Ten Steps to Happiness. Daisy Waugh

meet Grey. And perhaps you can decide for yourself.’

      

      When she first walked into the room, still carrying her daughter, she was so pleasantly overwhelmed – by the size, the general impression of worn elegance and welcoming, cosy grandeur – she let out an involuntary gasp.

      Against the far corner, almost reaching the ceiling and upholstered in the same faded pink flowers as the walls, was a four-poster bed so high off the ground it came with its own set of steps. Jo had put a large bunch of pink and white roses on the table beside the bed, and the room smelled delicious, she noticed: of smoky, polished wood and fresh flowers. There were thick, pale blue velvet curtains already drawn across the two large windows, and to the left of the windows, fifteen or twenty feet from the end of the bed, was an armchair with a little footstool, and in front of the footstool, lit in her honour, a flickering fire crackling in the grate. It was lovely. Like a film set. She didn’t notice the paint splodges, or the damp patch above the bed. It was the loveliest room she had ever seen.

      The next-door room, where Chloe was meant to be sleeping, was smaller and more homely than hers, with a two-poster instead of a four, and a large old-fashioned doll’s house in the window bay. ‘Hey-ho, Chloe,’ Messy whispered. ‘It’s not so bad here, is it?’…The little girl slept on. But she would be beside herself when she woke up. She would never want to leave.

      After putting the child to bed, changing her own clothes, unpacking their suitcases and finally running out of excuses to delay the moment any longer, Messy braced herself and headed downstairs.

      She found everyone in the library, listening with varying degrees of inattention while Jo illustrated some point by reading out loud from a book about natural childbirth. She was sitting in the lotus position, looking flexible, Messy noticed, and exceptionally luminous.

      ‘“Pregnancy,”’ Jo read, ‘“can be a magical time. Many women feel sensuous, harmonious and naturally creative…These are—” Listen to this, OK, everyone. “These are all primitive expressions of fertility…” That’s what I’m saying, of course. Women are by necessity more in touch with their fundamental life rhythms. Because we have to be. There simply isn’t any choice…’

      The General, scowling over a copy of Heat magazine, sat in his usual upright position but with a finger stuck into each ear. Grey McShane lay flat out on a sofa with his eyes closed and a tumbler of gin balanced on his chest. He was smirking. And Charlie was leaning on the mantelpiece, gazing forlornly into the fire.

      ‘Sounds fantastic,’ he said vaguely, ‘I think you’re probably right. But Jo, come on, be fair. This isn’t exactly Dad’s favourite subject. Or Grey’s, I don’t suppose. Perhaps we could—’

      ‘I don’t see why not,’ said Jo indignantly. ‘I really don’t see why pregnancy has to be such a taboo subject.’

      ‘Excuse me,’ murmured Grey, still with his eyes closed, ‘but taboo is not the fuckin’ word. You’ve read that soddin’ book to us every night for a week. It’s been givin’ me nightmares.’

      ‘Well, you shouldn’t be so squeamish.’

      ‘Och, bollocks!’ said Grey. ‘I don’t read you books about what it feels like to have a crap—’

      ‘That is not remotely the same thing—’

      Messy, who for the last minute had been standing awkwardly in the doorway wondering how to announce herself, suddenly burst out laughing.

      ‘Ah, there you are,’ said Jo, clambering to her feet. ‘At last! Come on in. Have you got everything you need? Is the room comfortable?’

      ‘Absolutely,’ said Messy. ‘It’s the prettiest room I’ve ever stayed in. Everything’s lovely.’

      ‘Is that correct?’ She heard Grey chuckling complacently. ‘That’s not what you were sayin’ to Charlie, so I hear.’

      ‘Oh.’ She looked embarrassed.

      ‘Aye…Is it for yourself or the wee daughter that you’re worryin’, Messy?’

      ‘No. Neither,’ she said, blushing furiously. ‘I wasn’t thinking anything of the kind. Don’t be disgusting. Can I have a drink?’

      ‘’Cause, darlin’, you really needn’t worry on either account.’

      ‘You can be as rude as you like,’ she snapped, ‘but the fact is you’re a convicted sex offender and I had no idea when I agreed to come here—’ She nodded at the vast space where Grey was lounging, watching her insouciantly through his long dark lashes. ‘I had no idea we’d be staying here…’ He smiled at her, an incredibly intimate smile, full of mischief and good humour. She lost her thread. For such a famously evil pervert, she thought, he was amazingly, really amazingly attractive. ‘…With a convicted sex offender,’ she finished weakly.

      ‘Ha!’ said Grey. ‘And I had no idea that anyone could be so bloody fat!’ He laughed, a low rumble at his own wit, and waited lazily for Jo to step in and smooth things over.

      But she didn’t. She’d been doing her breathing exercises when Charlie reported Messy’s concern about Grey’s difficult history, and now she was thunderstruck. All this preparation, all the money they had spent, all the telephone calls, the clever little plans…and this most obvious of problems had never even occurred to her. Grey McShane, however innocent, was going to frighten away all her guests. ‘Grey’s a nice man, Messy,’ she said half-heartedly. ‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the press.’

      ‘That’s what I told her,’ said Charlie.

      ‘After all this is meant to be a sanctuary for—’

      ‘The universally condemned.’ Grey lingered enjoyably on the words.

      ‘—The victims of media abuse,’ corrected Jo. ‘You’re going to get all sorts. You’re hardly likely to be meeting Snow White. And I think, you know, that we all have to respect that. As I said to you on the phone, this thing isn’t going to work if we can’t trust each other. We’ve invited you into our home with a lot of trust, OK? And I think it’s only fair for you to trust us in return…’

      The General groaned quietly to himself.

      ‘Och, Messy. Relax, for Christ’s sake!’ said Grey. ‘Do you think these fine people would allow me near this place if I was as wicked as people say I am? Have a drink! Sit that great big fat arse o’ yours on the chair over there, if it’ll take the weight. And if it’s not collapsed in a minute or two I’ll reward you wi’ a nice big glass of gin.’

      ‘Ha ha ha!’ spluttered the General. ‘I mean as a matter of fact,’ he added hurriedly, to camouflage the snort of naughty amusement with which he had greeted Grey’s rude and feeble joke, ‘you really look quite – petite – in the flesh.’

      ‘Absolutely,’ Jo lied blatantly. Charlie cleared his throat. ‘Well, maybe not petite, but then you’re so lovely and tall. Anyway! Ha!’ She patted her bump. ‘I mean who am I to talk!’

      Messy wavered. They looked so relaxed by the soft light of the fire. And she’d been so lonely for so very long. ‘I’ll have some whisky then,’ she said with a wan smile. She had no idea where she was, and she was already feeling slightly confused as to why she had ever agreed to come. But there was something about the place, about this peculiar mismatch of people, which made her feel less lonely and more relaxed than she had for a long time.

      ‘Good on you,’ said Grey. ‘And good luck to you, my chubby darlin’. By tomorrow morning you’ll never want to leave our little Eden ever again.’

      ACCIDENT REDUCTION

      There are large numbers of non-fatal accidents in and around gardens. These involve mainly those under 65, and 60% of the victims are men. The question of falls in the context of the