The Secrets of Happiness

by Lucy Diamond

  ‘Yeah, I used to,’ Becca replied. ‘My friend and I had a little business a while ago, I’ve just been getting back into it. I made a couple of headpieces for my flatmate and her friend the other day, I can show you pictures on my phone.’ She hesitated, not wanting to give one of Rachel’s clients the hard sell; it was hardly her place to do so, plus Rachel would probably bollock her for it. ‘It’s just an idea, though. I totally understand if you’d rather go out and buy your own tiara, obviously . . .’

  ‘It’s a great idea!’ Hayley said. She was turning pink in the cheeks from the skipping, the rope hitting the patio slabs with a steady swishing rhythm. ‘I’ve not seen anything I love in the shops but if you could help me design my own style . . .’

  ‘Absolutely! You’re on. Let’s sort out a date for you to come over once we’re finished here.’

  Hayley was soon breathless with her skipping, so Becca let her gaze roam around the garden as she waited for the last few minutes to tick by. In contrast to Rachel’s outdoor space with its trampoline, hammock and paddling pool, Hayley’s garden was a more sophisticated affair, with a rattan patio table and matching chairs in one corner, and oriental-looking metal lanterns hanging from the walls containing half-melted candles. Becca thought of her airless flat in Birmingham, without so much as a balcony, and couldn’t help a twist of envy.

  Her stopwatch beeped, making her blink. ‘Okay, now for the gruelling bit,’ she warned. ‘Feet-together jumping for a minute. Come on! Imagine you’re stamping on the flowery tiara. Jump! Jump! Jump!’

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Rachel spent Monday feeling rather sorry for herself at home. The pain was still ongoing, and she was fed up with not being able to yawn or laugh or eat anything without it being uncomfortable. And then there was Violet’s damning email, which had added a whole new layer of misery since the weekend. She knew she had been unfair in taking her bad mood out on Becca a couple of times, but hadn’t been able to stop herself. Besides, it was hard to stand by and say nothing when her sister seemed intent on running Rachel’s business her own sweet way; the wrong way, in Rachel’s opinion.

  There was still the unresolved matter of Lawrence between them, too, with neither sister having dared broach the subject yet. Should she say something, just get it out there? Rachel wondered uncertainly. At least they’d know where they both stood and could have it out, once and for all. But what if they ended up having an enormous row? Becca might storm off, denying everything, and leave Rachel alone, unable to cope. On a purely practical note, that would spell disaster for the Jackson family. Like it or not, they needed her here, Rachel realized. They all did.

  Sighing, she gazed out of the window, drizzle falling softly against the glass. She was just going to have to bite her tongue a while longer, it seemed.

  That evening, once the children had gone to bed, Rachel was in the living room flicking through the television guide in the hope of something cheerful and distracting, when Becca walked in with two of her eye-watering vodka tonics and plonked them down on the coffee table.

  ‘I’ve not had a chance to talk to you about it before,’ she said without preamble, ‘but Luke’s had a bit of bother at school. He was upset last night because this kid has been mean to him. Did you know about that?’

  Rachel felt as if she’d just failed a basic parenting test and been doused with a bucket of cold water. ‘No,’ she admitted in alarm. ‘Which kid? Who’s been mean to him?’

  ‘It’s that girl we saw with her monstrous wildebeest of a mother in A&E the other day,’ Becca replied. ‘Jodie something or other.’

  ‘Cripps,’ Rachel supplied, her face flaming as she remembered the incident. ‘What’s she been saying?’

  Becca hesitated, looking awkward. ‘Um . . . Well. I think the gist of it is, vile things about you, I’m afraid. Sorry. And Luke kicked her, and then Jodie was threatening to get her big brother on him, and he was really worried.’ Becca sipped her drink. ‘I wanted to tell you yesterday, but . . .’

  The sentence didn’t need finishing. But Rachel hadn’t given her the chance, because she’d had a go at her the minute she walked in and then sulked off to bed early in a foul temper. And in the meantime, Luke had needed her and she hadn’t been there. She hadn’t even noticed! ‘Oh God,’ she said, racked with guilt. ‘Thanks for looking after him. I feel awful. Is he all right?’

  ‘He seems better today,’ Becca assured her. ‘I spoke to his teacher, who was brilliant about it, and he came back happy as Larry this afternoon, hasn’t mentioned it since. Hopefully it was just one of those flash-in-the-pan things.’

  ‘Yes, but . . .’ Rachel still felt bad. ‘I’m his mum, it should have been me helping him solve the problem.’ She raked a hand through her hair. ‘Shit. I need to up my game here. I need to sort myself out.’

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up about it,’ Becca said. There was a delicate pause, and then she went on, ‘You have seemed a bit . . . fed up, though, since the weekend. Is everything all right?’

  Now was the moment, of course, for Rachel to confront her. Well, you know, there is the small matter of you having slept with my husband. It’s kind of been bugging me. It might even be the right time to talk through the confusing feelings she’d had since Violet’s email. Actually, I found out two days ago that my mum was done for child neglect and died a lonely alcoholic. I know, right? Didn’t see that one coming!

  Neither option was exactly an easy conversation, though. Did she really have it in her to go through with either one right now? But then Becca was speaking again and the moment had gone, her chance missed.

  ‘Look, I know things have been really shit for you, I know you’re still recuperating,’ her sister began, ‘but maybe we could pull together a bit of a plan, to make you feel better. I was thinking a walk, for starters – stretch those legs, take in a bit of nature . . . we can be back in time for school pickup, no problem. And before you start quibbling about not wanting anyone to see you, then don’t, because we can drive out into the countryside and go for a walk where we won’t see another person for miles and miles.’ She wagged a finger. ‘See – one step ahead of you, Rach.’

  Rachel felt a faint flicker of warmth inside. The very fact that Becca had been thinking about this – ‘How to help my big sister’ – was sweet. Cheering, in fact. And there was something about a hike far from civilization and gossiping locals that was actually tempting. The last time she’d gone walking in the Black Mountains, one soft spring Sunday, they’d seen red kites and lapwings, and taken a picnic to share at the top, with all the world spread out below them. It seemed so long since she’d felt her muscles ache from exertion, since she’d felt the wind in her hair. ‘Yes,’ she said after a moment. ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘You can start getting dressed again too, you manky old slacker.’ Becca poked her pyjama-clad thigh with her toe. ‘At least before this new friend of Scarlet’s comes round, as she keeps begging us to arrange, or you’ll never hear the end of it.’

  Rachel smiled weakly, picturing the scandalized expression on her daughter’s face.

  ‘And,’ Becca went on, ‘you should really start answering your friends’ phone calls. Or at least let them in the house next time one of them knocks for you. The few I’ve met – Diane, Karen and Jo – seem lovely, and they’re all worried about you. Why don’t you swallow that stupid pride of yours and go out for an evening with them? I’ll babysit, obviously. Your face is definitely less swollen and bruised now, and it would make you feel tons better, I’m sure.’

  Tears pricked Rachel’s eyes. It was true, she had completely cut herself off from her friends, dreading their pity, however well-meaning they might seem. She had been stupidly proud, agreed. And yet they’d stuck by her in their own way; they hadn’t given up on her. Nor had Becca, for that matter. Even Wendy had made a tentative phone call of support. Rachel wasn’t sure she deserved to have anyone on her side any more.

  ‘Hey, come on, don’t cry, they’re not t
hat bad,’ Becca said, and Rachel gave a snotty sort of laugh. ‘Oh, and by the way, Hayley’s coming round on Thursday evening, I’m going to help her make a tiara for her wedding. So that’s another sociable thing you can do, too.’

  Rachel felt somewhat apprehensive at the prospect of a guest in the house – gawping! Pitying! – but managed to nod all the same. ‘Okay,’ she said shakily. ‘Thank you.’ She scrubbed at her eyes with her fist. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been a bit off lately,’ she found herself mumbling. ‘I’m not exactly the best sister in the world, am I?’

  Becca looked uncomfortable and took a few moments to respond. ‘Well, neither am I,’ she said eventually, and Rachel held her breath. Was this it? The big confession? Were they going to get to the nitty-gritty, after so long looking the other way?

  ‘But . . . Well,’ Becca went on, haltingly. ‘Me being here . . . it’s a chance for us to start again, isn’t it?’ She bit her lip. ‘I just keep thinking about how pleased Dad would be to see us here together, if that doesn’t sound too sappy.’

  So they weren’t going to talk about Lawrence. And actually, Rachel felt relieved. It had almost got to the point where she didn’t want to discuss him anyway. Why put herself through more pain? ‘No,’ she replied, ‘it doesn’t sound sappy to me.’ She got to her feet. ‘I’ll get the vodka,’ she said. ‘Then we can work out where we’re going to go on our sisterly hike. Deal?’

  Becca smiled at her. ‘Deal,’ she said.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Tuesday brought about Becca’s least favourite hour of the week: her next appointment with Adam. He had phoned the night before and she’d felt quite excited for a moment, thinking he might be ringing to cancel on her. No such luck. Instead, he actually wanted to bring their session forward two days as he now had a very important meeting on Thursday morning. Of course he did, Becca had thought, rolling her eyes at Rachel as she made the arrangements. Just like he’d had all those very important calls and emails to attend to last time. Well, if the miserable git dared to answer his mobile every five minutes this week too, then his precious smartphone was in danger of being hurled into the River Wye, she vowed. ‘Just you try me,’ she muttered, cycling off to meet him with a heavy heart.

  The day felt fresh with a brisk wind bustling around the city, although the sun was doing its hazy best to poke a ray or two out from between the clouds. Down on the river, a swan led a line of fluffy cygnets in stately procession towards the bridge, and a graceful weeping willow tree reached out to dangle its leaf-tips in the eddying water.

  ‘Morning! Lovely day for it!’ he called when she saw him by the river’s edge. He was actually jogging on the spot while he waited for her, in spotless white T-shirt and black jersey shorts, seemingly full of the joys of summer. Oka-a-ay, Becca thought, clambering off her bike. So today we’re happy, are we? Has Grumpy Adam been put back in his box for a change?

  ‘Morning,’ she said, giving him a quick, polite smile. One measly hour of her life. She could do this. ‘Right, so, this morning, Rachel wants us to focus in on a couple of different areas . . .’

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, stopping jogging momentarily to peer at her. ‘I know I pissed you off with the phone business last week, but look – empty pockets.’ He turned them inside-out to show her. ‘I left it at home this week. Corporations could be crumbling this minute, clients falling to their knees, pressing Redial in despair, but . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Well, I’ll find out about that in an hour, I guess.’

  She eyed him suspiciously. Was he taking the mick? ‘Great,’ she said, deadpan. ‘Cheers. So if we could . . .’

  ‘I’ve never been very good at taking time off, you see,’ he said in a rush, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Not used to it.’ Then he stopped, looking self-conscious. ‘But you’re waiting to start and I’m still talking. Right. Go on, then. What’s the warm-up? I really hope it’s more of those ridiculous dance moves because that wasn’t embarrassing at all last week.’

  Despite her earlier froideur, she found herself giving the tiniest of smirks at the memory of him gyrating like a clubber on the river path. Embarrassing? He knew nothing. She could do much worse if she felt like it. ‘Don’t give me that,’ she scoffed. ‘Looked to me like you were loving it last time, especially when you twirled around and nearly headbutted that tree.’

  He grinned, a dimple flashing in one cheek. He actually looked quite nice when he wasn’t growling and grumbling. Dirty-blonde hair, a bit on the shaggy side, brown eyes, good teeth. She wondered what had cheered him up so much today. Sex, probably. Men were nothing if not predictable, in her limited experience.

  ‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘I’ll do whatever stupid warm-up moves you like, if you do them too. Fair’s fair.’

  She considered the proposition. They were in their usual meeting spot by the river and the breeze seemed hell-bent on directing itself straight for her, whipping around her goose-pimpling arms and legs. She was actually kind of chilly, now he mentioned it. ‘Go on, then,’ she said, propping her bike against a tree. In for a penny, in for a pound. ‘So let’s kick off with a few grapevines,’ she said, channelling Davina as best she could. ‘Remember that from last time? Well, just mirror what I’m doing, and imagine some great music in your head, like we’re at the best party ever. And! One, two, three, clap. One, two, three and clap . . .’

  ‘Can I just point out,’ Adam said, as they began the sideways grapevine move, ‘that I would not be doing this at the best party ever, however many drinks I’d had?’

  ‘We can have a go at the Macarena, if that’s more your cup of tea,’ she teased. ‘Or “YMCA”. Oi! Don’t forget to clap, by the way.’ She sniggered as he hammed up his next clap for her benefit. ‘That’s better. Okay, now for the box step. Forward, forward, back, back . . .’

  The warm-up got under way, from grapevines to box steps to a kick-and-punch move, lunges, squats (accompanied by some Seventies-style hand jives for added interest) and finishing with a funky scoop-and-clap dance move that she invented on the spot. By the end of it, not only did she feel warmed up, but she felt quite chipper herself too. There was something spirit-lifting and vaguely comedic about performing a series of energetic dance moves in public to no music, especially with an uncoordinated bloke facing you and trying to keep up. True to his word, he matched her step for embarrassing step, clapping and skipping with abandon. They even high-fived at the end, in an unexpected burst of laughter, much to the bemusement of a couple of mums walking by with their prams.

  Well, well. So there was a turn-up for the books, at least. ‘Now for the aerobic part of the workout,’ she said, trying to remember her businesslike manner. She was starting to get the hang of this fitness-instructor lark now. Warm-up, aerobics, core or strengthening exercises, cool-down – that was the general routine. Everyone moaned about the strengthening exercises as a rule – the sit-ups, push-ups and lunges – but they tended to love the cool-down stretches, beatific smiles on their sweaty faces with the bliss that it was almost all over.

  Today, Adam was down for a twenty-minute run, according to Rachel’s notes, stopping every five minutes or so to jump with both feet onto a suitable park bench and off again six times. (Rather you than me, Becca thought, shuddering at the prospect.) Without his phone pinging and ringing every two minutes, the actual running bit turned out to be a far more civilized affair this time. They spoke to each other like human beings and everything.

  ‘How’s Rachel doing, then?’ he asked. Shock! Grumpiest client makes conversational opener. It was enough to make an unfit woman fall off her bike in surprise.

  ‘Getting there,’ she replied. (Not falling off her bike, obviously. Like she would ever be so uncool.) ‘It’s going to take another month until she’s fully recovered, but we’re back at the fracture clinic in a couple of days, so we’ll know a bit more then.’

  ‘And in the meantime, you’re Being Rachel, are you?’ He paused, swerving to avoid some tourists who’d stopped to take ph
otographs of a strange wooden statue of a pug. ‘Womanning the helm?’

  She wrinkled her nose. ‘Doing my best to. Although . . .’ She glanced across at him and decided to risk a confidence. ‘She’s one of those people who are so bloody good at everything, it’s not been easy to follow in her footsteps. There have been a few mistakes, shall we say, although I’m enjoying looking after her kids. Have you got kids, by the way?’

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Much to my parents’ dismay and never-ending hinting.’

  ‘Oh, same,’ she confessed. ‘Being an aunty is pretty cool, although I am kind of struggling with the discipline. Just this morning I overheard the youngest two discussing tactics for getting their dog back from their grandma’s house, one of which involved trying to make the poor woman so angry with the dog that she was desperate to get rid of it.’

  Adam snorted. ‘Go on. Enlighten me.’

  ‘Their idea was – and I kid you not – that whenever the dog crapped in the garden, they would scoop it up and leave it in the house. In her bed, my nephew suggested.’ She glanced across at him, suddenly worried that it wasn’t exactly professional to discuss such things with a client but to her relief, he was looking amused.

  ‘Christ almighty.’ He guffawed. ‘They sound a right pair.’

  ‘Exactly. On her pillow, my niece said next! I mean, can you imagine? So I had to tell them off and be really really stern, but inside I was just about howling with laughter imagining this poker-faced old Welsh grandma discovering what they’d done.’ Her mouth twitched at the memory. ‘Naughty little so-and-sos. Oh, and then – ’ She suddenly realized she was talking a lot, and felt awkward. It wasn’t as if she even knew him very well. ‘Sorry. Am I going on?’

  ‘No, not at all. Tell me more. This is way better than the tedious sort of conversation I usually have on a Tuesday morning. You don’t get many stories about dog-shit subterfuge in business calls, more’s the pity.’