The Happiness List. Annie Lyons
Georg wore a blank expression.
In complete contrast, Pamela looked as if she might burst with delight. ‘Hello! It’s lovely to meet you. Now forgive me but I feel as we’ve met before. Did you used to come to the toddler group?’
Fran nodded. ‘Yep, although that was a while back now. My oldest is at secondary and my youngest is in year five.’
Pamela shook her head in disbelief. ‘Time flies and I’ve got a brain like a sieve. What was your name, lovey?’
‘It’s Fran,’ she replied, holding her breath, ready for the moment of dreadful recognition.
It was as if a cloud descended over Pamela. She patted Fran’s arm. ‘Of course, Fran. How could I forget? I’m so sorry. How are you?’
Heather frowned with confusion.
‘My husband died a couple of years ago,’ explained Fran. That’s my cover blown then.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Heather. ‘That’s terrible.’
Fran nodded because that was all you could do. It was terrible – everyone’s worst fear. Over the past couple of years, she had become practised at dealing with the way people reacted when she told them – the fear in their eyes as they desperately scanned their brains for the right thing to say. It was down to her to console their shock and reassure them that they didn’t need to be sorry – it was really shit but it wasn’t their fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. And that was the worst thing of all.
‘Heather’s mum and dad passed away a few years ago,’ said Pamela brightly. Fran shot a surprised glance at Heather and realized that she was trying to swallow down her mirth at this inappropriately cheerful remark.
‘Best friends for life then,’ said Fran with a wink. Heather chuckled.
They sat up straighter in their chairs as George Clooney clapped his hands together and called them to attention.
‘Okay, everyone, let’s make a start. Welcome. My name is Nikolaj Pedersen but everyone calls me Nik. So no doubt you are wondering what to expect, you may be thinking, why am I here? You may be doubting why you have come or thinking, what can this Scandinavian weirdo teach me?’ The assembled group gave a nervous laugh and Nik smiled. ‘That is okay. Don’t worry. The point is that you are here – something has brought you here and for that you should be grateful. I don’t need to know what that thing is – no one needs to know. You can share your stories of course but it is by no means obligatory. Everyone’s story is different, just as everyone’s version of happiness is different. My aim is to help you reframe your lives so that you can find your version. The handouts in front of you contain the list of what I see as the fundamental steps towards achieving this – it’s my happiness list.’ He smiled. ‘These are the things I will try to teach you over the next ten weeks in order for you to find whatever it is you seek. After each session, I will set you homework based on that list item so that you can practise what we have discussed and learnt but I’ll tell you more about that later.’
‘Blimey, he’ll be giving out detentions next,’ mused Fran under her breath. Heather smirked.
Nik continued. ‘I cannot promise that you will find exactly what you need but if you come to each session with an open mind, it will be possible. So, I want you to think of this hall as a drama-free space, where you leave behind your problems of everyday life – take a moment to depart from day-to-day competition and stress, a moment to be open and to open yourself up to possibility. That is all I ask. If you find this isn’t for you, that is okay but I would say that you need to give yourself time – give yourself a chance.’
Fran shifted in her chair as Nik continued.
‘This is also not an individual activity. We are in this together as part of a team. We will help and support one another without judgement or prejudice. We will do all we can to help others find the happiness they seek. Are we in agreement?’
There were hesitant murmurs around the room.
Nik seemed satisfied. ‘Good. So, with that in mind, I am going to put you into groups.’ Fran found herself in a three with Pamela and Heather. ‘These are your official course buddies,’ Nik told them. ‘You will undertake your exercises and challenges alongside them – think of them as family.’
‘Not sure that’s necessarily a good thing,’ murmured Fran to Heather. She laughed.
‘This is going to be fun,’ declared Pamela, grinning at them both.
Fun? thought Fran. Really? Was it realistic to expect people over the age of ten to have actual fun?
She used to watch the kids on the trampoline, bouncing with joy, laughing their heads off. One day last week, Charlie was on there so Fran decided to go out and join her because it had been a shit day and she thought, why not? Fran winced as she recalled bouncing higher and higher, encouraged by her giggling daughter, before realizing with horror that women her age really need to empty their bladders before they tried it.
Fran admired Pamela’s child-like wonder but she reserved the right to remain deeply cynical about the next ten weeks being any kind of fun. She got the feeling that she might have an ally in Heather in this respect. Fran focused her attention back on Nik.
‘After tea, I would like us to try a simple meditation, but, before that, I think it would be helpful if we introduced ourselves and gave one piece of information that we are happy to share – it can be anything, not necessarily to do with happiness. Something that we don’t mind the world knowing – it can be funny or sad or just a fact. I’ll go first to give you an idea. My name is Nik and I play the euphonium.’
Fran snorted with laughter. Nik turned to Jim, who was sitting to his left.
He looked embarrassed, running a hand over his bald head as he spoke. ‘My name is Jim and I used to sing in a Take That tribute band.’
‘Bravo, Jim, and welcome,’ said Nik with an encouraging smile.
Fran felt her mouth go dry as Nik made his way around the circle. Among the group was Sue, who once appeared on Britain’s Got Talent playing the washboard, Georg, who had won awards for his latte art and Pamela, who was a star baker. Even Heather had won a Blue Peter badge. When it was Fran’s turn, she decided to play it for laughs.
‘I’m Fran,’ she began. ‘And I have a dog called Alan.’ Everyone laughed. ‘Yep,’ she went on. ‘I thought it would be funny too but you try calling that name in the park on a Sunday afternoon. You get a lot of attention from middle-aged men and not in a good way.’
More laughter. Fran felt herself relax.
Got away with that one, Fran. You could have announced that you had a dog called Alan who saved you from the brink of insanity but maybe keep that for another time.
It was true. When her brother had turned up on the doorstep six months after Andy died, carrying a spaniel puppy under his arm, she’d wept until she felt weak. Then she punched her brother on the arm for being so bloody irresponsible. Then she hugged him and said he was the best brother ever. The children were over the moon but worried that Fran wouldn’t let him stay.
‘Please, Mum,’ Charlie begged. ‘We’ll help look after him.’
Jude looked at her from behind that floppy fringe, a peppering of spots just visible on his forehead above a pair of huge blue eyes. His father’s eyes.
Fran felt a wave of grief – the widow’s version of a hot flush she called it. It came and went and made you feel bloody terrible. The puppy waddled over and sat on her feet. Her slippers suddenly felt warm. She stared down at him in horror. He stared back at her, eyebrows raised in amazement at his own audacity.
Fran threw back her head and roared with laughter. Her brother and the kids gaped at one other with alarm. Fran knew why. It was the first time she had laughed since Andy’s death and they were worried