Page 18 of The Happiness Project

‘Okay, well, I’ve had some thoughts,’ says Zoe.

The hotel hosts weddings most weeks of the year; as a result, Zoe knows many of the hair and make-up artists who operate locally.

‘I’m thinking that we could perhaps have a spa day so Gran gets spoiled rotten,’ she says. ‘I’ll book her and Grandad into a suite for the evening and treat them to dinner. I’ll get James to take Grandad out while we work miracles on Gran — when he gets back, his wife will look simply amazing. How does that sound?’

‘It sounds wonderful. Although I’m not sure one afternoon will get Mum looking a decade younger.’

‘Trust me, these make-up artists can work miracles.’ She laughs.

Zoe gets out a large diary and flicks through the pages, looking for a free date.

‘I’m surprised you don’t have everything stored electronically,’ I say.

‘I have both. On a weekend off I don’t like to go online or I’ll look at my emails and then the time vanishes. Plus, this one has lots of the business cards I collect.’

There’s a Perspex wallet clipped to the back of the book with lots of cards, on which I can see a list of cake specialists, stylists, florists and beauticians. It’s a paper Wikipedia of exactly what we need.

‘Ohhh,’ Zoe says, looking up with an excited look on her face. ‘There is another option — it would be even better than a spa day.’

She swizzles the diary around so that I can read the entry; I check that I’ve correctly guessed what the idea is and she nods.

‘I think that would be incredible,’ I tell her, and my daughter and I high-five in excited anticipation.

Zoe will check that the idea is possible and get back to me. If not, she’ll contact some beauticians to action Plan B.

‘I’m really looking forward to this,’ says my daughter. ‘It’ll be such fun conspiring together.’

I feel lifted by her words and am delighted that having this task to do together means that I’ll get to spend more time with Zoe. Perhaps Mum is a genius after all.

James gets back from his jog just as it’s time for me to leave. I explain where I’m going and Zoe tells me that she hopes it goes well, that I deserve to meet someone nice. It’s quite ironic because only a year or so ago, I was telling her that she needed to meet someone. They have their arms around each other as they stand in the doorway waving me goodbye; Zoe has most definitely met someone more than nice.

* * *

I reach the park a little bit early, so rather than bide time outside I go into the tea shop and see that Sarah from the book club is working today. After waiting for the queue to die down, I head to the counter to say hello.

‘You came,’ she says with a smile. ‘I’m so glad — are you on your own?’

‘I’m meeting someone shortly,’ I tell her. ‘So keep back some slices of your best cakes.’

Sarah is about to take her break so suggests we sit down and have a cuppa while I’m waiting. To be polite I do just that, take off my coat and sit down close to the door where I’ll be able to see Michael. I’m trying not to but I can’t help checking the time on my phone.

‘I’m sure he’ll be here soon,’ says Sarah. ‘We’ve a bathroom out the back if you want to freshen up. I’ll look after your things.’

I take up her suggestion rather than sit nervously waiting. I check that I don’t have pastry crumbs in my teeth now and splash water on my face. When I head back out Sarah gets up from the table saying she has to mind the counter but that I’m welcome to wait for as long as I like.

I sit until the tea shop looks to be filling up and I get glances from families who need a table to sit at. It isn’t fair for me to be taking up the space, so I tell Sarah that I’ll wait outside.

And I do. I wait and wait. He’s ten minutes late, then quarter of an hour then twenty minutes. I should call him, I know I should, and Patty will give me such a dressing down when I tell her about this. But he has my number, and if you’re the one running late then surely you’re the one who should call?

At the forty-minute mark it starts to rain and I know it’s the sign I was waiting for. I have to stop pretending that he’s coming — I’ve been stood up.

Chapter Ten: Gonna Wash That Girl Right Outta My Hair

When I got home, I’d hoped for a relaxing bath to ease the hurt but it wasn’t to be.

‘Patty, have you seen my face cloth?’ I bellow from the bathroom. Rather than a sarcastic reply there’s a silence, which usually means trouble, so I march down the stairs and into the living room where she’s sitting with a butter-wouldn’t-melt expression.

‘Which face cloth?’ she asks, as if it’s normal to have hundreds of the things.

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