Page 1 of The Happiness Project

Chapter One: The Odd Couple

Never move in with your best friend. Things can get rather weird in a very short space of time.

‘Oh look, there’s a thirtieth-anniversary showing of Four Weddings and a Funeral coming up at the Savoy,’ Patty is saying. ‘If you go dressed up for a wedding you get a free glass of prosecco.’

‘And what do you get if you dress for a funeral?’ I ask, yawning.

‘Oh, that funeral scene, do you remember it? I cried my eyes out — just beautiful. Shall we go?’

I sit up in bed and take my iPad out of her hands.

‘Patty, I’m really tired and I’ve got work tomorrow. Is there any chance of you letting me get some sleep? We can talk about this in the morning.’

‘All right, don’t get your jammies in a twist,’ she says, switching off the bedside light.

I turn over and snuggle under the duvet, waiting for her to move. She doesn’t.

‘And do you think you could possibly get into your own bed?’ I groan.

‘But I’ve warmed this side up now.’

‘Out!’

Much harrumphing follows but Patty does eventually throw back the duvet and get out of the bed, stomp across the room and slam the door behind her. I spread out, and although I’m glad to finally have some peace, I must confess the space she’s left is really very cosy.

* * *

Come morning, she’s turned from acting like my partner to sounding like my mother.

‘You can’t go to work on the first day of a new year on a yoghurt. I’ll make you a bacon sandwich.’ She’s already pulling the ingredients out of the fridge. ‘Your brain needs proper food.’

‘I don’t want one and I don’t have time anyway.’

‘Why don’t you have time? You part own the place — you can hardly sack yourself.’

I’m lifting a spoon of yoghurt to my mouth as Patty reaches across me to get the milk and nudges my arm, causing me to spill some down my chin and blouse. Before I can reach for a piece of kitchen roll for myself, Patty has one in her hand and has wiped my chin. Then she starts dabbing the drip on my blouse, making a stain that was quite small rather large.

‘No point crying over spilt yoghurt,’ she says cheerfully. ‘Anyway, I’ve ironed your blue blouse with the little flowers and it suits you much better than this one.’

I shake my head in disbelief, suddenly reminded of all those odd-couple sitcoms that used to be on TV. They often lived in houses like this too — big Edwardian semis with huge windows and spacious rooms. I always thought they were completely unrealistic — no one could ever live like that — and yet here I am. Patty leaves the kitchen and returns with a blouse that is ironed far better than I could have done. This situation might be ridiculous but it has its upsides.

I’ve moved into Patty’s while I find somewhere of my own. Last year I had to sell the family home when my ex-husband upped and ran off with a caterer, so I rented a little starter home to begin with. Then, just before Christmas and with very little notice, my landlord decided he wanted it back, which meant I would have been homeless if it hadn’t been for Patty. Well, not exactly; there was always the unthinkable option of moving back in with my parents for a while, but Patty suggested we become roomies (although at the time I hadn’t realised that would mean she would be in my room all the time) and I agreed. It wasn’t a hard choice, as she and I joked when we agreed to give it a trial run; I’m allowed to bring boys back for the night here. Not that there is a boy to bring home — not yet anyway.

But there could be. Just as I was moving out of my old place, I finally met one of my neighbours, Michael. Practically running over his cat was not the best of introductions, but the cat was fine and he seems to be a really nice guy. I took the plunge and invited him to Patty’s New Year party; astonishingly, he survived meeting all my friends and left promising to call me. That was two days ago.

‘Come on, get your coat,’ Patty is saying as I tune back in. She’s also dressed to go out, which puzzles me.

‘Where are you going?’ I ask.

‘With you. I’m heading into the office to do some of my own paperwork.’

She stands behind me holding out my coat while I slip both arms in, then she spins me round and starts buttoning it up until I come to my senses and bat her off.

‘The first week after New Year is always really busy, Patty,’ I tell her. ‘I don’t think there’ll be space for you to work or anyone to help you.’

‘Oh, you won’t even know I’m there. I’ll just sit in my office and get on with stuff.’

‘You don’t have an office,’ I remind her sternly. As much as I love Patty, she does have a tendency to distract everyone and this is genuinely one of the busiest weeks in the travel industry. ‘This is my place of work — not yours.’

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