The Happiness List: A wonderfully feel-good story to make you smile this summer!. Annie Lyons
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Granny.’ Jude smiled as he plodded down the stairs, leaning in to give his grandmother an awkward teenage hug. Fran marvelled at how relaxed teenagers were with other teenagers, wrapping arms around one another in an almost possessive way, but present them with someone outside their immediate friendship circle and you were lucky if they made eye contact.
‘It’s pizza for tea, Mum. I hope that’s okay,’ said Fran, leading the way to the kitchen.
‘What would you say if I told you it wasn’t?’ retorted her mother.
Fran pursed her lips. ‘I don’t like to swear in front of the children.’
Charlie looked confused. ‘You’re always swearing, Mummy. That’s why I made you this,’ she said, holding up a jam jar wrapped in exercise paper with the words ‘Mummy’s Swear Pot’ written in large purple writing.
Angela raised her eyebrows at her daughter. Fran shrugged. ‘All the books on grief tell you that swearing can be a very useful form of self-expression. Plus, I’m putting the money towards a holiday.’
Angela took the jar from Charlie and weighed it in her hand. ‘I’d say you’ve got enough for a trip to Disneyworld.’
‘Hooray!’ cried Charlie. Alan barked in celebration. ‘Please can I go and watch TV before dinner?’
‘Sure,’ nodded Fran.
‘Thanks, Mum. Love you.’ Charlie stared at her mother, waiting for the response.
‘Love you too.’ Satisfied, Charlie leant over to kiss her mother and then her grandmother before disappearing to the lounge. ‘Glass of wine?’ asked Fran, hoping to distract her mother from Charlie’s mildly obsessive behaviour.
‘I was wondering when you were going to ask,’ said Angela. Fran rolled her eyes and fetched a bottle from the fridge. ‘So is Charlie still sleeping in your bed?’ she asked, accepting the wine glass and taking a sip.
‘Sometimes,’ said Fran, feeling immediately defensive. ‘But where’s the harm? If she needs reassurance, there’s nothing wrong with it – that’s what the counsellor said.’ After Andy died, Charlie had insisted on sleeping in Fran’s bed every night for about a year. It happened less often now. Fran would never tell her mother but she relished the nights when she woke to find her long-haired, still baby-faced girl snoring softly next to her. She knew this wasn’t ideal for either of them but she didn’t care – whatever got you through the day and encouraged you to carry on putting one foot in front of the other was fine by her.
‘It ties you down, Fran, and it’s not fair on Charlie.’
‘I’m not going anywhere and Charlie’s still young so whatever she needs is fine by me. Now can we please change the subject? How’s Dad?’
Even Angela knew when to let things go. She sniffed. ‘He’s got an in-grown toenail.’
‘Ouch.’
‘You’d think he’d broken his leg the way he goes on about it.’
‘Everyone needs a hobby.’
Angela smiled. ‘So are you looking forward to this course?’
Fran gave her mother an incredulous look. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think you should go with an open mind.’
‘Says the woman who makes her mind up about people within seven seconds of meeting them,’ snorted Fran.
‘Except you’re not like me, are you? You’re younger and receptive to new ideas.’
Fran sighed. ‘I’m going tonight but if it’s all hygge and hot air, I won’t be going again.’
Her mother fixed her with a look. ‘Let’s hope it brings you something unexpected, shall we?’
Fran knocked her wine glass against her mother’s. ‘To eternal happiness.’
Fran glanced at her watch. Five to seven. She wondered what her friend Nat was up to. She had a feeling that Wednesday might be Dan’s night to have Woody so there was a chance that her friend was home alone, with a tempting bottle of wine in the fridge…
‘I’m not sure whether to go in either,’ said a voice behind her.
Fran turned. The woman was younger than her. Fran was terrible at guessing ages but she estimated her to be mid-twenties. She had dark brown hair, which was scraped up into a loose bun and an air of nervousness, which Fran put down to the prospect of baring her soul in front of a group of strangers. She understood completely and flashed a sympathetic smile.
‘I like your jacket,’ said the woman.
‘Thanks. My son says I’m too old for a leather jacket, which is exactly why I wear it,’ she smirked. ‘And while we’re on the subject, I like your scarf.’
‘Thanks.’ The woman grinned. ‘I’m Heather by the way.’
‘Fran,’ she said. ‘So now that we’re officially best mates, shall we forget this and naff off to the Goldfinch Tavern?’ She thumbed towards the direction of the local pub.
Heather laughed. ‘Could do.’
Fran dismissed the idea with a flick of her hand. ‘I’m just messing with you. My mother’s babysitting and if I don’t go home with the secrets to a happy life imprinted on my brain, she’ll never speak to me or help with the kids again.’
‘Shall we then?’ asked Heather.
‘After you,’ said Fran, gesturing towards the door. ‘But please be warned that I am using you as a human shield.’
Heather laughed as they walked inside.
The Happiness List
WEEK 1: Introduction
WEEK 2: Mindfulness
WEEK 3: Exercise
WEEK 4: Laughter
WEEKS 5 & 6: Keep Learning
WEEK 7: The World Outside Ourselves
WEEK 8: Resilience
WEEK 9: Contentment
WEEK 10: Review
Fran picked up the handout from one of the chairs and wondered if she could slip out now. She could probably just Google these and work it out for herself at home without the fuss of having to come along every week. She had a mindfulness colouring book somewhere, although Charlie had stolen her colouring pencils. In fact, she probably had a book covering most of these subjects. Fran bought a lot of books. It had always been her natural antidote to any life problem that arose. She loved that sense of hope when she came home with a shiny new book. Surely this would be the one to give her the answer to everything from how to tame your toddler to communicating with your monosyllabic teenager? She bought dozens of books after Andy died and friends and relatives had given her dozens more. Alas, she rarely found the time to actually read them beyond skimming the first few chapters. Now they sat abandoned and unread on her bookshelves – an archive of her failed attempts to get her life in order.
Fran sat down. The chairs had been set up in a semicircle. She nodded to Jim the postman and a couple of other people who were already seated. She identified the course leader in seconds – a tall man with George Clooney hair and an air of self-assurance and experience – he would definitely be one to encourage ‘show and tell’. The very thought made her shudder with dread.
‘He looks friendly enough,’ whispered Heather, taking her place next to Fran and nodding towards George Clooney. ‘Although of course he may have two horns underneath that magnificent hair.’ Fran laughed. ‘Do you know Pamela? And this is Georg,’ added Heather, gesturing to her left.
‘Hello.’ Georg wore a blank expression.
In complete