Page 8 of Love Letters on Hazel Lane

She threw the last of the bread to a hungry-looking mallard but a Canada goose got there first. Jo sighed and sauntered on towards the library.

The library was situated in an old stone building that had been given a bit of a facelift with modern glass doors and a little courtyard area with a bench. She checked her phone one last time – still no messages on Buzzz – then put it on silent. Loads of people didn’t bother putting their phones on silent in libraries these days, but Jo had always been a bit old-fashioned like that.

She returned her old books, perused the shelves for a while, then checked out three new ones – two romances and a thriller. She was about to leave when she spotted a flyer on the community noticeboard.

Are you living Your Best Life? it asked.

Well, no. Obviously not.

Do you want to know the secret to getting everything you want?

A boyfriend would do.

And perhaps a job where she felt valued.

And some friends.

The ‘Your Best Life’ talk was today, she realised. It started at midday and it was already ten to. She punched the address into Google Maps. Eight minutes’ walk. She could make it.

The church hall was almost full when she arrived. She paid the entrance fee and slipped into one of the few remaining seats. She didn’t realise it then, but she’d walked straight past a poster on the church noticeboard advertising Hebbleswick’s Scrabble group.

4

An American woman in flouncy dress and four-inch heels was strutting across the small stage, explaining how everyone could lead their Best Life. Her hair was piled up in an enormous, blonde bouffant, which wobbled as she moved.

Bouffant, thought Jo – 16 points.

‘Visualise what you want from your life. Set your intentions, trust the Law of Attraction and the Universe will deliver,’ the Bouffant said.

Jo was a firm believer in the Universe giving her signs, but less confident about its ability to deliver whatever she wanted on demand. Was she the only one feeling sceptical? She glanced around. Most people seemed to be hanging on the speaker’s every word. Two rows in front, a man was filming the talk on his phone and the woman beside Jo was making notes in an expensive-looking notebook – the kind that used to cost over a tenner in Paperchase – her long, dark hair falling in a sleek, shiny curtain as she leaned forwards to write. And not just notes but copious notes, Jo thought – 11 points.

Was no-one else thinking, but what about paying the gas bill? She doubted that simply visualising it being paid was going to work.

She got out her trusty polka dot Filofax – true, it was old-fashioned but she loved all its little sections: so organised – and contemplated making a few notes herself, but this wasn’t worth the paper.

‘The Law of Attraction will not work if you do not value yourself,’ the Bouffant was saying now. ‘If you have a low sense of self-worth, this will affect the way you communicate with the Universe. By not believing that you are good enough, you are telling the Universe that you don’t deserve anything. And if you tell the Universe that you don’t deserve anything, nothing will come. Nada. Niente. Zilch.’

This was waffle. There was nothing about what to do if your best friend was now living two hundred miles away, if you were being ostracised at work and made to look silly in front of your colleagues, and if every man you went on a date with turned out to be a complete toerag.

‘You cannot rely on other people to bolster your sense of self-worth – it has to come from within. From your heart,’ the Bouffant said, clasping her hand to her chest in a dramatic fashion in case anyone wasn’t sure where their heart was.

Jo found her mind drifting. How had the speaker got her hair to stand up like that? Not a look she wanted to emulate – a bit too Marge Simpson for her – but impressive nonetheless.

Was it blow-drying? Or backcombing? Or hairspray? Must take hours.

‘When you have self-worth, you are ready to ask the Universe for what you want. Imagine achieving your goals. Make a vision board of your ideal home. Picture yourself nailing that job interview or clinching that business deal.’

Or using all seven tiles on a triple word score, Jo thought.

‘Or finding the right man,’ she murmured to herself.

Whoops. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. The woman next to her shot her a look.

‘But my most important piece of advice…’ Marge scanned the audience like a teacher making sure the entire class was listening ‘…is to live each day as if it were your last. Thank you for listening.’

Applause erupted from the audience.

‘If this was her last day,’ Jo mumbled, ‘bet she wouldn’t spend so long on her hairdo.’