The Happiness List: A wonderfully feel-good story to make you smile this summer!

‘Take a moment to admire what you’re creating.’

Pamela frowned at the resolutely sealed bottle of vanilla essence. ‘Never mind,’ she told the batter. ‘You look lovely as you are.’

‘Now observe the sensations in your arms and body as you mix.’

Pamela wondered if the woman meant her to dwell on the nagging pain in her wrist but decided she probably didn’t.

‘Once you have mixed it thoroughly, spoon evenly between the muffin cases, taking time to focus on what you’re doing.’

I wonder if Barry found the Jeyes? Oh, I forgot to take the sausages out of the freezer for tea. I wonder if Matty will want to eat with us tonight? Unlikely after Barry went on at him for not having a job. How can he be so unkind to his own son? You have to support your children no matter what.

‘If you find your mind wandering, just bring it back to the task in hand.’

‘Sorry, lovey.’ Pamela grimaced.

‘And now place the cupcakes in the oven. Have a seat a safe distance away and close your eyes. Take three deep breaths. You have nothing else to do but sit here for the next fifteen minutes while they bake. Listen to the sounds around you, feel the warmth of the oven and inhale those delicious smells as they start to waft over you. If your mind wanders, don’t worry. Just focus on this gentle music and bring it back with three deep breaths. Enjoy this moment in your comfortable, warm kitchen filled with its wonderful aromas.’

Pamela did exactly as she was told. She closed her eyes and began to breathe.

Oh damn, I still haven’t taken the sausages out of the freezer. Never mind. I’ll do it in a sec.

Breathe, Pammy.

I wonder when Matthew’s going to get up. He doesn’t always help himself with his dad by lying in bed until goodness knows when.

Breathe.

If only he’d find a job – something he enjoys. I might take a look in the shops on the high street to see if there are any ads.

Breathe. Keep breathing.

Mmm, those cakes do smell delicious…

It’s a drizzly day – cloud-heavy and dull. Laura is splashing through the puddles on the way to school, Matthew is kicking his welly-clad feet in the pushchair. They’re singing. Singing in the rain. We’re singing in the rain! Laura glances up at her mother and gives her a gap-toothed grin. They reach the school gates and she runs off to class with her friends in a flurry of brightly coloured cagoules. ‘Have a good day, my little duck – love you!’ Matthew peers up at his mother, one eye obscured by the hood of his raincoat. ‘Shall we go to the park and feed the ducks then, Matty?’ ‘Ducks! Ducks!’ he cries gleefully, kicking his legs again. They reach the deserted park and head straight to the lake. There is a flock of nesting herons making a dreadful racket on the island in the middle. ‘Dinosaurs!’ declares Matthew happily. ‘Arrrck! Arrrck!’ Pamela laughs. ‘Yes, Matty – they’re just like dinosaurs. Now do you want to feed the ducks?’ she asks, releasing him from the pushchair and holding out a slice of bread. He joyfully accepts it, pushing himself to a standing position and tottering towards the railings. He tears pieces of bread with clumsy little fingers and flings them towards the grateful ducks now gathering in front of him. Pamela smiles through the drizzle, placing a hand on her pregnant belly. She feels a surge of pure happiness as she watches her sweet little boy. How perfect life is. ‘Ducks, Mummy. Quack! Quack!’ he cries. ‘Quack, quack, Matty,’ she laughs. ‘Quack, quack.’

‘Mum? Are you okay? I think there might be something burning in the oven.’

‘And gently come back to the moment. Open your eyes and focus on something beautiful, like a flower or a tree in the garden.’

Pamela opened her eyes and stared into her son’s confused face. ‘Oh bother! I must have dropped off or set the oven too high,’ she cried, leaping to her feet and flinging open the oven. Twelve charred buns belched out a wave of black smoke.

‘Allow the delicious aroma of your cupcakes to infuse you with positivity as you bring them out of the oven.’

‘Oh, shut up you!’ snapped Pamela, reaching forward to stab at the ‘stop’ button.

She rescued the buns and threw them straight into the bin. She never burnt her cakes. Never.

‘Are you okay, Mum?’ asked Matthew again with concern.

She gazed up into his worried face and felt a little restored. ‘I’m fine, lovey. I must have been tired.’ She noticed that he was dressed and she smelt aftershave too. That was a good sign. ‘Are you off out somewhere?’ she asked. ‘Do you want me to make you some breakfast?’

Matthew leant forward to plant a kiss on her forehead, like a blessing. ‘You’re an angel, Mum, but I’m meeting someone in an hour, so thanks but I’m good.’ She smiled at him. He hesitated for a second, fixing her with a troubled little-boy-lost look. Pamela knew that look. It tugged at her heart and said, This is your child – help him. She reached for her purse.

‘Here,’ she said, fishing out a twenty-pound note. ‘Take this, get yourself something to eat.’

‘Are you sure?’ he asked, but his fingers were already closing around it.

‘Of course. I know you haven’t got much work at the moment so this is to help you out until you find a job.’

He hugged her then, kissing her cheek. ‘Thanks, Mum. I’ll pay you back – every last penny. I promise. See you later, ’kay?’

‘Okay, Matty. Will you be home for tea? I’m planning sausage toad.’

Matthew grinned. ‘You said the magic words – that’ll be great. Thanks, Mum. Love you.’

‘I love you too,’ said Pamela as the door slammed shut. She felt a dip of sadness at the silence, the empty space where her son had been until a second ago. ‘Sausages,’ she said, rousing herself, moving towards the fridge freezer to retrieve them. She glanced at the time. Eleven o’clock. Coffee time. She flicked on the kettle and opened the fridge, frowning at the space where the milk should have been.

Unfortunately, Barry chose that moment to stick his head around the back door. ‘Is it coffee time, Pammy? And will there be one of your baked goodies to go with it too?’

Pamela slammed the fridge shut. ‘No! There won’t be coffee or cake, Barry, because someone has used up all the milk!’

Barry frowned. ‘Don’t look at me – it’s Matthew who eats all those night-time bowls of cereal.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, I saw him the other night. He was downstairs eating cereal and fiddling about on his laptop – he’s up to something, mark my words.’

Pamela folded her arms. ‘He’s probably working on a new book so why don’t you give him a chance, Barry!’

Barry shook his head. ‘You just can’t see it, can you? He takes you for a mug, Pammy. A complete mug.’

Pamela’s face flushed with indignant rage. She grabbed her handbag and made for the front door.

‘Where are you going?’ he cried after her.

‘To buy milk!’ she shouted, realizing how ridiculous this sounded. She wanted to make a stand. To show Barry that she was cross. She pulled on her coat and shoes and was steeling herself to slam the door on her way out, hoping he’d get the message. Pamela wasn’t really a door-slammer. She tried hard not to let life fluster her. But there was something about Barry and his attitude towards their middle son that made her blood boil. Where was the man she married? That charming, twinkly man always so full of fun and love – he used to look at her as if she were the only girl in the world and now all he cared about was Jeyes Fluid and his blessed roses.

She pulled open the door and stopped. Fran stood on the doorstep and Pamela could tell from her wincing expression that she’d heard every word.

‘Fran, what a lovely surprise,’ she said. ‘I was just on my way out…’

‘For milk?’ asked Fran, pulling a pint from her shopping bag. ‘If you be the coffee, I’ll be the milk,’ she added kindly.

Pamela smiled sheepishly. ‘Well, if you’re sure. Sorry if you heard me shouting.’

‘Don’t apologize. You should hear what goes on in my house. We’ve made shouting into an art form.’

Pamela laughed. ‘It is nice to see you. Come on through.’