The Secrets of Happiness

by Lucy Diamond

  ‘She is fuming,’ Mabel said happily.

  ‘Serves her right,’ Becca said. ‘If she’d just laughed it off, it would have been over by now. Silly moo.’

  Mrs Jenkins had a motherly arm around Henry, and was talking to him in a low voice. He glanced across at Sara, wiped the tears from his eyes with his bare arm, and then nodded.

  ‘Henry wants to try reading the poem again,’ Mrs Jenkins said gently. ‘And this time there’ll be no interruptions. Good for you, Henry. Whenever you’re ready.’

  You could have heard a pin drop as the boy cleared his throat again and began. The entire audience was willing him on, not least because they were dying to hear how the poem ended.

  ‘My mum likes wine.

  She thinks it’s fine

  She likes to drink it all the time.

  How many bottles? Ninety-nine.’

  Rachel glanced across at Sara, who looked very much as if she would like to murder someone, preferably by smashing ninety-nine wine bottles across the head. Mrs Jenkins would have to watch her back all summer now.

  ‘Sometimes her face goes really red.

  Sometimes she giggles when she tucks me in bed.

  And in the morning she has a poorly head.

  But I love my mum lots and lots

  She is pretty and kind and never cross –’

  He shot a nervous glance sideways at Sara. Wishful thinking, Henry, mate, Rachel thought to herself.

  ‘She is even nicer than blackcurrant squash.

  The End.’

  There was a beat of silence, and then the hall erupted in applause. Henry risked another glance over at Sara, and his relief was apparent as he realized that she too was clapping, although her mouth was pressed together in a strange, tight sort of line. Then, looking as if she might burst into tears, she crouched down and opened her arms. ‘Awwwww,’ said every single person in the room who didn’t have a heart of stone, as Henry ran gratefully into them for a gigantic hug.

  ‘Blackcurrant squash all round tonight,’ Mabel whispered with a giggle, and Rachel stifled a laugh.

  Mothers and children, eh? For something that should be so simple – I gave birth to you, end of – it would never cease to be a complicated relationship for her. (Sara, too, by the looks of things.) After talking it through with Becca and Wendy, Rachel had by now just about come to terms with the shock of finding out that her own mother was less than angelic. She was enjoying a better relationship with her stepmother too, even if this did seem to mean being texted countless photos of slices of cake and cocktails, for some reason.

  In an attempt to find a bit of closure in the Emily situation, she was planning to make a second trip up to Manchester over the summer, with the children in tow this time, to lay the ghosts to rest – or at the very least, lay a wreath of flowers at her mother’s grave and maybe have a few quiet words. Don’t worry, she wanted to say. I turned out okay. And I think I understand. She was going to explore her parents’ city too, possibly with the help of Violet, if she was up for it. Find a few places where her mum and dad had been happy together, walk in their footsteps and hope to feel some peace in her heart.

  Don’t be put off by what happened in the train station, Violet had written in their most recent correspondence. It’s the most brilliant city of all. You come from a good place, Rachel – a good place with real heart. Give us a chance, and we’ll welcome you back.

  So that was something, perhaps not to look forward to, exactly, but which might just provide a little redemption. In the meantime, she had enough to be getting on with, rebuilding her fitness training business and taking back all her old clients, and she couldn’t wait to get going. There would be the usual school-holiday juggling affair to manage, of course, but Wendy (good old Wendy!) had offered to come and help out a few days every week, looking after the children while Rachel went to work. If someone had told her about this arrangement at the start of the year, she would not have believed it, and yet here they were. Starting again, a second try at their stepmother–daughter relationship, after all these years. And it was fun, too. Wendy was actually much better company than Rachel had ever given her credit for. Mischievous and unpredictable, but kind too, with her heart worn permanently on her sleeve. A good person to have on your side.

  About time, and all. What took you so long? she could almost hear her dad exclaiming from wherever he might be. Well, quite. But they were getting there now, at least.

  ‘Mum! Scarlet,’ Mabel hissed just then, nudging her, and Rachel jerked to attention. Here came her middle child walking on stage, that pointy little chin of hers jutting with determination as she positioned the violin against her shoulder and raised her bow with a flourish. Rachel crossed her fingers in her lap, her heart suddenly beating like a sparrow’s, fast and fluttery, feeling way more anxious than her daughter looked about the whole thing.

  Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock . . .

  Rachel’s eyes swelled with proud tears as Scarlet began to play, cool as a cucumber, despite the fact that there must have been two hundred people crammed into the hall to watch. Look at that girl of hers up there, ten years old, plaits halfway down her back, scabby knees, and with such fierce concentration in every fibre of her body. That girl who’d burned through so much anger this year now stood playing a sweet, bouncy Christmas tune on her violin, as if there hadn’t ever been a vengeful thought in her head. And they’d had her Grade 2 exam result back that week, and she’d passed with merit. Clearly, composing angry songs about one’s terrible parents did wonders for one’s technique.

  Finishing the song without a single missed note, Scarlet allowed herself a small, brief smile of triumph before making an extravagant bow, and Rachel clapped so hard she found herself fearing for her newly mended wrist. Becca put her little fingers in her mouth and gave an ear-splitting wolf-whistle, shrill enough to have Wendy wincing on the other side of her. ‘For goodness’ sake, Becky, I might want to use my ears again sometime in my life!’ she grumbled, pulling a face.

  Rachel laughed, though, especially when Scarlet, hearing the whistle, looked in their direction and waved in delight. Oh, she was going to miss flamboyant Becca when she moved out – they all would. ‘Don’t be daft, I’ll be back all the time,’ Becca had assured the children whenever one of them made a wistful comment about her leaving. ‘Besides, your mum owes me plenty of dinners, all the cooking and slaving I’ve done for her. I’ll be back to claim them all, don’t you worry. Every Sunday lunchtime I’ll be knocking on your door, just wait.’

  The house would definitely be quieter without Becca’s loud laugh, her dreadful singing in the shower, her habit of defusing a potential barney with the children by making them giggle. Rachel was glad for her, though, that she’d found the right place to move on to, with her arts and crafts business taking off and this burgeoning romance with Adam to keep her smiling. She was glad for herself, too, that she now had this new ally and confidante, this person who’d come to know her so well over the last few weeks. Her sister. How had she ever managed without her?

  Next on stage was a trumpet player, and Rachel found herself thinking about the band they’d gone to see the weekend before, Becca’s friend Michael and his pals in the park. Luke had been fascinated by the instrument, begging to have a go, and Michael had been so sweet and patient with him, it had warmed the cockles of Rachel’s heart. He was a lovely bloke full stop, as it turned out. Within five minutes of chatting to him, he’d offered to lend them all sorts of camping equipment for their holiday (‘You’ve never been to Rhossili?’ he’d exclaimed, looking incredulous. ‘Oh, you must. It’s the loveliest corner of the world, it is’) and, on hearing that her car had developed a strange rattle, immediately offered to come over one day and take a look at it. Becca had said before how Michael reminded her a bit of their father, and in that moment, Rachel too could see the resemblance.

  ‘That would be so kind, if you wouldn’t mind,’ she’d heard herself saying in reply to him. H
er, Rachel, who’d always prided herself on never needing any help from anyone. And to think she’d had a go at Becca for her ‘interfering’ and ‘do-gooding’, as she’d so meanly termed it! Next time the phone rang and it was someone like Michael, maybe she’d think twice about cutting them off.

  ‘Thank God that’s over,’ Mabel said in a too-loud whisper as the last act of the evening finished on stage – an amateur magician with an oversized top hat, who had made a pound coin appear from behind Mrs Jenkins’ ear.

  ‘We can’t go home just yet,’ Rachel said, as the audience began getting to their feet. ‘You heard what Mrs Jenkins said, they’re serving drinks in the foyer. Let’s go and grab one while we wait for Scarlet and Luke. Maybe you could say hi to Dad, too.’

  Mabel pulled a face. ‘You’ve got very sociable all of a sudden,’ she grumbled, but stood up nonetheless and joined the crush of people heading for the exit in a slow-moving trudge.

  The foyer was a noisy buzz of people queueing for plastic glasses of lukewarm wine while children raced around, getting underfoot and trying to pinch the biscuits without being spotted. Around them, Rachel could hear several conversations following near-identical loops – summer holidays; hasn’t he grown? wasn’t it a great show? as well as a few gleeful mutterings about Henry Fortescue’s poem, and how Sara would never live it down.

  ‘I’ll get us all a drink,’ Wendy said, joining the queue and waving away offers of assistance. Mabel skipped off to speak to her dad and Welsh Grandma, who appeared to be wearing several layers of fleece and walking boots despite the fact that it was a warm summer’s evening. Rachel and Becca were left to loiter in a small space by a Sports Day display as hordes of talent-show stars poured past, looking triumphant at their recent stage successes.

  ‘Mum! Mum! Did you see me?’ Here came Luke now, barging his way through the crowd, elasticated eyepatch having ridden right up into his hair, giving him the air of a dishevelled young McEnroe.

  ‘I did! We all did! And you were brilliant, Luke, well done,’ she replied, hugging him. ‘Absolutely terrifyingly brilliant.’

  ‘We so got the loudest claps,’ he said, with the confident grin of a boy who knew his pirate dancing skills were second to none. ‘Scarlet’s just coming, she’s waiting for Lois,’ he went on. ‘Can I have a biscuit?’

  ‘Yes, love, you can,’ she said, laughing. ‘Maybe take one over for Grandma Wendy too, who’s nobly waiting to get us all drinks.’

  ‘Hey, there’s Scarlet,’ Becca said, waving across the throng. ‘Ahh, Scarlet and the famous Lois, no less. Daughter of your future husband, if you listen to those two and their plotting.’

  Rachel waved too, smiling as she saw her daughter proceed through the mob, arm in arm with a pixie-faced little girl. Despite whatever ridiculous matchmaking the girls had been up to, she was pleased that this friendship had lasted well so far. Scarlet was such a mercurial sort of character, prone to hissy fits and blurting out inappropriate secrets, all of which had resulted in best friends coming and going like buses over the years. Lois, by all accounts, was a keeper – a child who gave as good as she got, an equal in Scarlet’s eyes. She really must get on the case and sort out a play date, Rachel thought guiltily, as the girls made their way across the crowded room.

  Then they stopped, and she watched as Lois gave a squeal and bent down to hug some dark-haired little sibling with great affection (very sweet, thought Rachel, wishing her children could be quite so nice to one another in public) before then reaching up to hug her father, who . . .

  Wait a minute. ‘Oh my God,’ she said, grabbing hold of Becca’s arm. She tried to get a better look at Lois’s dad, but he was reaching down to his daughters and was momentarily lost amidst the crowd. Rachel gave a shaky laugh. She was seeing things, almost certainly. ‘For a minute I thought Lois’s dad was . . .’ Then she broke off again, spotting that the girls were now towing Lois’s dad towards them, presumably determined to sort out their own sleepover or play session right then and there.

  ‘Shit,’ said Rachel, as Lois’s dad loomed into view, the younger daughter now perched high on his shoulders. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Becca, and gave a low whistle under her breath. ‘It’s actually him, as well. It bloody well is. Ha! Brilliant. Thank you, the universe. Good one!’

  ‘Who bloody well is? What do you mean, the universe?’ Luke said through a mouthful of biscuit, having reappeared beside his mother.

  Oh God. Rachel had gone all quivery. She didn’t know whether to burst out laughing, or leap behind the Sports Day display to hide. But here came the girls, marching forward with determination in their eyes, and it was too late to escape. Get a grip, you insane woman, she told herself fiercely. Pull yourself together!

  ‘Mum, this is Lois,’ Scarlet said with a beaming smile. ‘And this is Lois’s dad and little sister. Please can you sort out a time for Lois to come and play in the holidays? PLEEEEEEEASE?’

  Lois’s dad was looking at her quizzically, as if he recognized her but couldn’t quite place her. She, of course, could place him all too well. Seeing as she’d just been placed right in the heart of Awkwardsville. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I’m Patrick, good to meet you.’

  ‘Hi,’ she said, trying to look normal and not like the blushing idiot she felt inside. ‘We’ve met before, actually. At the fracture clinic?’ Oh, cringe. Could she be any more embarrassed? It was only the male nurse she and Becca had giggled over, only the man whose bum she’d found herself eyeing up. Well, that was where perving got you, she scolded herself. Consider this Awkwardsville visitation to be your comeuppance, Rachel Jackson!

  ‘Of course we have, that’s right.’ His eyes twinkled as he smiled. (Stop it, Rachel. Stop noticing his twinkling eyes.) ‘Well, we’d love to have Scarlet round sometime, wouldn’t we, girls? We’ve heard a lot about her.’

  ‘That would be great,’ Rachel managed to say. ‘And likewise with Lois. Shall we swap numbers and sort out some dates?’ She saw Scarlet and Lois high-fiving, and was suddenly worried her words were loaded with completely the wrong sort of meaning. ‘I mean, for the girls. Obviously. Play dates.’ (Oh, kill me now. Just put me out of my misery, she thought, as Becca gave a wicked snort of amusement beside her. Now it looked as if she was flirting really, really badly with him, and she so wasn’t. Like she would even dare when her ex-husband – her madly jealous, demented ex-husband, no less – must be prowling around in the background somewhere, probably taking a run-up to rugby-tackle poor innocent Patrick right this very second.)

  ‘Why don’t we go and look at these Sports Day pictures?’ Becca said to Luke very unsubtly just then, which made the whole thing appear even worse.

  But Patrick was smiling and not looking terrified, thank goodness. He must be used to mad women making idiots of themselves. Either that, or he had been a nurse long enough to overlook humans behaving oddly in times of stress. The two of them swapped numbers and promised to be in touch, and then, not wanting to tempt fate with an interruption from Lawrence, Rachel peeled away, claiming she needed to go and help Wendy.

  Thump, thump, thump, went her heart. Thumpity-thump-thump-thump. Not that she was under any illusions about the chance of such a nice, handsome man remotely fancying her, of course. She wasn’t even sure she was ready for any kind of romantic entanglements yet. But a little frisson now and then was good for the soul, right? It made a woman happy. Besides, it didn’t hurt to make a new friend once in a while; a new dad friend who was shamelessly good-looking, at that. A new dad friend to whom she might just offer a glass of wine when he came by to pick up his daughter after a play session . . . Well, maybe.

  ‘I told you she was nice,’ Scarlet said smugly, slipping a hand in hers. ‘Didn’t I tell you? And she doesn’t have a mummy so I told her she could borrow you sometimes, if she needs someone to be extra kind to her, or do her hair or something. Just like you sort of borrow Grandma Wendy as your sort of mum. Is that all right?’

  �
��Oh, Scarlet.’ Rachel reached down and squeezed her, feeling a rush of love for her clear-sighted daughter. Sometimes a child’s simplistic view of the world was infinitely better than the way adults went about things, complicating life with so many nuances and layers, muddying the waters with past grievances and doubts. ‘You are a love, did you know that?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Scarlet, snaffling a Bourbon biscuit and shoving it up her sleeve before anyone could stop her. ‘Yes, I actually did.’

  After a lukewarm glass of pinot cheapo, the six of them walked home. Mabel and Scarlet were in front, hooting with laughter about something or other, Becca and Rachel next (Becca with one eye on her watch – she was meant to be meeting Adam in half an hour, and already looked twitchy at the prospect), followed by Wendy and Luke. Luke was telling Wendy a very long, convoluted story about Star Wars characters, and she was listening with great patience and making interested-sounding noises in all the right places, which surely made her a saint.

  This evening had gone as well as could be expected, all things considered, Rachel thought. TODAY WE ARE: HAPPY! Luke and Scarlet had been thrilled to have both parents and both grandmothers in the audience, and had positively revelled in all the resulting praise afterwards. Lawrence had been civil and actually quite jovial, while she in turn had coped with the crowd of parents and not freaked out once. Plus, she had a certain phone number tucked carefully into her handbag, which made her feel just the tiniest bit giddy inside whenever she thought about it.

  ‘Oi! You cow. I hate you!’

  Meanwhile, Mabel and Scarlet had come to blows over something – Mabel winding up her younger sister, judging from the way she was laughing uproariously as Scarlet rained punches on her, shrieking the whole time. But then, just as suddenly, Scarlet was laughing too and they were collapsing against each other in the street, shoulders shaking with mirth.