The Happy Hour

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

The weather had been bright and cheerful all week, mirroring Jess’s mood. Wendy had commented on it when she’d found her humming a Taylor Swift song while tidying the stacks of soft, colourful blankets on Monday, an unnecessary task because they were mostly overlooked at this time of year.

Jess had told her it was just an ear worm, because if she gave her boss even a hint of how happy Ash made her, Wendy would pounce on her and delve deeper until Jess told her everything. And it felt precious, something she wasn’t ready to share: the kite-flying; Ash coming up with affirmations for her; the kiss. He’d been so distracting that, even when they’d talked about their families and she’d sensed him shutting down, heard a sudden brusqueness in his words, she hadn’t asked him about his appointment. She had wanted to hold on to the fun they were having, and not let anything ruin it.

On Wednesday she’d come back to the market, filming Lola and Spade as they filled the space with their music and their self-belief, bouncing ideas off each other, getting stallholders and visitors involved. They worked well together, the ultimate double act, and Jess had been happy to hide behind the phone and stay out of the spotlight, filming take after take, even though it was supposed to be spontaneous.

‘Looks like the video’s going well,’ Kirsty said on Thursday, from inside her Moreish Muffins food truck. It was a tiny, old-fashioned van painted a soft cream colour, whimsical illustrations of muffins, coffee cups and flowers adorning the side. ‘Everyone’s talking about it.’

‘Lola and Spade aren’t exactly introverts,’ Jess replied. ‘They got a whole book club group – six women all over seventy – dancing to their music at one point.’

Kirsty laughed. ‘They were trying to come up with a name after you left. Now that it’s not just Lola on her own.’ She leaned on the counter, her blonde-brown curls swaying gently.

‘I can’t wait to hear what they choose.’ Jess grinned, then thought of Enzo, the kindness and enthusiasm he’d shown for Spade and Lola yesterday, the worry lines creasing his forehead when he thought nobody was looking. ‘What do you think about using their TikToks to help Enzo?’

‘What do you mean?’ Kirsty glanced over Jess’s shoulder. ‘And what do you fancy?’

‘Sorry, you’re busy. Could I have... one of your bacon and cheese muffins?’

‘Sure thing.’

‘I just wondered,’ Jess went on, needing to bounce her idea off someone, ‘if Lola and Spade are aiming for this video to go viral, and Enzo’s struggling because Carolina isn’t well—’

‘Yeah, it’s awful. He’s been here years.’

‘Exactly. So do you think there’s some way... I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘We could use Lola and Spade’s plans to help them get back on their feet?’

‘What about a petition?’

Jess turned around, and recognised Margaret, who often came into No Vase Like Home, loved anything green, and was like a bright bubble of cheerfulness. Jess only knew her name because one day she’d come into the shop wearing her nurse’s uniform, her name badge pinned to her chest.

‘Or – no,’ she went on. ‘If he’s struggling to make ends meet, could you set up a Just Giving page for him?’

‘That’s a great idea,’ Kirsty said. ‘We could link to it on TikTok, as long as Lola and Spade were happy for Enzo’s jewellery to feature.’

‘Don’t they have fundraising buttons on TikTok?’ Jess said.

‘I think you need to be a registered charity for that,’ Margaret replied. ‘But you could still link to the page on their profile.’

‘That could work.’ Spade and Enzo were good friends, the ex-rock star – soon to be current rock star? – always hanging around his stall, making him laugh. ‘Lola’s keen to raise her profile, but now she’s got Spade on board, I think they’d both jump at the chance to help Enzo if they can. Thanks for the suggestion, Margaret.’

‘No worries. What’s good today?’

‘Everything.’ Jess laughed. ‘I’ve gone for the bacon and cheese.’

‘Oh God, great choice. I’m going to copy you.’

‘Enjoy!’ Jess called, waving goodbye to her and Kirsty.

In the shop, Wendy was flicking through a catalogue and humming to herself. She looked up when Jess came in. ‘Fuel to get you through carrying a water feature to Felicity’s?’

‘A muffin because it’s Thursday.’ Jess shrugged. ‘But I am off to Felicity’s in a bit.’ She glared at the hares, as she always did when she walked in the door. ‘She seemed nervous when she gave me her address on Monday.’

‘She lives on her own,’ Wendy said, ‘so maybe having you round to her home, even briefly, isa big thing for her. Just follow her lead.’

‘Of course. I’ll finish my muffin, then get started on the new display before I leave. The owls aren’t in yet?’

‘Next couple of days,’ Wendy said. ‘I promise you’ll love them.’

‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep,’ Jess said, suppressing a shudder.

At ten to eleven, with Felicity’s address and the route from the market memorised, Jess went to get the boxed water feature from the storeroom.

‘Bend your knees!’ Wendy called, and Jess rolled her eyes.

She tottered onto the shop floor, her hands clasped under the box, her chin resting on top. ‘I’ve got it.’

‘Are you going to be OK carrying that?’

‘It’s not heavy, just awkward. Felicity definitely wouldn’t have managed it.’

‘She wouldn’t have been brazen enough to nudge people out of the way, either.’

‘That too,’ Jess agreed. ‘Right, I’m off.’

‘Take as long as you need,’ Wendy said.

‘You always say that!’

‘I always mean it.’

Jess walked carefully through the market, trying not to nudge people with the sharp corners of the box. Whenever visitors shot her curious glances, she glared back until they looked away.

The last part of the journey was uphill, on a residential road that ran parallel to the park, and the houses were large and well kept, with tiny front gardens sporting manicured rose bushes or potted marigolds, front doors gleaming white, sage green or pewter grey. There was no cracked plasterwork, no wheelie bins on show. Kerb appeal was clearly an important factor in this neighbourhood.

Number sixty-seven was smart too, though not quite aspolished as its neighbours. The door was a glossy primrose yellow, but there were weeds creeping up between the pathway flagstones, and all the blinds were drawn; no vases of peonies visible in the windows, no high ceilings on display. The door was the only welcoming thing about this house, and Jess felt a spike of unease.

She walked slowly up the path and lowered the box onto the porch, then lifted the brass knocker and slammed it down twice. She waited, listening for footsteps, and wondered if Felicity had forgotten. Then the door swung inward, making her jump.

Felicity was wearing biscuit-coloured linen trousers and a thin, grass-green jumper. Behind her, Jess could only see darkness. ‘Hello Jessica,’ Felicity said, smiling thinly. ‘Are you sure this is all right? You taking time out of your day to bring this to me?’

Jess wanted to laugh, because she was already here. She wasn’t about to say it was inconvenient and walk all the way back to the market with the box tucked under her chin. ‘Of course,’ she said brightly. ‘Shall I bring it in? I can help you set it up too, if you like.’

Felicity bit her lip like a self-conscious teenager. ‘Yes, please. Do come in. And please excuse the mess.’

Now Jess did laugh, because ‘mess’ to Felicity probably meant a book left out on a coffee table, or mugs upside down on the draining board. But then Felicity pulled open the door, letting sunlight flood into the house, and it was...

Jess clamped her jaw shut so hard it hurt. The entrance hall, which was wide and high-ceilinged, a staircase with a wooden banister running up the left-hand side, was full of... stuff. She could see piles of newspapers, clothes or fabric shoved into plastic bags that were tearing at the seams, a stack of tatty-looking wicker baskets. As she left behind the fresh May morning and stepped into Felicity’s house, the mustiness was a scorch in her nostrils, the stale air cloying and thick. The walls, she could just about see, were covered in wallpaper: little white daisies on a blue and green foliage background, but most of it was obscured by clutter.

‘I’ll just get this.’ Jess bent to pick up the box again, not recognising her own voice.

‘Absolutely. Of course!’ Felicity was back to the strong, in-control woman Jess had got to know a little in No Vase Like Home. ‘I’ll take you to the garden.’ Was it denial? It had to be denial.

This turned out to be the hardest part of her journey, because there was only a narrow walkway through the mess, and she couldn’t see her feet. She tripped a couple of times, but Felicity didn’t turn round, though she slowed her pace, never leaving Jess behind.

The kitchen was a bright room, with a long window that looked out over the back garden, but the sunlight showed that this space, too, was buried under detritus. Jess tried not to wince at the piles of papers, books and leaflets, unopened post in towers next to the hob. There was no area to prepare a meal or sit down to eat one. Panic and claustrophobia clawed at her, tightening her throat.

‘Felicity.’ It came out as a scratch.

‘This way, Jessica.’ She walked through the narrow gap she had left herself, and unlocked the back door.

Jess followed, the box colliding with papers and bin bags, threatening to send them toppling into the limited space that remained. She breathed an audible sigh of relief when she was back in the fresh air, in a garden closed in by high, red-brick walls, the space a colourful tangle of unkempt trees and shrubs. The patio, hosting an iron table and single chair, was the most looked-after part of the house so far.

‘On here?’

‘Perfect.’ Jess put it on the flagstones, and Felicity opened it.

‘Can I help?’ Jess asked.

‘Could you show me how to set it up? I have an outdoor tap over here that we could connect it to.’

‘You don’t need that,’ Jess told her. ‘It has a built-in water tank, so once you’ve filled it for the first time, it will just cycle through. It’s not going to use a huge amount.’

‘Wonderful,’ Felicity said. ‘Come on then – let’s get to it!’

Jess read out the instructions, then helped Felicity attach the pump and the water tank, making sure it was all secured properly, while a blackbird dug worms out of the long grass.

She had seen tiny chinks in Felicity’s armour whenever she’d been in the shop: her frayed hems, the slight dishevelment, but she’d never once imagined she’d be living like this. It was clear that the house was going to remain the unmentioned elephant in the room, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t come at it sideways.

‘How long have you lived here?’ she asked.

‘Twenty-seven years,’ Felicity said. ‘Twenty-three of those on my own. With my cats, of course.’

Jess hadn’t seen any of the cats yet. She swallowed, wishing she’d brought a bottle of water with her. It was awful to think it, but she wasn’t sure she’d want a cup of tea from Felicity’s kitchen.

‘Are any of your cats twenty-three?’ Jess widened her eyes, trying to find some levity.

‘No, dear.’ Felicity chuckled. ‘But I’ve never been without one. Not since – not for a long time.’

‘That’s good.’

‘I don’t know what I’d do if they weren’t here.’

Jess tried, and failed, to stop her mind straying down horrifying pathways. Were the other rooms in the house as bad as the ones she’d seen? Did the cats bother to come outside to relieve themselves? Did Felicity even care? And how – how could she not care about what was happening in her hallway and kitchen? How did she justify it to herself?

‘And you... you’re happy, living here?’ she tried.

There was a beat of silence. She looked up to see Felicity scrutinising her. ‘I know it’s not the tidiest house,’ she said, ‘but I’ve been so busy recently. I simply haven’t had the time to keep things pristine. Life, you know. It gets in the way.’

Jess was incredulous. Was this really what she thought? But then, what could she say? Felicity, I’m terribly sorry but you’re living in a death trap. You’re in complete denial. You need help. She didn’t know her well enough to say these things, so instead she said, ‘Of course. It’s a beautiful property. And so close to the park, too.’

‘Indeed,’ Felicity said. ‘Now, where does this cable go?’

Jess checked the instructions and got back to work.

Once there was a soothing bubble of water flowing over the globe at the centre of the sculpture, Jess hovered, her hands in the pockets of her dress. Should she ask for a drink, then try and get Felicity to open up? Should she request a tour of the house, so she could see how bad it was? Or should she say nothing, go back to the shop, and ask Wendy what to do? Her boss was bound to have some kind of solution.

An image of her mum flashed into her head, with her soft brown curls and green-framed glasses, saying: You can come to me about anything, Jess. Nothing is off limits. But it was: it was. And in the last couple of years, the distance between them had grown, and Jess felt as if she could barely speak to her mum about anything.

‘This was incredibly kind of you,’ Felicity said. ‘I know you have to get back to work, but you’re always welcome to come for tea – whenever you want to. It’ll give me an excuse to have a bit of a tidy up.’

‘I’d love that,’ Jess said, trying not to collapse in nervous laughter at the thought of Felicity having a bit of a tidy up. ‘Thank you, Felicity. And come to the shop again soon. We’ve got some new stock arriving in the next couple of days.’ It felt important to keep the connection with her, now she’d seen what was going on.

‘Of course,’ Felicity said. ‘I’m always on the lookout for new pieces.’

Her lips clamped firmly shut, Jess let the older woman lead her, hopscotch style, to the front door, with its cheery yellow paint and glass panels.

On the doorstep, she turned. ‘See you soon, I hope.’

Felicity nodded, and the look she gave her might have been a whisper of desperation or plea for help, or simply a silent request for Jess not to judge her. ‘See you soon, Jessica. Thank you again.’

‘Any time.’ She squeezed Felicity’s thin arm.

As she walked back to the market, past all those beautiful houses, the wealth evident in every blooming hanging basket and sleek car parked outside, she felt physically unburdened – without her awkward box – but emotionally weighed down. She had three distinct thoughts running through her head. One: she understood, now, why Felicity had never bought her coveted mirror. There was no place for it in that house. Two: Felicity needed help, but Jess was almost 100 per cent sure that she wasn’t the one to give it. Three: if this was what happened to an intelligent woman after two decades of living alone – a beautiful house turned into a hoarding nightmare, cats that were probably buried under piles of stuff with mice or rats or God knew what else – was that going to be her future, too?

She almost bumped into a woman carrying a potted plant, apologised and stepped out of her way, then nearly walked straight into a lamppost.

‘Fuck,’ she muttered.

Today had not gone as she had expected, and now her mind felt almost as cluttered as Felicity’s hallway. She inhaled the welcome scents of the market’s food stalls, and realised that she had yet another thing to add to her to-do list. Her urge to run away and live by herself was even stronger than usual, but today had been a harsh reminder that that wasn’t always the solution. People were complicated, always demanding something, but – in some cases at least – being alone, relying on nobody but yourself, refusing to let other people in, could have some alarming repercussions.