The Happiness Project: A laugh-out-loud and utterly feel-good romance

Chapter One The Odd Couple

Never move in with your best friend. Things can get rather weird in a very short space of time.

‘Oh look, there’s a thirtieth-anniversary showing of Four Weddings and a Funeral coming up at the Savoy,’ Patty is saying. ‘If you go dressed up for a wedding you get a free glass of prosecco.’

‘And what do you get if you dress for a funeral?’ I ask, yawning.

‘Oh, that funeral scene, do you remember it? I cried my eyes out — just beautiful. Shall we go?’

I sit up in bed and take my iPad out of her hands.

‘Patty, I’m really tired and I’ve got work tomorrow. Is there any chance of you letting me get some sleep? We can talk about this in the morning.’

‘All right, don’t get your jammies in a twist,’ she says, switching off the bedside light.

I turn over and snuggle under the duvet, waiting for her to move. She doesn’t.

‘And do you think you could possibly get into your own bed?’ I groan.

‘But I’ve warmed this side up now.’

‘Out!’

Much harrumphing follows but Patty does eventually throw back the duvet and get out of the bed, stomp across the room and slam the door behind her. I spread out, and although I’m glad to finally have some peace, I must confess the space she’s left is really very cosy.

* * *

Come morning, she’s turned from acting like my partner to sounding like my mother.

‘You can’t go to work on the first day of a new year on a yoghurt. I’ll make you a bacon sandwich.’ She’s already pulling the ingredients out of the fridge. ‘Your brain needs proper food.’

‘I don’t want one and I don’t have time anyway.’

‘Why don’t you have time? You part own the place — you can hardly sack yourself.’

I’m lifting a spoon of yoghurt to my mouth as Patty reaches across me to get the milk and nudges my arm, causing me to spill some down my chin and blouse. Before I can reach for a piece of kitchen roll for myself, Patty has one in her hand and has wiped my chin. Then she starts dabbing the drip on my blouse, making a stain that was quite small rather large.

‘No point crying over spilt yoghurt,’ she says cheerfully. ‘Anyway, I’ve ironed your blue blouse with the little flowers and it suits you much better than this one.’

I shake my head in disbelief, suddenly reminded of all those odd-couple sitcoms that used to be on TV. They often lived in houses like this too — big Edwardian semis with huge windows and spacious rooms. I always thought they were completely unrealistic — no one could ever live like that — and yet here I am. Patty leaves the kitchen and returns with a blouse that is ironed far better than I could have done. This situation might be ridiculous but it has its upsides.

I’ve moved into Patty’s while I find somewhere of my own. Last year I had to sell the family home when my ex-husband upped and ran off with a caterer, so I rented a little starter home to begin with. Then, just before Christmas and with very little notice, my landlord decided he wanted it back, which meant I would have been homeless if it hadn’t been for Patty. Well, not exactly; there was always the unthinkable option of moving back in with my parents for a while, but Patty suggested we become roomies (although at the time I hadn’t realised that would mean she would be in my room all the time) and I agreed. It wasn’t a hard choice, as she and I joked when we agreed to give it a trial run; I’m allowed to bring boys back for the night here. Not that there is a boy to bring home — not yet anyway.

But there could be. Just as I was moving out of my old place, I finally met one of my neighbours, Michael. Practically running over his cat was not the best of introductions, but the cat was fine and he seems to be a really nice guy. I took the plunge and invited him to Patty’s New Year party; astonishingly, he survived meeting all my friends and left promising to call me. That was two days ago.

‘Come on, get your coat,’ Patty is saying as I tune back in. She’s also dressed to go out, which puzzles me.

‘Where are you going?’ I ask.

‘With you. I’m heading into the office to do some of my own paperwork.’

She stands behind me holding out my coat while I slip both arms in, then she spins me round and starts buttoning it up until I come to my senses and bat her off.

‘The first week after New Year is always really busy, Patty,’ I tell her. ‘I don’t think there’ll be space for you to work or anyone to help you.’

‘Oh, you won’t even know I’m there. I’ll just sit in my office and get on with stuff.’

‘You don’t have an office,’ I remind her sternly. As much as I love Patty, she does have a tendency to distract everyone and this is genuinely one of the busiest weeks in the travel industry. ‘This is my place of work — not yours.’

‘Semantics,’ she says with a dismissive wave of the hand. ‘Now, are you going to get in the car or not?’

During the drive to work, Patty gets a call from Jack, the ship’s doctor she met on a cruise last year. Her face lights up when his name appears and she has to tell him that I’m in the car with her so no dirty talk. That’s a relief as Patty’s version of pillow talk would have made Hugh Hefner blush. I smile as I listen to them laughing together and think about the bizarre circumstances of their meeting. Patty is the lead singer in an eighties tribute act and is so good that she was asked to join the entertainment crew of a cruise we went on. While compèring a Rick Astley covers show called Rock Astley, she was trampled by some hardcore fans — Rick-Rollers as they like to call themselves — and in her words ‘ended up under the doctor all week’.Why Patty and I can’t meet men under normal circumstances, I’ll never know.

Jack is telling Patty that his rota means that he’ll be at sea until summer but home for some shore leave after that.

‘Oh, I hope I’ll be joining you before summer,’ says Patty.

‘So there’s no news yet?’ asks Jack, to which Patty says no but she should hear soon.

Patty has applied to join the entertainment crew and has said that she’ll take any length of assignment as long as she’s on Jack’s ship. As much as we wind each other up, I’ll certainly miss her if she goes.

She continues to chat, asking Jack whether the purser recovered from his laryngitis. It’s strange because although I’ve done some amazing things in the past year, I can’t help but feel a little left out as she chats away to Jack about cruise liner details I’m not involved in. I’m delighted for Patty — both that she has this new singing career and that she’s found the man of her dreams — but it feels like my best friend has another life now, one that I’m not really part of. We’ve been together for so long and through so much — the death of her husband and the infidelity of mine — that it’s strange to have this other person making her happy and knowing her secrets. That was always my job. The call finishes with kisses blown and promises to keep the bunk warm.

‘I can’t wait to meet him properly,’ I say, deciding that I’ll make a real effort to get to know this man who makes my best friend smile.

‘You could bring Michael and we’ll have a foursome — it’ll be a laugh,’ she says.

My first thought is that it won’t be as much of a laugh as it would have been with just us girls, but I can’t think like that now so I bury the thought and just smile and nod.

‘If he ever calls me,’ I add with a shrug.

‘This is the twenty-first century, you know.’ That was Patty’s schoolmarm voice. If she wore glasses she’d be looking over them and giving me a hard stare. ‘You are allowed to call him.’

‘I know, I know. It’s just that I don’t know if he wants me to call or if there’s a protocol about these things — how many days should I wait? Do I invite him somewhere? I invited him to the New Year party so you’d think it would be his turn to do the asking.’

‘You really overthink things — have I ever told you that?’ says Patty, pulling up into a parking space.

‘Once or twice.’

We park and Patty pulls down the vanity mirror, applies lipstick and declares herself gorgeous. Then like two cowboys in a one-horse town we stride side by side towards the still-empty high street, where the Mercury Travel Agency sits. It will be buzzing soon as we live in one of the few places where small independent shops still thrive. Across the street the florist already has blooms out on the pavement and the coffee shop has its regulars streaming out with their eco-friendly takeaway cups. I recognise some of the customers as we’re always here at the same time most days. I get a buzz out of waving hello to them and really feel that I belong here. Through the windows of the agency I can see that my co-owner Charlie is already there changing some of the posters. He spots us and sticks his tongue out comically; I return the gesture and laugh.

Although it’s been months since I used some of my divorce settlement to become a partner in this fabulous business, my heart still leaps when I think about the place. It hasn’t just been a business to me, it’s been a lifesaver, and we’ve made so many people deliriously happy. And here we are, at the start of a new year of travel and excitement. I can feel little tears of joy starting to form when Patty grabs me by the shoulders.

‘Are you ready for this, Bo?’ she asks. Bo-Peep is the nickname she gave me over thirty years ago when she found out my name was A. Shepherd.

‘I most certainly am. Come on, let’s make some memories.’