Everything is Fine: The funny, feel-good and uplifting page-turner you won't be able to put down!

by Gillian Harvey

  She grabbed her phone, the way she always did when something seemed worth recording, in order to take a selfie of them both together at the bench. But he reached a hand out and put it over hers.

  ‘What are you …?’ she started, then realised he was stopping her from picking up her phone. ‘Oh. I can put some filters on it if you like,’ she said, assuming it was something to do with his fine lines being on show in the bright daylight. She got it.

  ‘No, it’s not that. It’s just, well, I hate selfies.’

  ‘You what?’ It was as if he’d said he hated babies. Or puppies. Or baby puppies.

  ‘I just hate the way it looks, you know. So vain! Like writing, I spent an hour taking pics of my own face, and this one’s the best! Please compliment me below …’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And then all your friends, they can’t exactly say you look awful can they? So they play along – wow, you look great! Your hair looks good! Brilliant pic!’ he said.

  It was true. ‘I suppose it does seem a bit pointless when you put it like that.’

  ‘It’s not just pointless, though, at least, not in my book. I think it’s sort of damaging.’

  ‘Damaging?’

  ‘I guess … well, you know. Our childhood memories. We’ve got them all up here, haven’t we?’ he tapped the side of his head. ‘We don’t need to look back through the photos, we remember most of the important stuff.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘And even when we do dig out old family albums they’re not all edited and filtered and false. They’re funny and ugly and messy – real life; real memories.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And when our kids look at the photos we’ve taken in the future it’ll seem like every moment was happy and beautiful and impossibly perfect.’

  ‘Yes.’ He was right, she realised.

  ‘And they’ll look at their lives and compare them to these childhood moments. And they’ll feel they don’t measure up. Because they’ll be comparing reality with a lie.’

  ‘You’re right,’ she said her stomach sinking. ‘They’ll feel like failures.’

  ‘And even when they do have authentic memories,’ he continued. ‘All they’re going to remember is that their parents were flashing a phone in their face, or liking someone else’s picture, rather than being really there, you know?’

  ‘But there are no kids here …? And …’ she said, still not understanding his reluctance to snap a pic of this moment.

  ‘I know.’ He grinned. ‘Call me old-fashioned, but I’ve made a pledge to myself that I’m not going to be in any more selfies.’

  ‘Ah.’ She took a snap of her laptop instead. #outdoorworking, she tweeted. #goodtimes.

  ‘Why do you do it?’ he said then.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘You know. Photograph everything.’

  ‘Well, I suppose it’s just what you do isn’t it? Got to keep your social media up to date, or the followers soon drop off.’

  He was silent for a moment. ‘Would it really matter if they did?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, kind of. In PR, you have to get yourself out there. Otherwise no one will think you can promote them properly.’ She felt suddenly anxious, as if at any moment he was going to ask her to turn her phone off.

  ‘I guess.’ He looked out over the lake, the sun highlighting his face, the crinkles around his eyes, the early-morning stubble forming on his chin. ‘I sometimes wonder where it’s all going to end.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well,’ he continued, ‘it’s like everyone’s riding high on this big bubble of likes and retweets or whatever. And we, like, forget everything that’s really around us, you know? And did you know,’ he leant forward conspiratorially, ‘most of these accounts are fake.’

  She raised her eyebrows and tried to look surprised. ‘Really? Fake?’

  ‘Well, not fake as in one of those robot accounts you hear about, but people lying, or only saying the good stuff when there’s other stuff to say.’

  ‘Yeah.’ She flushed slightly.

  ‘And I worry, you know. It’s probably the psychologist in me, but it seems to me that if you’re making friends with people who only know a false version of you, then they’re not really friends at all.’

  ‘No.’ Jessica felt her knee begin to jiggle under the table – a nervous habit. ‘I know what you mean,’ she said. ‘I think there’s an element of that in everything.’

  ‘Oh I didn’t mean you!’ he said, hastily. ‘It’s only really a problem when people begin to define themselves, their success, their value in “likes” that it becomes an issue.’

  ‘Right,’ she said, turning her phone over to face the wood of the table and realising almost instantly that she felt a little lighter when she did so. As if she was shutting the door on a room full of noise and chatter.

  ‘Anyway, we’re not here to talk about my philosophy on modern social media, or the fact that I’m a dinosaur and don’t take selfies,’ he said, with a self-deprecating grin. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ she smiled, moving her laptop to angle the screen away from the light. ‘So tell me about this new project.’

  ‘Yeah, they’ve asked me to write another book!’

  ‘That’s fantastic! Do you know what you’re going to write about?’

  ‘It’s early days. Maybe relationships. Maybe more on happiness.’ He stopped for a second, his gaze fixed on a little boy with red wellington boots, splashing in a puddle at the side of the lake. The boy’s mother stood and watched, arms folded. ‘Sorry about the park thing,’ Robert said at last.

  ‘Park thing?’

  ‘You know, your spectacular swing dive.’

  She blushed. ‘Oh yes. That. It’s OK. I’ve had worse things happen.’

  ‘Puddles are another one, you know.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Puddles. Splashing in puddles. Look there, at that kid,’ he gestured to the little boy, still intent on soaking his trousers as much as possible.

  ‘Aw, cute. I remember when Anna was that age.’

  ‘Yes, there’s something reckless about it, isn’t there? He’s totally in the moment.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘But his mum,’ Robert continued, lowering his voice as if the woman could potentially hear him from across the park. ‘She’s just standing there.’

  ‘What do you expect her to do?’

  ‘Well, wouldn’t it be great if, as parents, we just joined in? And why don’t we? Fear of judgement; fear of getting our precious clothes wet.’ He grabbed her hand. ‘Come on!’

  ‘Wait, Robert. No, seriously,’ but she allowed herself to be pulled along to another of the puddles on the edge of the grassy mound their picnic bench was perched on.

  ‘What do you reckon?’ he said, his eyes sparkling. ‘Fancy jumping in, so to speak?’

  She looked at her shoes – red leather boots, small, modest heel. Her favourites. ‘I can’t,’ she said.

  ‘Oh go on,’ he said.

  ‘Seriously, another time. Maybe in trainers?’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Then, bending his legs in an exaggerated fashion, he leapt in the air, landing in the puddle with an enormous splash and sending large droplets of muddy water onto her trousers.

  ‘Robert!’ she said, her voice coming out in a shriek.

  ‘What are you going to do about it?’ he grinned.

  She wondered for a moment whether he’d lost his mind. Then, deciding that his expression was silly rather than psychotic, she leant down and scooped some water in her hands, sending it flying towards his face.

  ‘That’s more like it!’ he said, kicking more water in her direction.

  Then she found herself running after him, intent on pushing him over in the mud. She ran as fast as she could, pumping he
r arms, her heart hammering in her chest.

  In the end, they both collapsed on the grass, panting and laughing and drawing strange looks from passers-by.

  ‘I know you’re a client, so I have to be polite,’ she grinned. ‘But you’re a complete idiot, aren’t you?’

  ‘Gawd, what would you have said if I wasn’t a client?’ he asked.

  ‘You don’t want to know.’

  He glanced at his wrist. ‘That’s about a thousand steps, right there,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah, look,’ he lifted his sleeve for her to inspect. ‘Trying a fitness tracker.’

  ‘A thousand steps, eh?’

  ‘Yeah, and I bet you worked harder than you do plodding on the treadmill at the gym.’

  ‘Yeah.’ It hadn’t actually felt like exercise.

  ‘And I bet,’ he said again, ‘you don’t laugh this much at the gym.’

  No. No she didn’t.

  He stood up, and held out a hand to pull her to her feet. ‘Can’t laze around all day,’ he smiled. Their eyes met for a moment and something about his gaze made her wonder whether he was going to kiss her. She leaned forward slightly.

  He didn’t.

  They packed up shortly afterwards and she nipped home to get changed before going to the office. They hadn’t achieved much at the meeting – nothing concrete, anyway. But she was beginning to suspect that Robert hadn’t intended to discuss book sales or potential markets.

  He’d wanted to show her something.

  Fit at 30

  There’s nothing like working outdoors to get your vitamin-D levels up. Yesterday, I had a meeting in the park with one of my clients, Dr Robert Haydn, author of Remembering Rainbows. It was great fun sitting in the sun with my new laptop from LaptopsRUS – which is by far the lightest and most portable laptop I’ve ever owned!

  It got me thinking about getting outside more for my workouts – a bit of running in the park, maybe some al fresco push-ups using some of the play equipment. I’ve spoken to Nancy at @GoFigure! who’s going to help me to devise a great new workout for all of you who fancy doing it in public!

  Then back for a well-earned nettle tea – great for recharging those batteries!

  Jessica

  COMMENTS

  IP

  How do you make nettle tea? I tried the other day and stung my tongue Recipe?

  Cally

  Nettles are actually relaxing rather than recharging. Try a shot of bean-free coffee-substitute with added avocado essence instead.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  #TuesdayThoughts working on my new account today! #exciting! @TamzinPeters @StarPR #exciting #lovemyjob

  The phone rang a few times before it was answered.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, Bea.’

  ‘Oh, it’s you again!’ her friend joked.

  ‘Yep – just checking in to see how you are!’

  ‘I’m getting there.’

  ‘You know I’m here, right? Never too busy, whatever it might look like online.’

  ‘What, you’re saying you’d ditch the gym again for me again if I needed you?’ Bea sounded a little more like herself.

  ‘I wouldn’t necessarily go that far!’ Jessica joked. Then, ‘Of course,’ she said, just in case there was any misunderstanding. ‘I’ve been a rubbish friend, but I’m starting to, I don’t know, realise what’s important, I suppose.’

  ‘Which is me, obviously,’ Bea replied.

  ‘Exactly, you are my whole world!’

  ‘You idiot.’

  ‘Yep!’

  ‘OK, how’s next Saturday sound?’

  ‘Perfect – and, you know, ring me if things get tough – promise?’ Jessica added.

  ‘I promise.’

  Almost immediately after she hung up, the phone began to ring again. Grahame. She almost didn’t answer.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, it’s me. Grahame.’ No matter how much she reminded him that his number was programmed into her phone, therefore she always knew it was him, he started calls in the same way.

  ‘Oh hi, Grahame!’ she said, as if surprised. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, fine thanks.’ He paused, and she suddenly felt a bit anxious about what he might be calling about. Everything had been so strange recently, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d left Mrs Perfect Second Wife and was ringing to beg her to come back, flaws and all.

  ‘So …?’ she said, trying not to sound as impatient as she felt.

  ‘So I hear congratulations are in order. Well done,’ he said, rather awkwardly.

  ‘Thanks.’ Well done?

  ‘Yeah. Dave seems like, well, he’s a nice guy.’

  ‘Yep.’ Surely he hadn’t just been calling to wish her the best with her nuptials? ‘So, everything all right with you?’ she ventured.

  ‘I’m actually calling about Anna.’

  ‘OK, let me check my diary,’ she said, bringing it up on her desktop. ‘I think you’re on next weekend.’

  ‘No, no, not arrangements, I’ve got those written down for once. No, I suppose I’m just a bit worried about her.’

  ‘Worried?’

  ‘Maybe it’s nothing, but we chatted on the phone the other night and she seemed kind of … down.’

  ‘Down? In what way?’

  ‘Well, just a bit monosyllabic, I suppose.’

  ‘Oh. Maybe she was tired.’

  ‘Has she seemed OK to you?’

  Jessica thought about the bowed shoulders and the drooping posture that she’d witnessed in the playground. The solitary figure standing by the school gates. ‘I suppose. I mean, maybe a bit down at times. It’s probably just her age, though. And the monosyllabic bit too – probably entering the dreaded teenage years,’ she said, with a laugh that sounded false even to her. Because something at the back of her mind was telling her that Grahame was right.

  ‘Anyway,’ he cleared his throat as if about to make an announcement. ‘Anyway, I asked her if everything was all right, and she said yeah, that it was just something to do with her friends.’

  ‘Really? She hasn’t mentioned anything!’ Jessica remembered her own schooldays. Girls could be a complete nightmare: best friends one day, mortal enemies the next. Anna had a modest group of girlfriends – at least those she mentioned – but they always seemed to rub along well together.

  ‘Yeah, and she wouldn’t say anything else.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I mean, it’s probably nothing. And I know you see her all the time, so you’re bound to notice if anything was really happening. I don’t know, bullying or whatever.’

  ‘Yes, well …’

  ‘But I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind. The tone of her voice, it was different – sad, somehow.’

  ‘Poor Anna.’ Jessica felt a jolt of anxiety.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, thank you. I’ll talk to her.’

  ‘Thank you. I’d feel a lot better. Like I say, it’s probably just me. I’ve been up half the night with the boys – chickenpox.’

  ‘Oop. Don’t envy you,’ she smiled. Although she did, a bit. Not the night-time waking, but the fact that he had a family; that he was in the thick of being a parent. And, if she was completely honest, a bit jealous of the fact that, despite all of that, he’d noticed something about Anna that she really hadn’t.

  ‘No. No, it’s not much fun,’ he conceded. ‘Look, you’ll ring me, won’t you, if anything’s wrong?’

  ‘Of course! You’re her dad.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘That’s OK – thanks for calling.’

  The end of their conversations were always awkward – all the missing ‘I love yous’ that had used to finish their phone calls when t
hey were together (at least in the beginning) somehow conspicuous in their absence. Once she’d actually said ‘I love you’ to him out of habit when she was talking to him and watching EastEnders at the same time. Not her finest hour.

  She sat staring at her inbox, drumming her fingers on the desk. Had she really not noticed that something was wrong with her daughter? Was it the wedding? She wondered. Or the idea of having a stepdad? Or perhaps it was nothing – just Grahame overreacting.

  She ignored a message marked ‘urgent – pelvic floor stuff’ from Tamzin and shut her computer down early for the day.

  ‘I’m going to finish up at home, Candice,’ she said as she left. ‘Got something to sort out.’

  ‘Sure, no problem,’ came the reply – as if Candice was granting her permission.

  ‘Thanks.’

  At four o’clock, she was parked outside the school – the first parent to arrive. Anna was visibly shocked when she saw her mum at the head of the car queue.

  The journey home was almost silent – the radio filling the space where the conversation ought to have been. Jessica didn’t want to jump on the girl as soon as she got out of school, so she was biding her time. But her innocuous questions about how the day had been, or what Anna had had for lunch, seemed to be falling on stony ground.

  ‘Everything all right?’ Jessica ventured at last.

  ‘Yep. Fine,’ came the reply.

  It was just teenage stuff. Probably.

  ‘You would tell me if something was bothering you – wouldn’t you?’ she asked again as they pulled up in front of the house.

  ‘It’s just …’

  But Jessica’s attention was drawn to the front doorstep, on which sat a dishevelled-looking Robert. ‘Goodness, what happened?’ she asked, cranking on the handbrake and climbing out of the car.

  He grinned, embarrassed. ‘You don’t want to know.’

  Were his trousers actually wet? ‘I think I do,’ Jessica said, trying not to laugh.

  ‘Well, I haven’t peed myself, if that’s what you’re worried about,’ he joked, pulling at his trousers, which were almost completely soaked through.