Page 65 of The Happiness Project

‘I’m a partner and that means I have to show responsibility, which means no bunking off.’

‘Oh, so Charlie hasn’t bunked off to sort out his wedding at all this year?’ Mum makes a point.

‘That’s different, he’s been badly let down,’ I tell her. ‘Besides which, a wedding is important and takes a lot of organising.’

‘How do you know that reason I need you here isn’t important?’ Mum asks, not giving up.

‘The last time you wanted me to bunk off it was because you’d found a freezer full of yellow-sticker turkey crowns but had no one to drive you home,’ I remind her.

‘They’d have come in handy for Christmas.’

‘It was the Boxing Day sale.’

‘Well, your father and I got an awful lot of curries and pies from them that year, but this is nothing to do with shopping and everything to do with you.’ I can almost feel her prodding me from a distance. ‘Now, get on down here — I’ll meet you in the Three Swans on the canal.’

I sigh with despair as my mother puts the phone down on me. It’s late in the afternoon and we only have another hour until closing, so I explain the conversation to Josie and Charlie and ask if it’s okay to leave early. They’re both happy and even excited by the idea.

‘I wonder what scheme she’s cooked up now,’ says Josie. ‘Do you think she’s found something else to add to her bucket list?’

‘Dear Lord, I hope not,’ I tell them as I shut down the PC and collect my things.

‘We want a full rundown in the morning,’ Charlie yells as I head out the door.

* * *

The Three Swans is in a fairly idyllic location next to a lock. As I walk towards it from the car park, I notice flowers starting to bud and the air smelling fresher. Despite the fact that I’m meeting my mother, it feels good to be out of the office. I see a group of women on the canal bank striding along with walking poles; they’re chatting and laughing as they walk and I wonder whether I could join something like that when Patty leaves. The thought of sensible boots and waterproofs would have her needing a lie down before she’d started. Then again, with the pace these women are going at, I’m exhausted just watching — maybe that isn’t my new thing after all.

Compared to the late-afternoon sunshine outside, the interior of the pub is quite dark and I can’t see Mum anywhere. Typical that she’s dragged me out and isn’t even here herself. She had to have driven here and that’s surprising too — normally Dad or I would be called on to chauffeur. Unless she’s on a date from that ridiculous website Patty signed her up to. I panic slightly, thinking my mum might be trying to get out of a dangerous situation, and grab at my phone, dialling her number.

Somewhere behind me the theme tune to Mission: Impossible starts playing very loudly and I spin round ready to ask them to turn it down when I see my mum skulking in a corner booth. She’s wearing dark sunglasses with her phone blaring full blast. I end the call and the music finishes as I do. Mystery solved.

‘You’ve changed your ringtone,’ I say, walking towards her. ‘I didn’t realise you knew how to do that.’

‘I got next door’s grandson to do it for me,’ Mum explains. ‘Good, isn’t it?’

‘Distinctive,’ I tell her. ‘We’ll always know whose phone is ringing.’

‘Oh, it’s only on for when you call,’ Mum says.

‘Why? And why are you wearing those glasses and that old trench coat? I thought you’d thrown it in the charity bag.’

‘Get me a bitter lemon and I’ll tell you everything,’ says Mum, removing the sunglasses. ‘I’ve worked up a bit of a thirst today.’

Thinking it’ll be midnight before I get any information out of this woman, I nevertheless head to the bar and get us drinks and crisps. I know that this will be her next request and I’m not jumping up and down all afternoon. Mum dives into the snacks then takes a long sip of her drink and begins.

‘I’ve been doing some detective work,’ she says. ‘I needed to be undercover.’

She taps the side of her nose and I gather that’s why she’s wearing that old coat. She once wore it to a murder mystery party when she went as the amateur sleuth.

‘Nothing says inconspicuous more than a glamorous seventy-year-old with a purple handbag and an old coat,’ I tell her.

‘Nothing says inconspicuous more than a seventy-year-old, full stop,’ says Mum. ‘I could probably have gone around naked.’

I grimace at the thought but she does make a valid point, and after all, I never spotted her when I walked in.

‘So why are you doing detective work?’ I ask, thinking we should really get to the point before the pub closes.

‘To save your love life,’ asserts Mum. ‘Someone has to do something and I’m probably best qualified.’

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