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

by Gillian Harvey

  ‘It was a surprise party, Mum. Dave arranged it,’ Jessica explained.

  ‘Well, I’ll be having words with that young man.’

  ‘Honestly, Gran, you didn’t miss anything,’ Anna interrupted. ‘Except Mum being embarrassing.’

  ‘Anna! Don’t talk about your mother like that,’ Jessica’s dad butted in.

  ‘Actually,’ Jessica told him, ‘she’s right.’ She told him about the cake incident and they both looked horrified.

  ‘You’re telling me,’ her mother said, focusing on an entirely unexpected part of the anecdote, ‘that Dave doesn’t think you should eat cake!’ Her face wore a look of horror.

  ‘I know, Mum.’

  ‘Well, I never did!’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And you really stuck your hand into the cake in front of everyone,’ her dad chuckled.

  ‘Yep!’ Jessica grimaced. ‘I can’t believe it either!’

  ‘Well, good for you, love.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, you’re always so worried what people think. It’s nice to see you standing up for yourself for once.’

  ‘Oh.’ This was unexpected.

  ‘And,’ her dad cleared his throat and looked at his wife as if for consent to speak. She gave him an almost indiscernible nod. ‘Um, we wanted to say sorry, you know, for our lack of enthusiasm at the exhibition the other night. It was quite, well, your mum had seen the picture, I know. But seeing it in the flesh, so to speak. Well, it was quite …’

  ‘I know, maybe I shouldn’t have invited you.’

  ‘Don’t be silly! Your mum and I love to see what you’re up to! Can’t say I always understand this PR stuff, but it seems that you’re doing really well.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Just, well, the painting … you know.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘What painting?’ Anna asked.

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ Jessica replied.

  Fit at 30

  Sorry to anyone who’s been wondering why the blog disappeared for a bit. I wanted to write a post to update you all before I take it down again.

  This blog’s been quite an adventure. I started it in the hope of getting fit, and in the end, I got so much more. I lost weight but gained followers – even a tiny bit of fame. And it’s been wonderful.

  But I’ve decided it’s time to stop. While I want to be fit and healthy, I’m not as committed to being superfit as I once was – I’ve relaxed, and I think that’s probably a good thing.

  As for my relationship with Dave – although we had some great times, we also had our ups and downs. Nothing is perfect and maybe we shouldn’t expect it to be. Who knows what the future holds?

  I wanted to thank everyone who’s come on this journey with me – I’ve appreciated your comments, your connections, your motivation.

  But for now.

  That’s it.

  Jessica.

  COMMENTS

  Linda87

  Oh no! Where am I going to get my motivation?

  Paulie

  I think it’s awful that some people think it’s OK to tout a message out on the internet when it suits them – and turn out to be a fraud.

  Stu

  Good for you.

  RW

  Want to follow someone who really knows what they’re talking about? Check out this blog! www.cleanforlife.org

  Comments have been turned off for this post.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  ‘Hi, Jessica,’ Candice smiled as she entered the office the following day. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I’m fine thanks,’ Jessica said. Because that sort of lie was OK, wasn’t it? That was the sort of lie that everyone allowed themselves from time to time.

  ‘Good. Um, we read your blog post,’ Candice said, glancing at Natalie for support.

  ‘Oh, yeah. Sorry about that,’ Jessica grimaced. Seeing as she’d brought the blog, the strategising of key terms, and hashtags into the office, she probably should have consulted the girls before she’d written something so final.

  ‘No, no, that’s OK,’ Candice soothed, still eyeing her rather cautiously. ‘I just wondered. What with Twitter down, and the blog down, you’re not, I mean, you’re not closing the firm down, are you?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Jessica smiled, genuinely. ‘Sort of starting over.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yes. Taking the Jessica out of Star PR. Letting our expertise stand for itself, that sort of thing.’

  ‘OK …’

  ‘And I’d like you to perhaps start a blog.’

  ‘Me?’ said Candice, looking amazed.

  ‘Yeah. Not a health-focused thing, but maybe a showbiz blog, with profiles and news about our clients, that sort of thing?’

  ‘You really think I can do that?’

  ‘Of course you can – you were practically writing mine for me by the end.’

  Candice flushed a little. ‘Thank you!’ she said.

  ‘And a new Twitter feed too – one for the company, not a personal one. For now.’

  ‘OK!’

  ‘Let’s face it, I’m a dinosaur when it comes to that sort of thing.’ But this dinosaur was determined not to become extinct.

  ‘Aren’t you worried it’s going to affect the business?’ piped Natalie from the other side of the office. ‘There’s been some pretty negative comments on the blog. I just thought …’

  ‘Yeah. I am. I am a bit,’ said Jessica. ‘But we’ve got quite a few clients on board. I think we’ll be OK. Who knows, maybe some people are put off by the whole blog thing?’

  Natalie nodded. ‘True. And that Hugo has won his award, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘And he’s one of the clients you’ve had for ages – way before all the blog stuff.’

  It was true. Maybe she was more than a fitness blogger after all.

  DAILY NEWS ONLINE

  FITSPO? OH NO! FITNESS BLOGGER DUMPS THE DIET

  Fitness blogger Jessica Bradley, 36, today shocked her followers by admitting that much of her recent diet and fitness blog content has been false and that she no longer subscribes to her own fitness message.

  Ms Bradley, who gained notoriety when her recipe for pomegranate surprise went viral last year, was unavailable to comment.

  Clients have taken to Twitter, accusing the mother of one of misleading them from the outset. Recent pictures taken at the gym revealed that Ms Bradley, a PR executive, was clearly not the avid gym-goer her blog suggested.

  Ms Bradley, who lives in a £325,000 three-bedroom house in St Albans, is also the agent for Hugo Henderson, the artist known to his followers as Penis Guy after a theft of an artwork earlier this year.

  Kelly McCarthy, fitness blogger and part-time model who writes the blog Clean and Green, commented: ‘It just goes to show that there are a lot of people out there who aren’t true to their own message. I applaud Jessica’s honesty in her final blog post but would urge all bloggers to realise that if we aren’t true to ourselves and our readers, ultimately we all lose out.’

  Follow Kelly McCartney at www.ilovesalad.com

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  ‘Jessica,’ said Candice, covering the mouthpiece, ‘it’s some guy from the radio or something? He wants to know if you’ll go on at four o’clock?’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘The whole blogging backlash, he says.’

  Blogging backlash.

  ‘Tell him I’m busy,’ she said at last.

  It was time to take a step back.

  To:jess@StarPR.com

  From:rob@easymail.com

  Re:Are you OK?

  Hi Jessica,

  Sorry to contact you on a personal note, but I read your blog post.
And heard all that stuff on the radio. Things have gone mad – are you OK? Do you still want to meet up?

  Love

  Robert

  To:rob@easymail.com

  From:jess@StarPR.com

  Re:re: Are you OK?

  Hi Robert,

  Thanks – yes, I’m OK. Just going in a new direction. Quite surprised at the reaction to it – I mean, I knew I had a lot of followers, but didn’t know they were so ‘dedicated’!

  Sorry about the silence. A few things have happened. It would be nice to meet up and have a chat. I’ve got some questions about, well, parenting, life … the usual stuff. If you don’t mind, that is?

  Best wishes,

  Jessica

  Chapter Fifty

  ‘Here you go,’ she said, putting the small rectangular package on Anna’s lap. Her daughter looked at it suspiciously and put down her phone – on which Jessica had now installed WhatsApp on the understanding she might sometimes take a peek to check everything was OK.

  ‘What’s this for?’

  ‘Oh, just for you.’

  Anna pulled the paper off, still glancing suspiciously at her mother from time to time. Eventually she pulled out the beautiful, silk-covered book. ‘It’s pretty,’ she said. ‘What’s it for?’

  ‘It’s a diary,’ Jessica said, opening it to show Anna the golden embossed letters and thick cream-coloured paper.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You can write down how you feel, you know. That kind of diary.’

  ‘I know. But I normally keep all that on my computer. You know, on my blog.’

  ‘I know,’ Jessica said, walking to the bookshelf and picking up her own new diary to show Anna. ‘Me too. But I’ve started to wonder whether that’s a good idea.’

  ‘Too much screen time?’

  ‘Well, yes. But more too much scrutiny.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Too many people looking, the pressure to try to please other people.’

  ‘I thought it was good to please other people? You said—’

  ‘Oh it is!’ Jessica said. ‘Being nice, working hard, that kind of thing. But I mean the kind of … seeking approval, I suppose.’

  ‘I don’t do that though.’

  ‘Have you ever,’ Jessica said, sitting down next to her daughter, ‘left something out of your blog because you thought people might not like what you’ve done or what you’ve thought?’

  ‘Well, yeah.’

  ‘And would you put private stuff, like, I don’t know – a boy you fancy!’

  ‘Mum!’ Anna blushed. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then it’s not a diary. Not really.’

  ‘But what’s the point?’ Anna said after a moment’s silence.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, no one sees it, so what’s the point?’

  ‘I suppose,’ Jessica said, ‘I’ve thought about it and I suppose that the point is that we’re important too. How we feel, our private feelings.’

  ‘Right?’ Anna eyed her suspiciously.

  ‘Look, just try it. I promise I’ll never read it. You can lock it – look – if you’re worried.’

  ‘Ok. Thank you.’

  That afternoon after Anna had gone to the cinema with Grahame to watch Girls Go Shopping III as a special treat (Jessica had booked the film and forgotten to tell Grahame the title until she’d handed over the tickets), Jessica walked to the Bridge Café to meet Robert.

  It was a warmish afternoon, so she set off on foot, making her way through the park, but resisting the temptation to dive onto the roundabout (which in any case was covered in small children). She paused out of habit to take a selfie by the lake, which was shimmering in the sunlight, but instead chose to turn her phone around and take a picture of the scenery without her face gurning in the foreground.

  She arrived at the café five minutes early, beating her power-walking target, and felt quite pleased with herself as she settled down at the only free table – Saturday afternoon was clearly peak café time.

  The café bustled with life, families squeezing round tables and drinking milkshakes. Couples chatting over cappuccinos. There was a hum of noise and energy that felt infectious.

  ‘Can I get you anything?’ a young boy in a black shirt arrived at her side.

  ‘Just a green … No. A cappuccino please,’ she said, giving in to her inner child for once (although to be fair, she wasn’t sure many children craved caffeine fixes).

  ‘Anything else?’ he asked.

  ‘No, thank you.’

  The waiter nodded and turned away.

  ‘Actually,’ she called after him. ‘Actually, yes.’

  Hearing her, he spun on his heel. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Yeah, sorry. Um, flapjack please,’ she said. Which was a compromise, after all. Oats for health; butter for the inner child; sugar, well, it had never done her father any harm!

  ‘Of course.’ He turned towards the kitchen, scribbling in his notebook.

  ‘With chocolate,’ she added.

  He turned again, gave her a nod and scuttled off as quickly as he could without running, before she could change her mind again.

  Minutes later, she was biting into an enormous slab of buttery biscuit when she heard the words ‘Jessica Bradley!’ in an unfamiliar voice. ‘What are you eating?’ She turned her head and was relieved to find Robert standing behind her, wagging a finger and putting on the voice of a critical parent.

  ‘Sorry, Mum,’ she said, grinning. ‘My inner child was hungry.’

  ‘I bet,’ he replied, sitting down. ‘You’ve been starving that poor little mite for years!’

  ‘Thanks for meeting me,’ she said, after he’d given his order. ‘Especially after, well, you know.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ he said. ‘I want to help, if I can. Anna seems like a nice girl, I hate to think of her struggling.’

  ‘Well, I appreciate it,’ she said.

  She told him about the train station, Anna’s feelings of being lost, that she didn’t fit in. The fact that Jessica had now reluctantly allowed her on WhatsApp. That she and Grahame had decided to work more closely together with the co-parenting. ‘The thing is,’ she said, ‘I don’t know whether I’m doing the right thing? It all seems … I don’t know … such a mess.’

  ‘So a normal childhood then?’ Robert suggested.

  ‘What?’

  ‘How many of us had what we’d describe as a conventional, normal childhood?’ he said. ‘Once you start talking to people, you realise just how different our childhoods are. And I don’t think anyone has one they see as perfect. Because life isn’t perfect, and I suppose one of the lessons of childhood is accepting that.’

  ‘Right? But there’s a big gap between perfect and where I seem to be.’

  ‘OK, maybe you’ve had your eye off the ball once or twice recently,’ he said. ‘And it’s great that you and … and Grahame are meeting up more and trying to work together. But you know, you’re not doing such a bad job of it.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Absolutely. For a start, you care about it. You care whether you’re doing a good job or not. Do you realise that you’re already ahead of the game just by feeling like that?’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And Anna talks to you. Most of the time she tells you things. She trusts you.’

  It was true. She always thought that she and Anna were quite open with each other. Until recently, of course.

  ‘What about the chatroom stuff? I’m just … well, you read all these things about the bad effects. I said I’d never ever let her on WhatsApp, and yet here I am.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You listened. You weighed up the pros and cons and you made a decision. And you know that I’m no big fan of social media, but I think it was the right one.’

&
nbsp; ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. This is the world Anna is growing up in. I suppose, it’s the modern equivalent of letting her go out to play with her friends. It’s limiting the time, I think, that’s important. And I … I know I sometimes seem like I’ve got all the answers. But honestly, with my lot it’s really, really hard. And then my ex, well, she has totally different rules from me. We clash a bit, I suppose. I feel like whatever I say gets ignored most of the time anyway.’

  ‘Oh, Robert.’

  ‘Yes. Not exactly finding the rainbows in my own life at the moment – with or without roundabouts and puddles,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry – we’re meant to be talking about you. It’s just … you’re so easy to talk to. I’ve never really spoken about this before.’

  ‘It’s OK. I wish I could help.’

  ‘You are, you know? Just by listening. By sharing your own stuff.’

  ‘Thank you. And thanks for the advice. I feel so much better,’ she said, taking a rather too-large bite of flapjack and feeling the oats tickle the back of her throat. She suppressed a cough, tears building in her eyes as she held herself back.

  ‘Honestly, don’t thank me. I’m not here to make you feel better – it might seem that way. But I would never mislead you when it comes to this stuff – it’s too important. I’m saying this because I think it’s true.’

  She nodded, still trying not to choke and spray him with oats. Tears of effort gathered in her eyes.

  ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Don’t cry.’

  ‘It’s the flapjack,’ she tried to say. Too late, opening her mouth was the final release her throat needed and she coughed, raining fragments of oat and chocolate onto the table in front of her and flicking his face and shirt with half-chewed crumbs.

  ‘Thank you very much,’ he said, wiping a crumb from the corner of his eye and grinning. ‘I was going to ask you if I could have a taste.’

  ‘Oh! I’m so sorry, Rob!’

  But he was smiling.

  As their eyes locked she saw the whole thing from his perspective. Not horrible. Not embarrassing. Funny.

  They began to laugh – the uninhibited, infectious giggles of childhood.