Something Like Happy

by Eva Woods

  “But...but...” What could she say? He was wrong? He wasn’t wrong. And the walls of her pit suddenly felt higher and slippier than ever.

  He turned away again, disappearing over the hill, shouting back, “Tell Polly’s parents I’m sorry.” And he was gone.

  DAY 89

  Read old letters

  Annie let herself into her mother’s house, feeling how still and humid the air was. Motes of dust drifted in the sunlight from the smeary window, and the panes rattled each time a bus went by on the main road. This was the house she’d grown up in, spent her whole life in until she’d met and moved in with Mike. If Annie closed her eyes she could conjure up her mother as she used to be. Dependable, if interfering at times. Always there when Annie fell over and cut her knee, or had a fight with Jane, or left Mike and ran away. Until, suddenly, she hadn’t been. Annie knew now that nobody would always be there.

  “You were right, Mum,” she whispered. “There’s no such thing as a perfect life. But there is such a thing as a happy life. Maybe.”

  It was so familiar—the china figurines on the mantelpiece, now in need of a good dusting. The sagging armchair where her mother had sat doing crosswords, watching TV, reading her books. The worn patterned carpet that had been there since Annie was a child. They’d never replaced anything. We can’t afford it, her mother would say. We’re not made of money. Because of your father.

  And now she knew that her father had tried, at least at the end. It was too easy to imagine things being different. Eyes closed, she’d spent weekends and holidays with her father, got to know him; they’d been close and she’d felt loved. She’d had a sister. Eyes open, she was back in the noisy living room, and her father was dead. And she knew her mother would not be back here again. Annie would have to find her somewhere else to live. This house, with all its sad memories, would have to be sold.

  She found the letter in the bottom drawer of her mother’s bedside table, inside a shoe box that had once held sensible flat shoes from Clarks. Annie laid her hand on it, breath held. Then, as if Polly was over her shoulder chivvying her on, she took it out of its envelope. Standard blue notepaper, scrawled writing. This was her father’s handwriting. Dear Annie. I hope your mother will pass this letter on to you... Annie’s eyes blurred, and she tucked the paper away carefully. Something to read later, maybe, when she felt stronger, when she could process all of this.

  There was something else in the box, too—a scrap of fabric, the color of gone-off salmon. A fragment of the prom dress her mother had made so carefully, and Annie had rejected. The one she’d thought meant her mother didn’t care, not seeing that it really meant the opposite. Annie fished something else out. A tiny bracelet of plastic, so small she could barely fit two fingers through it. Anne Maureen Clarke. Her hospital tag as a baby. Kept all this time, just as she’d saved Jacob’s.

  Burning tears choked her again, and the contents of the box began to blur. Annie sat on the pink shag carpet of her mother’s room, choked with the smell of Anaïs Anaïs and damp, and she cried for everything she’d lost, and everything she’d never had to begin with.

  DAY 90

  Visit a grave

  The grave was like an open wound in the ground, the soil churned up, the wreaths on top already starting to look bedraggled and rotten. “You’d hate this, wouldn’t you? So unchic,” Annie said out loud. Silence. “I suppose I better start coming more often. Keep you tidied up. You’re in the same graveyard as Jacob, you know. I can visit you both.”

  The flowers waved in the breeze. Annie shoved her hands deep in the pockets of her jacket. “I better tell you the news. Dr. Max has gone. Turns out he wasn’t interested in me, after all.” Silence. She sighed. “Okay. You’re right. He was interested, I know that, but I scared him off by acting like a madwoman and panicking when he tried to kiss me. My fault. Everyone’s doing what you asked otherwise. Your parents are splitting up—your dad’s looking at flats already. It all seems pretty amicable. Costas handed in his notice. George is going to report Caleb to the police. My mum’s getting out of the hospital soon. I wish you were here to tell me what to do. Do I sell her house? Do I tell her I know about Dad? She might not even understand.”

  There was no answer, of course. There never would be. If she thought she heard Polly’s voice in her head it would just be her imagination, a projection, a ghost. “I wish you could send me that email, after all,” she said. “Tell me you’re okay. Tell me I’m an idiot. Just something.”

  Nothing. In the silence, Annie knelt down and began to prune some of the wreaths.

  DAY 91

  Reminisce

  “What’s the matter with you, love? You do look down in the dumps.”

  Annie watched as her mother’s hands flew, knitting the soft yellow wool together. She hoped it wasn’t more baby clothes. That was always hard to stomach. “I am down in the dumps, Maureen. You see, Polly died. She died and I don’t know what to make of the world now she isn’t in it. It feels like...staying too long at a party after the cool people have left.”

  “Who’s Polly?” Her mother’s eyes roamed the hospital room, unfocused, but her hands never stopped moving. So deft, so quick, never dropping a single stitch. How could she still do that, when she didn’t know who anyone was?

  “She’s...my friend. She was my friend.”

  “Jane? Jane is your friend, isn’t she?”

  Annie froze. “That’s right. Do you know me, then, Maureen?”

  Her mother didn’t look up from her knitting. “Of course I know you, Annie. Haven’t I been sitting here talking to you? And what’s this Maureen business? Call me Mum.”

  “Um, sorry.” Annie’s heart was racing. Dr. Quarani had said there might be moments like this, when the clouds parted and she was lucid. When she came back to herself. But she’d almost given up hope. “How are you, Mum?”

  “Oh, I’m all right. Bit sick of this place, to be honest. The food is terrible. Worse than when me and your dad went to Butlins in 1975.”

  She could have said it: Mum, he’s dead, and why did you not tell me he wanted to meet me? But she didn’t want to spoil the moment, break the spell. “Well, maybe we can get you out of here soon. Where would you like to be, Mum? Would you like to stay with me?”

  “In that pokey little flat of yours?” So she remembered Annie had moved out of her nice house. “No offense, love, but I’d rather be at home.”

  “I know, but, Mum...it’s not really safe. You had a fall, remember? What if I could find you a really nice care home? Would that be okay? We could—I guess we could sell the house?”

  “I suppose. I never did like that house, really.” She went back to her knitting.

  “As long as it’s not in with a load of old biddies, though. I mean, I’m not exactly drooling into my porridge yet, Annie.”

  “I know, Mum. I’m sure there’s a nice one.” She decided to risk it. “Mum, do you remember everything that happened? With me, and Mike, and Jane, and...everything?”

  She frowned. “You and Jane had a falling-out, is that right?”

  “That’s right, Mum. But that’s over now. Did you know Jane had a baby? A little girl. They’re calling her Matilda.”

  “That’s lovely. Like that book you loved when you were little.”

  “Yes, Mum.” She hoped her mother wouldn’t ask who the baby’s father was.

  “That’ll be nice for Jacob, won’t it? A little playmate? Did you not bring him today?” She looked around vaguely, as if he might be there somewhere.

  Annie’s heart was like a stone. So she didn’t remember everything. And Annie could not bear to remind her, over and over. Kinder to let her think her only grandson was still alive. “No, Mum. I didn’t bring him.”

  “Oh, well. Another time. We can take him to the park!” She was beaming. It
was funny, but when she had good days now she seemed so happy, in a way she’d never been before. As if the disease was stretching her, pushing her to the very edges of herself, tears and laughter and everything in between. And Annie realized the past few months had been that way for her, too. She had become bigger than herself. Big enough to contain all that sadness and laughter and joy and misery.

  She looked at her mother. How could someone who’d given birth to you be such a mystery? She had to at least try. “Mum,” Annie said. “I found the letter Dad sent me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Her mother went back to her knitting, as if she couldn’t hear. And maybe she couldn’t.

  “I want to say, Mum—I don’t want to upset you, and I know you tried your best, but all those years telling me not to get my hopes up in life, not to go to uni, always scrimp and save...” She swallowed down more tears. They were so near the surface these days. Did her mother even know her father was dead? Would it be cruel to say it? “It wasn’t right to tell me not to wish for the moon. I know you wanted to protect me but—really, what’s the harm in wishing for more in life? Some people say that even if you miss, you’ll be among the stars. Although that makes absolutely no sense in astronomical terms.”

  Silence. She watched her mother, who was smiling down at her knitting. “Guess what, Sally. I’m going to wear this sweater to the dance on Saturday!”

  Annie sighed. She was Sally again now. “That’s good, Maureen.”

  “Maybe Andrew Clarke will be there. Do you think so? He’s just the most dreamy boy at school.”

  “Yeah. I bet he will.” Annie paused. “Can you tell me a bit more about Andrew, Maureen? What’s he like?”

  DAY 92

  Have coffee

  George sighed. “It just doesn’t seem right without her here, nagging us into doing something stupid and terrifying.”

  They’d met for coffee, the three of them—Annie, George and Costas—but as he said, something was definitely missing. “So you guys have news, you said?”

  Costas and George smiled at each other. “You tell.”

  “No, you should do it.”

  Costas looked anxious. “Annie, I need to tell you I will move out—if okay with you? I will move into a flat with George.”

  Annie blinked. “You mean...together? Or to share?”

  They exchanged another shy look, and Annie twigged. The flat would likely be a one-bed. “Oh! Well, of course it’s okay with me, Costas. That’s great. Really great.”

  George sipped his flat white, leaving a faint foam sheen on his mouth. Annie was reminded, painfully, of Dr. Max. “It would have happened sooner, I think, but, you know, with Caleb, and Polly, and everything...”

  “It’s what she would have wanted. I’m sure of it.”

  “But you will be okay for the rent?” Costas, who was wearing a slim black jumper and gray jeans, looked the epitome of continental chic. “We will take Buster to live with us, too, if you don’t mind, Annie?”

  Annie was surprised by the stab of regret she felt. Of course it made sense—she’d have to get another job soon, and then there was her mother to visit. All the same the little puppy had somehow wriggled his way into her heart. “That’s okay. I think he’ll be happiest with you.” Under the chair, Buster flopped his tail lazily. “I’ll manage for the rent, too. Maybe—well, my mum’s going to need a care home. I might have to move, to be near her.” Annie’s heart sank a little more as she said it. Caring for her ailing mother, getting older, never going out—was that what her life would be now? Was this interlude with Polly just a flash, like driving through a lighted tunnel at night?

  “What about you?” asked George. “Did you follow your instructions and go after the dishy Dr. McGrouchy?”

  “Oh, no. You saw what happened. He couldn’t wait to get away from me. He’s not even working at the hospital anymore.” Annie had accidently on purpose wandered down to the neurology corridor a few times, and the handwritten sign on his door was gone, his nameplate covered over. “They said he quit.”

  “What? Where did he go?”

  “I don’t know. He had loads of holiday saved up, unsurprisingly, so he didn’t have to work any notice.”

  “Maybe he need some time,” said Costas. “We are all very sad about Polly. Maybe he will come back.”

  She remembered the way he’d said, I’m done with this. I can’t do it anymore. “I don’t know if he will.”

  George sighed. “I’m trying to think what inspirational go-get-him advice she would have given you. But I can’t.”

  “No. Me, either.” Annie didn’t say what she was really thinking: that she was desperately afraid she didn’t know how to have a happy day without Polly there chivvying her along. She finished her drink. “I better go, guys.”

  “Aw, stay! We’re taking Dion and Sandy out clubbing later.”

  Annie smiled. “Thanks, but not sure I’m really the clubbing type. Anyway, I have to help clear out Polly’s clothes and things.” Her diary was actually looking quite full these days. Lunch with Fee, a night out with Zarah and Miriam. There were friends. Plenty of friends. Just no Polly. And no Dr. Max.

  As Annie walked away she saw Costas and George were holding hands under the table. Costas reached over and wiped the milk moustache from George’s lip, and she heard them both laugh, the sound rising up in the spring sun. There would always be people, Annie realized. People to laugh with and have fun with and drink coffee with and talk to. But would there ever be someone just for her again? She was happy for them, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the rest of her life was going to be a dull coda, and the main event was already over.

  DAY 93

  Have a wardrobe clear-out

  “It’s so hard.” Suze sighed. “Every time I look at this stuff I think about her. Those bloody yoga pants. She practically lived in them. Look at the state of them. I can’t bear it.”

  “I know,” Annie said gently. She didn’t have the same attachment to Polly’s things, the years of knowing her. But all the same it hurt enough, looking at the shoes that would never hold her dancing feet again, the hats that would never go on her funny crazy head. What hurt the most was how normal all this stuff was. She’d known Polly as a rainbow, a comet firing up the sky, but these things—overstretched bras and bally jumpers and reading glasses on her bedside cabinet—these belonged to a woman who’d been exceptionally ordinary. In the same way that everyone was exceptional and ordinary all at the same time. “We better get this done before Tom gets back.” They were in the old house, packing up the things Polly had left when she fled. By tactful agreement, Tom had taken Fleur out to buy a spiralizer.

  “Coo-ee.” Milly came in, knocking softly on the open door. “I managed to get a sitter, after all. Don’t mind, do you?”

  “’Course not!” Suze reached out to hug her friend, and for a tiny second Annie felt left out, awkwardly holding a knitted purple hat, and then Milly extended her arms again. “Annie, darling, how are you?” As if she was one of them. A friend. Two more friends.

  Annie hugged back, smelling Milly’s perfume, something rare and hand-mixed no doubt. She’d lost weight, and felt angular under her Breton top. “Oh, I’m all right. Trying to get by.”

  “Done anything about that lovely doctor you were willed?” Milly asked innocently, opening a drawer.

  “Oh! Well, no. He’s gone. Also I don’t think you can really tell people what to do in wills like that.”

  There was a brief silence, during which Annie saw the other two exchange a look. “I’ve decided I’m going back to work,” said Milly. “Seb will just have to reduce his working hours. Or pay for a nanny.”

  “And I’ve broken up with Henry,” said Suze. “You know...” She made a gesture around her chin, indicating a big bushy heard. “P was definitely right
about that. He said me crying every day was ‘really harshing his mellow.’”

  Milly started to giggle. “Oh, dear, does he think it’s 1997? Good riddance, darling.”

  “I know. Though, at first, I was really mad with her, to be honest—how dare she, bossing us all around like that? First she cut us off, when she got her diagnosis, and we hardly heard from her for months, and then suddenly she was best mates with you, Annie, and it was all one hundred happy days and living life to the full.”

  “And now she’s gone,” finished Milly. “And we can’t be mad at her or laugh with her or tell her to get over herself anymore. It’s all just...stopped.”

  Annie had never thought what it was like for them, losing their friend. She’d only seen them as sleek, stylish women who had their lives together. “Are you...are you really crying every day?” she asked shyly.

  Suze nodded. “Oh, yes. In the shower usually.”

  “Me, too,” said Milly. “Only time I get to myself. Although I’ve broken down during Peppa Pig a few times, too.”

  “It’s the hospital that does it for me,” Annie confided. “When I visit my mum. She can come out soon, though, luckily.”

  “Any help you need with settling her, you just tell us,” said Suze. “Milly and I could move mountains, P always said. And we’ll need a third musketeer now, you know.”

  Annie stared down at the tan loafer in her hands until her eyes stopped burning. “Cucumber slices,” she said when she could speak again. “We all just need more cucumber slices. That’s all.”

  DAY 94

  Say thank you

  “I honestly can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done.”

  “It’s only my job, Ms. Hebden.”

  “Are you back to calling me that? Anyway, it’s Clarke again.”