Page 40 of The Happiness Project

Patty snorts and has to grab a napkin quickly to stop the mouthful she’s just consumed reappearing.

‘Firstly, you will never lose me,’ she says when she’s recovered. ‘And you’ve had some bad luck when it comes to love, but what about this David guy? You seemed to like him after that date at his house.’

‘It was nice. He and his friends have a good social life and it’s nice to be part of a group. It’s good to meet new people and I’ll need that when you’re away. Then maybe when you and Jack are onshore, you can join us.’

‘We’d love to,’ says Patty. ‘However, I’m sensing a “but”.’

‘But . . . I really need to know what happened with Michael before I can move on. I simply can’t get him out of my head no matter how much I try.’ I’m aware that the words are about to come out fast and furious. ‘One minute he’s pursuing me — albeit by doing the gardening, but still — and then he seemed so enthusiastic when I invited him out, we even had a kiss at midnight and I really quite liked him. I thought we’d be taking it from there.’

I stop briefly for air then continue.

‘Then he doesn’t call but I find out he doesn’t have my number so I forgive him and, again, look forward to getting together — he sounded so keen when I called, so it makes no sense whatsoever that he stood me up. And why would he be happy to hear from me if he was seeing someone else?’

‘Maybe he just doesn’t have the courage to turn you down directly?’ says Patty as I take a moment to inhale then exhale deeply. ‘Some men are like that — they hate conflict.’

‘I didn’t think he was like that. He seemed gentlemanly.’

‘You could always ring and ask,’ says Patty. ‘Get that closure and then it’s more likely to work with David. Magic up some of the bravery you showed tackling that bottle-thrower and demand answers.’

‘Maybe,’ I sigh, ready to change the subject.

Fortunately, from the corner of my eye I’m aware that a young woman has started staring at us as she loiters a little distance from our table. I turn to look at her and she comes over.

‘Sorry for stalking you,’ she says to Patty with an embarrassed fluster. ‘I’ve just seen you on Pevensie’s Insta page — you look amazing in that dress.’

‘Thank you.’ Patty gets up and gives her a twirl. The woman takes a photo and says she’ll post it on the pub’s page.

‘It’s like your dress is having a day out,’ she says before thanking us and promising to leave us in peace now.

‘That’s not a bad idea,’ I tell Patty as she sits back down. I certainly don’t want to continue our conversation or go back to the house. ‘We didn’t have anything planned before the dance class, did we? Let’s take your dress on a grand tour.’

Chapter Twenty-One: Lady in Red

The red dress takes itself back to Patty’s so we can dump the clothes she came out in this morning and I can change into something a little more glamorous. It then hops onto the tram and into the city centre. Neither Patty nor I sit down; instead we hold the overhead rails as if we’re riding the subway in downtown New York. My slate-blue dress is nowhere near as eye-catching as Patty’s, but I’ve borrowed some of her scarlet lipstick and I feel invincible. I guess that’s why they call it warpaint.

‘Where shall we take Poppy?’ asks Patty, and I instantly realise that she’s named her dress.

‘As she’s new in town, I think we need to do some culture first — perhaps the art gallery?’ I reply. ‘Then dance class and a cocktail — what does she think to that?’

‘Oh, she’s very keen on both those ideas,’ says Patty, ‘particularly the cocktail part.’

Bizarrely, taking ‘Poppy’ out for the day feels far more exciting than if Patty and I had just decided to head into town. It’s as if we have a new friend and we’re honour-bound to show her a good time. We disembark near the beautiful central library and walk the short distance to Manchester Art Gallery. An early afternoon chill is starting to embrace the city now that we’re in the shadow of its splendid Victorian buildings but there’s no way we’re putting our coats on. We simply turn the walk into a stride and are soon through the glass doors of the entrance and back into warmth.

‘So, what would Poppy like to see?’ I ask as we look at the list of collections and exhibitions.

‘I think she’d like to see the costumes,’ Patty says. ‘To see if anything is as fabulous as she is.’

We head to the lift and press the button for the first floor. After all, we can’t walk the stairs and risk ruining our current levels of gorgeousness with underarm sweat stains, can we?

The collection is organised in chronological order, running from the Victorian to the modern age. Despite thinking ourselves the bee’s knees, these dresses showcase the most incredible craftsmanship.

‘I think even Poppy would have to admit we’d look fairly plain by these standards.’ I nod to an elaborate velvet dress with a full skirt.

‘She’s just pleased we no longer have to wear those.’ Patty points at a torturous-looking corset with an impossibly small waistline.

‘How on earth did they ever fit into those? Did they make women smaller back then?’

‘Smaller and often invisible,’ Patty says.

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