after him. ‘So, about your story,’ she prompted. ‘You w
ere just about to tell me when we got interrupted.’ Damn it, she wanted to hear the wretched story now, to know what had turned him into such a grumpy bastard.

  ‘Was I?’ he replied infuriatingly.

  Becca had to fall in behind him as they passed an old footbridge where a group of tourists had stopped to take photographs and were spilling onto the path. ‘Yes,’ she called after his retreating body. ‘You were. But don’t worry. If it’s really boring or embarrassing, I won’t judge you too harshly.’

  ‘I could ask you the same thing,’ he said as she caught him up. ‘How come you’re here, filling in for your sister when – no offence, I swear – I get the impression that it’s not your thing?’

  Ahh, the old no offence again. That hadn’t taken long, had it? And he ‘got the impression’ that this was not her thing – right. So basically he was saying, dressed up in fake politeness, that he thought she was shit at it. (He had a point, you know, but all the same: manners.) ‘Well . . .’ she began, but then his phone beeped, and he immediately pulled it out of his pocket.

  ‘Just a sec,’ he said, slowing to a walk as he peered at the screen. Then he stopped altogether again, and began typing a quick message. You’re kidding me, thought Becca. Was he for real?

  She clamped her lips together very tightly while she waited. The customer is always right, she told herself. Even when they’ve paid out good money for an hour’s fitness training and seem more bothered with their own personal telecommunications, the customer is still always right. What a load of cobblers that was.

  ‘There.’ Phone back in pocket, off they went for a third time. He glanced across at her. Was that a smile on his face? she thought, disconcerted and not a little wary. Maybe he’d just had some good news. Maybe it was a sex text from his girlfriend. Hey – or boyfriend, of course. Both, perhaps. She was cool with that.

  ‘So. Your story, then,’ he said, and she realized too late that the smile she thought she’d seen on his face was more of a smirk. ‘Don’t worry if it’s boring or embarrassing,’ he went on. ‘I won’t judge you.’

  Touché. Too-bloody-shay. It was all Becca could do not to steer her bike right over his stupid foot, to be honest. That might wipe the smug look off his chops. ‘We’re not here to talk about me,’ she replied primly. (‘Hoity-toity!’ Wendy said in her head.) ‘We’re here for your fitness training. So—’

  Wouldn’t you know it, his phone rang again then, and, as before, he stopped to take the call. ‘Well, just deal with it, can’t you?’ he said impatiently to the person on the end of the line, turning his back on Becca.

  Becca felt very much like cycling straight on, flicking the Vs as she went. This was getting ridiculous. With Rachel’s other clients, she’d been able to have a laugh and a joke, there had been some easy camaraderie; but with him, it felt like unrelenting hard work – combative, point-scoring. Was that his pathetic way of making sure she knew her place? He didn’t seem to want to be there; she certainly didn’t. And they still had forty whole minutes to go, according to her watch. Maybe he’d have a full-on conference call next and she could sit down and have a break while she waited. Twiddle her thumbs. Make some plans for world domination.

  She lengthened her neck as a cool breeze rustled through the trees, and wished she’d been brave enough to wear shorts rather than leggings today. It was only mid-morning, but the air already felt sticky.

  He was taking his time on this call, getting very aerated with someone on the other end of the line. Becca rolled her eyes, remembering Hayley a few days earlier, who couldn’t wait to get away from her phone and emails, to leave everything else behind while she cleared her head and ran. She had given her full attention to the hour’s training and really got something out of it. Adam, meanwhile, didn’t seem able to switch off for longer than five minutes.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, once the call had ended.

  ‘Why don’t you just ignore it next time?’ she couldn’t help asking as they set off again. ‘Other clients have said to me –’ Oh, get her, the pro! – ‘that they really enjoy stepping away from work things, and just being in the moment while they exercise.’

  ‘Do they,’ he replied tightly. ‘That’s nice. Unfortunately, in my job, business doesn’t stop simply because I feel like “being in the moment”.’ He made speech marks with his fingers, just in case she hadn’t noticed he was mocking her.

  ‘It would stop if you let it,’ Becca pointed out. She was done with being polite now. After today’s session, she would go back and tell Rachel that actually, she didn’t want to see Adam again. Give the man a refund, for heaven’s sake, it just wasn’t working out for either of them. ‘Looks to me like your phone has taken over your life,’ she went on. ‘How can you concentrate on anything when you leap to attention every time it makes a sound?’

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘And you’re a business expert, are you? The next Karren Brady? Remind me what it is you do again . . .?’

  She flushed. Bore off, Adam, you patronizing bellend. ‘Time for a sprint,’ she announced, changing the schedule on the spot. ‘When I shout for you to go, you have to run as fast as you can for a minute. Go!’

  What the hell, it was time to wheel out Plan B: get him out of breath so he couldn’t actually speak any more. She watched him sprint away, and cycled serenely after him. With a bit of luck, he’d have a heart attack and collapse by the end of the hour, she thought callously. And then she’d never have to put up with him again.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  It was dinner time, and everyone was at the table – apart from Luke, who was standing on his head on the kitchen floor, his face rapidly turning red. ‘What would happen if I stayed here for, like, hours and hours?’ he mused.

  ‘Your head would explode,’ Scarlet said, making a series of squelching sounds.

  ‘No, it wouldn’t,’ Luke said, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes nonetheless.

  ‘What would happen is you’d miss out on your tea,’ Rachel said, dishing broccoli spears and garden peas onto the children’s plates and trying not to look at her own boring bowl of soup and yet another disgusting protein shake. Christ, she’d had enough of invalid food now. ‘Get down, please, and sit at the table.’

  ‘You’d better not spray blood or brain juice on me when your head explodes,’ Mabel grumbled. She had come home late from school again, her hair smelling suspiciously smoky, and had merely shrugged, muttering something about hanging out by the river with friends when Rachel tried to interrogate her any further. (‘What? Am I not allowed to have friends now?’ she had huffed, before putting an imaginary gun to her head and pretending to shoot.) Rachel was going to have a little talk with her after dinner, she vowed. Lay down a few ground rules. If she had the energy, that was. If she could get through this mealtime without losing her patience.

  ‘Squish, squash, splatter,’ Scarlet sang ghoulishly, grinning at her brother. His legs wobbled and then down he crashed, just missing Becca, who was carrying a dish of pasta bake to the table.

  ‘Oi, careful,’ she said. ‘Right, grub’s up. How was everyone’s day?’

  ‘Luke got told off for fighting,’ Scarlet said immediately. ‘He had to see Mrs Jenkins and everything. Hashtag in the shit!’

  ‘Less of that language, thank you,’ Rachel said, Lawrence’s latest tirade still ringing in her ears. He had left a number of voicemail messages recently, telling her how disgraceful the girls’ language was as well as detailing the RSPCA debacle with grim fury. ‘And Luke, I don’t want to hear stories about you fighting, understand? Punching someone is never the right answer.’

  ‘It is if they punch you first,’ Scarlet said.

  ‘Or if you’re actually a professional boxer,’ Mabel added smartly.

  ‘Or if they say please-please-please punch me, I’ll give you a hundred million pounds if you punch me,’ Luke said with an angelic smile.

  Rachel gave him a look. ‘That seems unlikely,’ she pointed out. ‘But the
thing is—’

  ‘To be honest, I felt like punching someone too today,’ Becca put in just then, dishing the pasta onto plates.

  Brilliant, thought Rachel, with a little sigh. Wrong message. Not helping.

  ‘Only I didn’t punch him,’ Becca went on, oblivious. ‘I gritted my teeth and rose above. Teeth – gritted.’ She put down the serving spoon to demonstrate. ‘Fists – ever so slightly clenched but not actually punching.’ She raised an eyebrow at Luke as she gave him his plate of food. ‘If you go around punching people when you’re a grown-up, you get arrested, you know.’

  ‘I didn’t punch her anyway, I just kicked her. And pulled her stupid hair,’ said Luke, unperturbed.

  ‘Luke!’ Rachel cried, spluttering on a mouthful of soup. ‘You mustn’t kick people or pull hair. Do you understand?’

  ‘Who did you want to punch, Aunty Bee?’ Scarlet wanted to know. (Of course she did.)

  ‘Was it a robber?’ Luke asked.

  ‘Why don’t we change the subject?’ Rachel asked, but nobody took any notice.

  ‘It was this jerk called Adam,’ Becca said, pulling a face. ‘Who is a total and utter –’ She broke off, perhaps remembering Rachel’s earlier rebuke about language.

  ‘PooHead?’ Luke supplied helpfully.

  ‘Thank you, Luke. Yes – that. Adam PooHead,’ Becca said.

  The children all burst out laughing, and Rachel felt herself bristle. ‘Can we please not insult my clients in silly, puerile ways?’ she snapped, but the children were already talking over her.

  ‘Does he have, like, a big fat poo instead of a head?’ Scarlet giggled.

  ‘Wobbling around when he walks!’ Luke sniggered.

  ‘Why did you want to punch him, anyway?’ Mabel wanted to know.

  ‘Oh, just . . .’ Becca had been laughing too, but caught Rachel’s eye and sobered up quickly. ‘Um. He was getting on my nerves. But obviously violence is absolutely not the answer, so I was very professional and polite. Honest. Anyway! Scarlet, was that Lois I saw coming out of school with you today?’