Page 8 of The Happiness Project

‘Are you married?’ asks Caroline.

‘No, not anymore. My husband and I divorced last year,’ she replies. ‘I decided I needed to get out and about more — hence coming here.’

I empathise immediately and explain that I was in the same boat not long ago.

‘It’s hard, isn’t it?’ she says, and I nod. It really is.

‘But no matter how it feels now,’ I tell her, ‘it does get better.’

‘In fact, Angie bagged herself a new man in time for New Year,’ Peter tells her and I feel myself blush.

‘Not entirely true,’ I say.

‘He stalked her for a year doing her garden,’ he continues. ‘Imagine having Monty Don hiding in your bush.’

I give him a slap on the thigh as the others laugh at his innuendo.

‘He’s just a friend,’ I tell everyone, protecting myself in case I never hear from him.

‘Well, you’re welcome to bring him to the café,’ says Sarah.

I think that might actually be a good suggestion if I ever do speak to Michael. After all, supporting a new friend’s business seems a harmless enough ‘date’.

As the evening draws to a close, I swap numbers with Sarah so I can put her on our WhatsApp group, then I give each of my old friends and my new one a kiss on the cheek and head home. I walk slowly and find Michael’s contact details on my phone. But although it’s illogical as he’s probably still up, it’s late, and there’s always that thought at the back of my head that a phone call late at night means bad news. I think I got that irrational fear from my mother — alongside the many superstitions she drilled into me, like saluting magpies and throwing salt over my shoulder if I ever spilt any. And even though I get really annoyed with myself for having to clean up even more salt from the floor, I can’t stop doing it. My mother has a lot to answer for.

I put my phone away but promise myself that I won’t let it go a full week before I call Michael; deep down, I hope that he calls me first. I’ve realised that I’m not great at reading romantic signals and I’m scared of making that call and him not actually remembering who I am. I close my eyes tightly then tilt my head to the sky, and on the first star I see, I whisper the rhyme I used to say as a child, ‘Star light, star bright, grant me a wish tonight — let Michael call me.’

I laugh out loud at my own ridiculousness and check to see if anyone has been watching. Fortunately I have been allowed a solitary moment of madness. I look back up at the star and it seems to twinkle back at me as if saying, Are you five or fifty? It’s your love life — you sort it out!

I reach Patty’s house and before I’ve even put the key in the door, it swings open and she’s standing there, looking jubilant. I can hear music blasting from the living room behind her. It’s Cher’s ‘If I Could Turn Back Time’.

‘Are you having a party?’ I ask as she ushers me in, pulling the coat from my back.

‘We both are,’ she says with a huge grin. ‘The Granny-Okies got the cruise gig!’

Chapter Five: Let’s Get Physical

On Saturday evening we’re out with Charlie and Peter to celebrate a successful first week back at work and Patty’s triumphant return to the stage. As well as being a great time for bookings it’s been an interesting week with other minor victories, including the refill of the biscuit tin and my mother not re-enacting the scene from some great Shakespearean tragedy on dying young. Ninety years young. Although I very much doubt that the Grim Reaper will have the courage to take her, even at that age, I can’t help but picture the scene.

‘It’s your turn,’ says the towering black-cloaked figure tapping my mother on the shoulder with his scythe.

‘It’s bloomin’ well not. Go pick on someone your own size. And stop poking that thing at people, you’ll have their eyes out.’

I’m brought back to the moment with a toast led by Patty.

‘To a new year of Mercury Travel, which if this week is anything to go by, will be another year of fun and frolics,’ she says, clinking her wine glass against each of ours.

‘And to your return to the high seas,’ adds Charlie. ‘We’ll be selling plenty of cruise tickets now.’

‘So sales went well all week?’ asks Peter.

‘They did,’ I say. ‘And Josie seems to be having a fabulous time out in Finland. She’s sent a video of the snow around the hotel and sounds completely giddy with excitement. It does look beautiful.’

‘And our February trip is sold out completely,’ adds Charlie. ‘We’ll have a full complement of Mercurians accompanying us on our romantic trip to Greece.’ He leans across and kisses Peter.

‘Don’t you mean they’ll have to put up with you two smooching for the whole holiday?’ I get poked in the arm with a breadstick.

We’re in a local Italian, the same place that Ed and I came to last year. It was my first attempt at dating after the divorce and it was going well until we went back to my place. I’d managed to put that excruciatingly embarrassing memory to the very back of my mind until I walked in here and the whole debacle was triggered by the sight of the red-checked tablecloths. Thankfully, no one else mentions it, so I simply put that memory back in the archives, hoping one day I’ll laugh at it.

---