Walking Back to Happiness by Lucy Dillon

varnished?’
    There was a haughty pause on the other end. ‘Ben was a very reliable worker,’ huffed Ruth. ‘As all those clients who came to the funeral were happy to confirm. He wouldn’t have had the client list he did if he was unreliable, would he?’
    ‘I’m not saying that.’ Juliet closed her eyes. Oh Ben, jokes are now banned, she thought, into the ether. ‘It’s just, you know . . . our house never really got beyond the preparation stage. Probably because he was out doing extra work for his clients.’
    And hadn’t that been a topic of discussion.
    ‘Ben worked hard to provide—’ Ruth began.
    Juliet fell back onto apologies. ‘I’m sorry, that came out wrong. My brain’s all over the place. I’m not sleeping much.’
    ‘Have you been to the doctor? You need to keep asking but mine’s given me some very good pills that aren’t exactly tranquillisers . . .’
    Juliet gazed blankly at the bargaineers while Ruth’s doctor speech washed over her. Like the bench dramas, it was familiar: their failure to understand, their refusal to hand out as many pills as Ruth felt she needed. Juliet didn’t want tranquillisers or anti-depressants. She didn’t want to feel normal.
    ‘. . . said exercise was as good as a course of treatment, but I can’t, with my knees, so I said, no, I’ve heard that there’s a new Xanax that you can take . . .’
    Minton was staring at the door, even though there had been no knock, or ring of the bell. Juliet clicked her tongue and patted the seat, but he wouldn’t come.
    She hoped this wasn’t the Greyfriars Bobby thing starting again. For months Minton had lain, awake, with his head on his paws by Ben’s work boots, still where he’d left them in the porch. Juliet hadn’t had the heart to move them, and Minton’s forlorn but hopeful loyalty had the power to reduce her to tears.
    He looked round at the sound of her tutting, then looked back at the door. Juliet felt a shiver run across her skin, despite the warmth. What was he looking at?
    Was it Ben? Coming back?
    She got up from the chair, with Ruth still rambling on about what she’d told the doctor about their prescription charges. There was a cloakroom porch between the sitting room and the actual front door – marked up where Ben had planned to knock through, eventually – and when Juliet reached Minton at the back-room door, she felt a cold draught, as if she’d stepped into a cold spot. Just like they always said on psychic programmes.
    Minton thrashed his tail in warning and Juliet’s pulse thudded in her throat. There’d been a time when she’d overdosed on those TV psychics. Hoping.
    Are you here, Ben? she thought, with an irrational longing. Can you feel how much I miss you? Have I pulled you back with my wishing?
    ‘. . . Juliet? Juliet, did you hear what I just said?’
    ‘Ruth, there’s someone at the door,’ said Juliet. ‘I’m really sorry – I’ll call you back as soon as I can.’
    She pressed the button on the portable phone and closed her eyes, breathing in all the smell memories she could while she pictured Ben’s laughing face, his crooked nose, the fine lines that had started to creep around his brown eyes. A wave of longing hit her as she actually smelled his scent – the mingled traces of sweat and earth and CK One.
    And then she heard a man’s voice. For a brief second, Juliet felt light-headed with fear and hope and disbelief.
    Then she recognised her mother’s voice talking back.
    Disappointment swelled up in her stomach. Juliet opened the door into the hall and found the front door open. That was the draught, and the smell – fresh air blowing in through the coats and jackets, carrying tiny traces in the invisible stream.
    Minton trotted forward, nosing at the door.
    Why was the door open? Why hadn’t her mother come in? It wasn’t her style, not knocking and marching straight in there.
    Juliet hugged her cardigan tighter around her and stepped into the porch, not