We agree a time and I head to the Tube to pick up a copy of theLondon Gazettebefore they run out on the stands. I proudly read over my column and wish I could nip back and share it with Joe.
Vince is buzzing with energy when he swings back the front door just before midday. Beckoning me in, he tells me he’s been spring cleaning. ‘I’m sorting out the dishes. I cannot believe how much Royal Doulton one kitchen can have. The caterpillar is still a caterpillar by the way. Like me he’s been having problems changing. Coffee? No, let’s have tea, because of the fine china. We can test out which cups to throw away.’
The whisky and Jack Daniel’s are out of the way in a glass cabinet. A sign he’s coping better? Or has he taken the drinking underground? Mindful of him trying to distract me with a complicated tea ritual, I launch into the session. ‘I think I’ve mentioned I run a #LoveTheLittleStuff hashtag on a Friday. I often suggest people appreciate practical or prosaic things. Stuff that won’t change your life but might change your day. I thought you could help me with today’s post. Can you think of something small or ordinary that makes you smile?’
‘A last-minute goal by the New York Rangers. Ouch! What was that?’
‘Every time you suggest something that makes you happy, I’m going to pinch you on the back of your hand.’ He looks confused. ‘I’ll tell you why in a minute. Shout out some more. The smaller the better. Don’t overthink it.’
He looks irritated. ‘I’ve forgotten what makes me happy.’
‘That’s why we need to give you triggers to help you remember.’ A blank face. ‘How about I read you some of my tweets so you can see what I mean?’ Pulling up my account, I click on the hashtag and read out a back catalogue of posts praising next door’s skip, book boyfriends I’d love to live with in real life, fleecy pyjamas and hot water bottles, finishing with the fake stone I hide my door key inside. ‘I realise they’re a bit girly. But you get the gist.’
He thinks. ‘Chilli Marmite. A bit like me, super hot and not to everyone’s taste. Ow!?’
‘Come on, that doesn’t hurt.’
‘It might not hurt you!’
As we go through his list, I realise his ideas are quite different to mine, involving some questionable addictions as well as expensive, slightly pretentious technology. ‘OK, I want you to remember as many as you can and say them out loud once more, while pinching yourself on the hand. If we do this every session, you will be constantly reminding yourself of a list of things you are grateful for, as well as giving yourself a physical trigger for the emotion of happiness to draw on when I’m not here.’
He looks sceptical as he tries to remember what he said a few moments ago. When he gets to the end of his list he glances down at the delicate cups on the kitchen counter. ‘I like these cups. She liked them too,’ he says.
I watch him pinch his hand and narrow my eyes. ‘Then why do you want to get rid of them?’
‘Maybe I don’t.’
He puts the cups into the sink and turns the tap on full. ‘China is an heirloom right?’ He turns the tap off and as he swings around I can see he’s pinching himself again. ‘We used to have little tea parties, in the afternoons. Me, my wife and our boy.’
‘What was her name?’
‘Viola.’
‘Why aren’t there any photos of your wife or son on the mantelpiece?’
‘I put them away when she died. She used to make little macarons, and profiteroles stuffed with a lemon crème. And for some reason we used to sing “La Marseillaise”, in French, although it was the most English tea party I’d ever been to.Marchons! Marchons…’ he sings, as out of tune as he professes to be, pinching the back of his hand again.
‘Anchors to the past are good. You were a couple. You still are. Death doesn’t quash love; it can strengthen and even define it. You should pinch yourself every time you drink out of one of these cups and remember the joy those tea parties brought to you both. Buy some expensive macarons and source your tea from Waitrose or Fortnum & Mason or even China if it helps take you back there. Pinch yourself into a positive place and when the loss and grief eventually recede you can recreate your own version of something that made you both happy. Maybe a tea party with a new girlfriend using this china. Or invite your son over for elevenses.’
His face clouds again. ‘Grief is a rabbit hole someone like me can’t afford to go down.’ Then his face changes and the sun comes out. ‘I’ve been thinking about your offer to show me around Shepherd’s Bush. How about we do our next session on location?’
‘I’ll defo show you the high life of White City and The Bush if I can ask a favour? I need some endorsements– and I wondered if you could give me a quote for my website and next batch of leaflets? I’m not hooking people in with the current marketing, and I think it may be because I have no reviews. That’s assuming you think I’m any good.’ I look at him, suddenly a little shy.
‘But I already gave you an endorsement!’ He points to my leaflet, attached to the front of the clipboard I brought on our first visit.
‘Maybe a little bit more detail as towhyI am awesome might be good,’ I laugh, making him laugh. I pinch the back of my hand. Vince isn’t the only one who could do with some positive anchors right now.
Chapter 16
This morning I receive an email inviting me to appear at an exhibition in North London. The organiser of WellWomanCon says I would be a great addition to his programme of speakers. Searching up photos of the fair from previous years, I notice it’s a huge event and get excited. I could do with some free advertising right now and this would fit the bill nicely. My growing online presence isn’t translating to physical bookings for my coaching and I’m not sure why. Eva helped me build a great website, which I refresh with regular blog posts, and the endorsement Vince promptly sent over after our session adds to my credibility. I’m running targeted adverts on Facebook, monitoring which ones convert into clicks and I’ve delivered all but a few of the initial print run of leaflets. Perhaps I can capitalise more on the success of my new column after the publication of the first problem won me an extra five hundred followers? I ask myself what my fellow columnist Aurora Storyalis would do to boost her visibility and stop her income from flatlining. I figure she would probably investigate each of her competitors and find fault with their practices until she was the last woman standing. Mindlessly clicking into my Amazon account, I order a book on the new mutations of mindfulness before replying to the organiser of the well woman show. Accepting his invitation, I suggest an ‘Ask Daisy and Doodle How to be Happy’ live session, with me and the dog fielding problems from conference goers. As I press ‘send’, an email pings in from my editor, telling me he’s getting good feedback on my column and reminding me there’s a whole heap of fresh anxieties in my work inbox. He also asks if I can deliver the next two problems ASAP as he’s off on a cruise soon and wants to get ahead.
Eva arrives home from work as Doodle and I are relaxing in front of the TV.
‘Hope you don’t want to go to bed. We’re very comfortable here,’ I say.
‘No problem. Going out again.’ She starts lifting the dog’s plastic toys, scooping up the lead I chucked on the floor after our walk this morning. ‘Owner want dog back. Need to pack up bed and bowl.’
‘What? Wait! She can’t have him back. He’s part of our lives now. How will I write my column without him?’ Doodle raises his head as though he’s heard us talking about him and I scratch him behind the ear. He whines softly and presses his face into my hand. I’d assumed his owner had abandoned him for good and the thought of him suddenly disappearing hadn’t even occurred to me. I reach out and envelop him in a cuddle, kissing him on his damp snub nose.
