Page 33 of The Happiness Project

‘Name something you do on a second date.’ I press the buzzer quickly, getting a nod of approval from him.

‘Angie, give us your answer,’ he continues.

‘Go for a nice walk.’ I get disappointed murmurs from my team mates.

‘Sorry, Angie,’ says Peter, ‘that’s not in the top answers.’

‘It’s not her fault,’ my mum pipes up, giving me a big hug and pulling me down towards her so she can plant a kiss on the top of my head. ‘She never gets past the first.’

I cannot fault her timing and simply burst out laughing. I can’t stop, and soon the others join in. If we ever do get on this show then the Great British public will probably learn more about me than they ever wanted to.

Chapter Seventeen: Who’s That Man?

‘Do you think you have a chance of being selected?’ Patty asks as we stroll arm in arm along the canal on the way to Sarah’s tea shop, come Sunday morning. It’s my birthday and I’ve insisted on a very low-key affair, but Patty is equally insistent that we have cake.

It’s lovely and brisk out and the setting is serene; the water is still, cyclists, joggers and dog walkers seem filled with the morning promise, and they all nod their heads or say good morning as we pass. Even the ducks bobbing gently look as if they’re out for a pleasant perambulation. In the verges beside the path, small shoots are starting to appear alongside the snowdrops. With the blue sky and small white clouds it would be easy to assume that we’re past the worst of winter, but from experience, it always seems that as soon as the crocuses start to flower, they’re flattened by a blanket of snow. I always want to tell them to hide away for a little longer to be safe. I realise as I’m thinking this it’s a little like my own life so wave the thought away.

‘I guess we have as much chance as anyone else,’ I reply, forgetting about the crocuses and taking Patty’s arm. ‘Mum was very funny even when she was inadvertently insulting me.’

Patty snorts and replies that somehow my mother always manages to pull off that combination.

‘Anyway,’ I continue, ‘do you have the set finalised?’

‘We do and you’ll see it soon,’ she says. ‘We have a warm-up gig coming up on the fourteenth.’

‘I’ll rally the troops,’ I tell her.

* * *

We reach a small metal bridge where three children wrapped up in big coats and scarves are playing Pooh sticks, so we stop and watch for a moment. The older ones seem to be indulging their younger sister but soon get competitive when her stick catches a current or slipstream or whatever canals have and wins the race. We all cheer and then laugh. It’s amazing how the very simple things in life can bring the most pleasure. Patty reaches into her pocket and, after checking with their parents, offers the children a packet of fruit pastilles as their prize. They’re delighted and we walk away happy with the world.

‘I take it back,’ says Patty as we approach the tea shop.

‘Take what back?’ I ask.

‘My Mr Darcy comment. This is a lovely place to come for a date. I might even bring Jack for the stroll we’ve just had and then bring him here — if the cake is any good.’

‘Great love stories can’t all start on a cruise liner,’ I tell her, feeling vindicated.

* * *

I remember last time I visited the tea shop, thinking how it was warm and cosy without being twee. That’s still the sense I get now. The walls are a pale sage colour, which works well to complement the landscape outside. The furniture is light Scandinavian brushed wood, which makes the whole place say ‘come in and relax’. So we do. Sarah is serving a customer when we arrive but she smiles at us. While we’re waiting for her I peruse the small selection of gifts she has on sale — cards, candles, little dog biscuits and potpourri sachets, all of which look beautifully handmade. I pick up one card. The design is a little gnome couple hand in hand. For a moment, it makes me pine for the time last year when my own gnomes — Gnorman and Gnora — were mysteriously left on the doorstep. They’re in storage at the moment waiting for me to find my own home. Their appearance made me think that someone was looking out for me and it turned out they were. Or Michael was, at least; how could he have gone to so much effort then and suddenly stop now? Oh well, I sigh to myself, onwards and upwards.

Sarah finishes serving her customer, tells her assistant that she’s taking a short break, shows us to a table marked Reserved then disappears into the back kitchen.

‘I’ve made something special as I heard it was someone’s birthday,’ she says when she emerges with a tray bearing the weight of a cafetière and an enormous sponge.

‘Red velvet?’ I ask in hope on seeing the frosting. She nods.

‘I adore red velvet,’ I say with added emphasis to ensure a large slice. There was probably no need for it as Sarah is cutting builder-size portions for both of us. I can feel the glare of her other customers on the back of my neck.

Having served us and a tiny piece for herself, her assistant comes over to take the cake back to the counter. Almost instantly, chairs start scraping back while customers are drawn towards it.

Sarah pours us coffees and tells us she’s delighted that we could come.

‘You’ve made me so welcome in the book club, it’s good to be able to return the favour,’ she says.

‘Well, I don’t think you’ll be welcomed by Caroline again when I tell her what she’s missed out on,’ I mumble while nibbling a little bit of frosting stuck on the fork.

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