The Happiness List. Annie Lyons
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Community Hall, £8 per session including refreshments.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Thanks, but it’s not for me, Pamela. I’m about as happy as it’s possible to be. Besides, Luke and I are going to be busy tonight making wedding plans.’
Pamela clapped her hands together. ‘Of course – how wonderful. You deserve to be happy after losing your dear mum and dad. But you must miss them terribly, especially when you’re preparing for such a happy event,’ she insisted. ‘I can’t imagine how hard it must be organizing your big day without having them here to lend a hand and share in your joy. I mean, who will help you pick out your dress?’
Not you if that’s what you’re angling for, thought Heather, astonished at Pamela’s tactlessness. ‘My cousin, Gemma is very supportive,’ she said with a curt smile. ‘And it was a long time ago.’
‘Oh but you never get over it, do you? I mean, I still miss my parents after all these years. I wasn’t even that close to my mother but I still catch myself wondering if I should phone to check she’s okay.’
‘Everyone’s different,’ said Heather, trying to close down the discussion.
Pamela gave her a sympathetic look. ‘Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you by dredging up the past.’
Heather was annoyed with herself because she had no right to be irritated with Pamela. She wasn’t being unkind. She was just speaking the bald truth – a truth that Heather hadn’t properly considered until now.
Her parents wouldn’t be there for her wedding. Her mother wouldn’t help her pick out her dress. Or argue over the seating plan. Or hold her hand when the day finally arrived and she felt shaky with nerves.
She caught a whiff of ginger and cinnamon from the coffee Georg was brewing and felt herself transported back to the day her parents died. She was sixteen and remembered sitting next to Gemma on the sofa at her house – a green velvet sofa with brown sagging cushions. It was November and the air smelled of cinnamon and ginger because her aunt Marian had been baking parkin. Her uncle Jim walked in and cleared his throat. Heather could see his face, grey with concern, and her aunt behind him crying. She couldn’t remember her first reaction to the news but she did recall Gemma wrapping her arms around her for the longest time – an embrace so tight as if she was trying to hug away the pain.
Gemma. She was the one who had propped her up ever since it happened. She’d moved in to her aunt and uncle’s house as an only child and ended up getting a ready-made family with a big sister to boot. That wasn’t to say there weren’t arguments and disagreements. Suddenly Gemma had to share her parents, her house, her whole world with her younger cousin. Two teenage girls living under one roof was a challenge at the best of times – the cries from Gemma of, ‘Stop stealing my stuff!’ and Heather’s perfect storm of adolescence and grief made for some pretty epic battles. Heather couldn’t remember seeing Uncle Jim in the house much during those years. He retreated to the safe haven of his garden shed, and who could blame him?
Still, Heather’s overriding memories were of the good times – a blanket of laughter and comfort from the best friend and cousin all rolled into one, who counselled, cajoled and lent her nail varnish.
It had been Gemma who introduced her to Luke. It was the spring of 2014, months before Gemma was due to marry Ed. She and Heather had embarked on a series of nights out. Their ‘Final Tour’, they called it – drunken evenings where they tearfully declared how much they loved one another, drank too much vodka and danced to the Spice Girls. Heather couldn’t remember the name of the club but she did recall the moment when she returned from the toilet, walking towards the blue backlit bar where Gemma was silhouetted next to a tall man. He was resting his hand on her arm and talking into her ear. Gemma was laughing and shaking her head as she turned and caught sight of Heather.
‘Now this,’ she slurred, grinning at the man as she gestured towards Heather, ‘is the woman of your dreams.’
The stranger turned and Heather remembered feeling a jolt, not like electricity but more physical, like a lost piece of her clicking back into place. Luke Benjamin had a soft gaze and the longest eyelashes Heather had even seen on a man. Gemma had watched with smiling approval while Heather and Luke attempted a conversation over the thumping beat of the music. After a respectable amount of time, she had hugged her friend and warned Luke to ‘take care of my coz or else’, before heading off into the night.
Heather had spent the rest of the night walking around the streets of London with Luke, talking and laughing. Falling in love. It was as heady and romantic as it sounded and for Heather, it felt so right – her shot at happiness after so many years of fruitless searching. Heather knew that her current happiness was all down to Gemma and that even if her parents couldn’t be there to share in her joy, Gemma and her parents would do all they could to fill that gap.
‘It’s fine,’ Heather reassured Pamela. ‘It will be hard but my cousin and her parents will support me.’
Pamela reached out and squeezed her arm. ‘Of course. It’s wonderful that you’ve found this lovely man. You must be so happy to have him home. Did he like the cheesecake?’
‘He did,’ lied Heather. She wasn’t about to tell her that the cheesecake had ended up in the bin or mention the fact that she’d hardly had a chance to talk to Luke since his return from New York. Understandably he had arrived home exhausted, delighted to see her but in desperate need of his bed on the first night and on Tuesday night, after a punishing day’s work, he had fallen asleep on the sofa by nine and woken full of sheepish apologies.
She’d forgiven him immediately. It wasn’t his fault. He had pulled Heather into a kiss, promising to make it up to her.
So tonight was the night. She was planning a lovely dinner, a bottle of good wine and a proper discussion about the wedding. She already had a couple of venues in mind.
‘I’m glad,’ said Pamela. ‘Well if you change your mind about the course, you know where we’ll be.’
Heather nodded, safe in the knowledge that there would be no changing of minds, plans or anything else that evening. ‘Thank you.’
‘I will go,’ said Georg with an earnest frown as if he was signing up to join the Foreign Legion. Heather stared at him in surprise.
Pamela grinned. ‘Wonderful! I’ll see you later then, Georg – I’ve baked some flapjacks for us to share. I’m looking forward to it! Right, I’ll pop this flyer on the board and then I’ll be off. I need to get home and make sure that Barry and Matthew aren’t arguing. Again. Cheerio!’
Heather stared at Georg after she’d gone. ‘A happiness course? Really?’
Georg frowned. ‘Why not?’
‘Surely you don’t think that kind of stuff can be learnt, do you?’ she scoffed.
‘You do not?’ asked Georg.
Heather shrugged. ‘You’re either happy or you’re not.’
Georg fixed her with a look. ‘What did you say to Pamela? Everyone is different.’
Touché, thought Heather. Clearly there was more to Georg than met the eye. ‘Fair enough,’ she said. ‘Each to their own.’
Georg gave a satisfied nod. ‘I think it will be interesting. I like to learn.’
‘Good for you,’ said Heather with a smile.
‘Okay. You take break now. I will cover.’ He handed her a cortado.
She frowned at the coffee. ‘But I usually have a latte.’
‘You try. You will like,’ he insisted.
Heather sighed and carried her coffee to a table by the window. She took a sip. It was rich and bitter but utterly delicious. Surprised, she shot a glance at Georg, who nodded a knowing reply.
She smiled and took in her surroundings. The Taylor-made