Page 30 of The Happiness Project

‘So, lovely people,’ Patty asks loudly in an obvious effort to change the subject. ‘On more important matters — are we all ready for gingerbread?’

The group cheers and Patty tells us to follow her.

* * *

The shop is tiny but the aroma drifts around the twisty streets, drawing us in. It’s right beside St Oswald’s church where Wordsworth and his family are buried, so Patty hasn’t escaped the literary tour just yet. But for now, she has some difficult decisions to make.

‘Should I get the gingerbread, the rum sauce or the gingerbread fudge?’ she asks, lusting after the products on the shelves.

I mentally count to three and by the time I get to two the inevitable decision has been made.

‘All of them,’ she says to the shop assistant, replying to her question with the inevitable answer, ‘the large size, please.’

We all buy something and like Patty I take all three products, but unlike her, mine are to give away to Zoe, Mum and Dad. I’ll be helping my best friend demolish her supply anyway.

It’s mid-afternoon when we walk around the church and the graveyard to make our final visit of the day. Many other tourists are traipsing along the small footpath which leads to the very simple tombstone that tells us Wordsworth died when he was eighty.

‘Not a bad innings back then,’ says Ed. ‘A life of fresh air and literary enlightenment must be good for you.’

‘That’s reassuring to know,’ says Sarah, who has been quiet all day. ‘Especially for book club members.’

‘The fresh air part didn’t help him much,’ continues Patty, reading from a leaflet. ‘He died after he caught a cold when out walking. I told you it was dangerous.’

The lead guide of some Japanese tourists seems to be rapidly translating Patty’s words as I can see the concern and then smiles on the faces of her group.

‘Walk-ing dan-ge-rous,’ says an elderly man. He finger-walks to make his point.

‘Hai,’ replies Patty, nodding at him.

As we leave the graveyard, Caroline asks her what she said.

‘It’s yes in Japanese,’ she replies, getting eyebrows raised in surprise from everyone.

‘Cruises are international affairs, you know,’ she says to our shocked faces. ‘I tried to learn six words in as many languages as possible — yes, no, please, thank you and the most important of all . . .’

She has her audience as we’re gripped to hear the rest.

‘Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?’

This time it’s Peter who throws something at her and Ed who tells her that’s ten words anyway.

After collecting my painting from the art shop we head back to the cars for our journey home. The valley is dark now with the promise of a clear cold night in the air. I can’t help but wonder what the stars look like from Wordsworth’s little hut and wonder if he wrote any poems about them. I’ll have to look it up when I get back.

‘Thank you for inviting me,’ says Sarah from the back seat as we drive down the motorway. ‘It’s been a lovely weekend and you have a great bunch of friends.’

‘My pleasure. I’m glad you enjoyed it.’

Sarah pauses then says, ‘I hope I didn’t ruin anything for you.’

It’s my turn to pause because the weekend wasn’t ruined, but in a way, my hopes were dashed. In the end I decide to maintain the sense of bonhomie that has surrounded today and settle for a platitude.

‘You didn’t ruin a thing,’ I say. ‘I’ve had the most wonderful weekend too and I really hope that you come along again.’

‘Oh, I’d love to,’ she says. ‘And I’d like to invite you both to the tea shop for a free cream tea when you have time.’

‘There’s always time for a cream tea,’ Patty says.

I reach down and flick the radio onto an eighties channel.

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