Something Like Happy

by Eva Woods Narrated by Henrietta Meire

Overview

"A special book that will make you laugh through your tears with its heartfelt  take on happiness and friendship." -Amy E. Reichert, author of  The Coincidence of Coconut Cake

A deeply moving, wildly uplifting tale of two strangers with nothing to lose, and an unlikely friendship that will grab hold of your heart and never let go 

Annie's heart can't be broken-or so she thinks. After a series of tragic events tore a hole through the perfect life she'd built, there's nothing left to break. Jaded and alone, she's been sleepwalking through life, with a boring job, irritating roommate and serious binge-watching addiction. But she's okay with that-if you've lost everything, you've got nothing to lose, right? 

Polly is everything Annie doesn't need in her life-or so she thinks. But Polly is determined to finally wake Annie up to life. Because if having a terminal illness has taught Polly anything, it's that time is short. Too short to waste a single day, which is precisely why she wants Annie to join her on a mission... 

One hundred days. One hundred happy things. Annie's convinced it's impossible, but so is saying no to Polly. Now Annie's doing things, and saying things, and feeling things she hasn't felt in a very long while-if ever. Polly's convinced dancing in fountains and riding on roller coasters could heal Annie's shattered heart. But how can she possibly find happiness when letting people in means opening herself to more heartache?

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher

"Lightly reminiscent of the movie The Bucket List but successfully avoiding hackneyed scenes, Something Like Happy includes a little bit of everything-even the hope of romance. This is an enjoyable read that needs to spread far and wide." -BookPage

"A special book that will make you laugh through your tears with its heartfelt take on happiness and friendship." - Amy E. Reichert, author of The Coincidence of Coconut Cake on Something Like Happy

"Delightful page-turning awaits readers, even with Polly's inevitable finale. Polly is a wonderful character with a positively infectious attitude-memorable and magnetic, with a healthy dose of gallows humor. Joy shines through the tears, as this novel is a life lesson that should not be ignored." - Publisher Weekly

"Something like Happy is inspiration in a bottle. Author Woods uses her novel- inspired by a social-media hashtag-to explore the exhilaration of new friendship, the power of loss, and the evergreen tendrils of hope." -Booklist

"Woods is a great option for fans of Graeme Simsion, Gabrielle Zevin and Marian Keyes." -Library Journal

"Heartfelt and charming." -Kirkus

"A fresh new voice in romantic fiction." -Marie Claire

"Filled with beautiful life lessons of love, loss, friendship, and forgiveness, Something Like Happy is a perfect feel-good read. A warm, funny, thoughtful novel packed with heart and charged with emotion." -Lori Nelson Spielman, #1 international bestselling author of The Life List

Library Journal

07/01/2017
Annie is miserable. Her dead-end job is soul-destroying, she's lonely, and her mother has early-onset dementia. When hospital administrative details get difficult, she's close to a tearful, angry meltdown. That's when Polly steps into her life. Polly has problems of her own, terminal cancer to be exact, but she's the life of the hospital. At first, this new friend is more than a little too upbeat—what's so great about being on the brink of death?—but as time goes on, the friendship helps Annie to move on from a tragedy in her past and find happiness again. Readers who dislike feel-good, inspirational illness stories will have to be encouraged to get past the book's start, which feels like the introduction to another "isn't cancer a fabulous journey" tale. Those who persevere will see that Annie and Polly are wiser than all that and will enjoy their sometimes hilarious antics that show what love's really about. VERDICT Woods (aka crime author Claire McGowan) is a great option for fans of Graeme Simsion, Gabrielle Zevin, and Marian Keyes. [See Prepub Alert, 5/9/17.]—Henrietta Verma, National Information Standards Organization, Baltimore

Kirkus Reviews

2017-06-20
In her third novel, London-based author Woods (The Ex Factor, 2016, etc.) makes the case for intentional happiness in the face of tragedy.Two years after the sudden death of her infant son, Annie Hebden is mired in sorrow and holding her life together by a thread. Divorced, she lives in a dingy flat with a roommate she avoids, works at a job she hates, and now must manage a new crisis: the hospitalization of her mother due to early dementia. It's there that she meets Polly, a posh, outlandishly dressed 35-year-old who seems full of cheer, knows everyone at the hospital, and just happens to be dying of brain cancer. Woods makes it clear, as well, that there are romantic betrayals in each woman's past. Somehow the sheer weight of their individual tragedies creates a balance between them, as does Polly's commitment to positivity and Annie's to anguish. With three months to live, Polly is determined to undertake 100 days of happiness and successfully drags a bewildered, resentful Annie along with her. Some mild hilarity ensues but more interesting is the push and pull between the women as they react against but benefit from each other's tendencies. Along the way they build a small community: Annie's roommate, Polly's brother, and Polly's grumpy Scottish neurologist, who, it is clear from his introduction, will be Annie's love interest. The novel suffers slightly under the weight of all its misfortunes—in addition to its two leads, each of the aforementioned personae carries drama, the message being, of course, that no one's life is perfect. Woods' belief in the transformative effect of happiness is a bit fantastic, but the characters are heartfelt and charming, so the novel moves well and is moving, too.

Product Details

BN ID:	2940173670427
Publisher:	HarperCollins Publishers
Publication date:	09/05/2017
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

Something Like Happy

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By Eva Woods

Harlequin Enterprises Limited

Copyright © 2017 Claire McGowan
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5258-1135-7

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CHAPTER 1

DAY ONE: MAKE A NEW FRIEND

"Excuse me?"

No answer. The receptionist carried on clacking the computer keys. Annie tried again. "Excuse me." That was a level-two excuse me — above the one she'd give to tourists blocking the escalator and below the one for someone with their bag on a tube seat. Nothing. "Sorry," she said, taking it to level three (stealing your parking spot; bashing you with an umbrella, etc). "Could you help me, please? I've been standing here for five minutes."

The woman kept clacking. "What?"

"I need to change the address on a patient file. I've already been sent to four different departments."

The receptionist extended one hand, without looking up. Annie gave her the form. "This you?"

"Well, no." Obviously.

"The patient has to change it for themselves."

"Um, well, they can't, actually." Which would be clear if anyone in the hospital ever bothered to read the files.

The form dropped onto the counter. "Can't let another person change it. Data protection."

"But ..." Annie felt, suddenly and horribly, like she might cry. "I need to change it so letters come to my address! She can't read them herself anymore! That's why I'm here. Please! I — I just need it changed. I don't understand how this can possibly be so difficult."

"Sorry." The receptionist sniffed, picked something off one of her nails.

Annie snatched the paper up. "Look, I've been in this hospital for ten hours now. I've been sent around from office to office. Patient Records. Neurology. Outpatients. Reception. Back to Neurology. And no one seems to have the slightest idea how to do this very simple task! I haven't eaten. I haven't showered. And I can't go home unless you just open up your computer and type in a few lines. That's all you have to do."

The receptionist wasn't even looking at her. Clack, clack, clack. Annie felt it swell up in her, the anger, the pain, the frustration. "Will you LISTEN to me?" She reached over and wrenched the computer around.

The woman's eyebrows disappeared into her bouffant hair. "Madam, I'm going to have to call security if you don't —"

"I just want you to look at me when I'm speaking. I just need you to help me. Please." And then it was too late and she was definitely crying, her mouth suddenly filling with bitter salt. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just — I — really need to change the address."

"Listen, madam." The receptionist was swelling, her mouth opening, no doubt to tell Annie where to go. Then something odd happened. Instead, her face creased into a smile. "Hiya, P."

"He-ey, everything OK here?"

Annie turned to see who was interrupting. In the doorway of the dingy NHS office was a tall woman in all shades of the rainbow. Red shoes. Purple tights. A yellow dress, the color of Sicilian lemons. A green hat. Her amber jewellery glowed orange, and her eyes were a vivid blue. The array of colors was eye-catching, but on this stranger somehow it worked. She leaned towards Annie, touching her arm — Annie flinched. "So sorry, I don't mean to jump in front of you. Just need to quickly make an appointment."

The receptionist was back clacking, this time with a jaunty beat. "Next week do ya?"

"Thanks. Sorry, I've totally queue-jumped!" The rainbow beamed at Annie again. "Is this lovely lady all sorted, Shonda?"

No one had called Annie a lovely lady for a long time. She blinked the tears from her eyes, trying to sound firm. "Well, no, because apparently it's too hard to just change a patient record. I've been to four different offices now."

"Oh, Shonda can do that for you, she has all the secrets of this hospital at her fabulous fingertips." The woman mimed typing. There was a large bruise on the back of one hand, partly covered by taped-on cotton wool.

Shonda was actually nodding, grudgingly. "Alright then. Give it here."

Annie passed the form over. "Can you send care of me please? Annie Hebden." Shonda typed, and within ten seconds, the thing Annie had waited for all day was done. "Um, thanks."

"You're welcome, madam," said Shonda, and Annie could feel her judgement. She'd been rude. She knew she'd been rude. It was just so frustrating, so difficult.

"Brill. Bye, missus." The rainbow woman waved at Shonda, then grabbed Annie's arm again. "Listen. I'm sorry you're having a bad day."

"I — what?"

"You seem like you're having a bad day."

Annie was temporarily speechless. "I'm in the bloody hospital. Do you think anyone here's having a good day?"

The woman looked round at the waiting room behind them — half the people on crutches, some with shaved heads and stricken faces, a shrunken woman sitting in a wheelchair in a hospital gown, bored kids upending the contents of their mums' bags while the mums mindlessly stabbed at phones. "No reason why not."

Annie stepped back, angry. "Listen, thank you for your help — though I shouldn't have needed it, this hospital is a disgrace — but you've no idea why I'm in here."

"True."

"So ... I'm going now."

"Do you like cake?"

"What? Of course I — what?"

"Wait a sec." She dashed away. Annie looked at Shonda, who'd gone back to her blank-eyed keyboard stare. She counted to ten — annoyed at herself for even doing that — then shook her head and went out down the corridor, with its palette of despair blue and bile green. Sounds of wheeling beds, flapping doors, distant crying. An old man lay on a gurney, tiny and gray. Thank God she was finally done. She needed to go home, lose herself in the TV, hide under the duvet —

"Wait! Annie Hebden!"

Annie turned. The rainbow woman was running down the corridor — well, more sort of shuffling, out of breath. She held a cupcake aloft, iced with wavy chocolate frosting. "For you," she panted, thrusting it into Annie's hand. Each of her nails was painted a different color.

Annie was speechless for the second time in five minutes. "Why?"

"Because. Cupcakes make everything a little better. Except for type II diabetes, I guess."

"Uh ..." Annie looked at the cake in her hand. Slightly squished. "Thank you?"

"That's OK." The woman licked some rogue frosting off her hand. "Ick, I hope I don't get MRSA. Not that it would make much difference. I'm Polly, by the way. And you're Annie."

"Er. Yeah."

"Have a good day, Annie Hebden. Or at least a slightly better one. Remember — if you want the rainbow, you have to put up with the rain." And she waved, and skipped — was it the first time anyone had ever skipped down the Corridor of Doom? — out of sight.

Annie waited for the bus in the rain, that gray soupy rain that Lewisham seemed to specialise in. She thought what a stupid thing it was the woman had said. Rain didn't always lead to rainbows. Usually it just led to soaked socks and your hair in rat-tails. But at least she had somewhere to go. A homeless man sat beneath the bus shelter, water dripping off his head and forming a puddle around his dirty trousers. Annie felt wretched for him, but what could she do? She couldn't help him. She couldn't even help herself.

When the bus came it was rammed, and she stood squeezed between a buggy and a mound of shopping bags, buffeted by every turn. An elderly lady got on, wobbling up the steps with her shopping trolley. As she shuffled down the bus, nobody looked up from their phones to offer her a seat. Annie finally snapped. What was wrong with people? Was there not a shred of decency left in this city? "For God's sake!" she barked. "Could someone let this lady sit down please?" A young man with huge headphones slouched out of his seat, embarrassed.

"No need to take the Lord's name in vain," said the old lady, tutting disapprovingly at Annie as she sat.

Annie stared at her feet, which had left grimy marks on the wet floor of the bus, until she got to her stop.

How did she get here? she wondered. Losing it in public over a change of address? Weeping in front of strangers? Once it would have been her raising her eyebrows as someone else had a meltdown. Offering tissues, and a soothing pat on the arm. She didn't understand what had happened to that person. The one she used to be.

Sometimes it felt to Annie like her life had changed in the blink of an eye. Eyes shut — she was back in her bedroom with Mike on that sunny morning, and everything was good. She was filled with excitement, and hope, and slightly exhausted joy. Perfect. Eyes open — she was here, trudging back to her horrible flat, catching the bus in the rain, lying awake full of dread and misery. One blink, perfect. Two blinks, ruined. But no matter how many times she closed her eyes, it never went back to how it used to be.

CHAPTER 2

DAY TWO: SMILE AT STRANGERS

The doorbell was ringing. Annie woke with a jerk, her heart shock-started. What was it? The police again, the ambulance ... but no, the worst had already happened. She sat up, registering that she'd fallen asleep on the sofa again, in the clothes she'd worn to the hospital, and couldn't even remember what she'd been watching on TV. Tattoo Fixers maybe? She liked that. It was always comforting to see there were people who'd made worse decisions than she had.

Riiiinnnngg. She moved aside the blanket Costas must have laid over her. As she stood, crumbs and tissues and a remote control fell out of her clothes. It was as if she'd come home drunk, but drunk on misery, on grief, on anger.

Riiiiinnnnnng! "Alright!" Jesus. What time was it anyway? The TV clock read 9.23 a.m. She had to hurry or she'd miss visiting hours. Costas would have left ages ago to do the breakfast shift, in and out without her even seeing him. A feeling of shame rolled over her — the Annie of two years ago would never have slept in her clothes.

"Annie Hebden!" Annie winced. Through the door chain she could see a blur ofjewel green — it was the strange woman from the hospital. Polly something.

"Yes?"

"I've got your hospital letter." A hand appeared in the gap, this time with silver nails, and waved an envelope under Annie's nose. It had her name on it, but a different address. One in a nicer part of town. "You probably got mine," said the woman cheerfully.

Annie looked at the pile of letters on the mat. Bills. A subscription to Gardening Monthly that she really should have cancelled by now. And a bright white envelope addressed to Polly Leonard. "How did that happen?"

"I guess Shonda got mixed up when you changed the address. No harm done."

"So you came all the way here, just to give me this?" It would have taken more than half an hour from Polly's home in Greenwich to Annie's in Lewisham, especially at rush hour.

"Sure. I've never been here before, so I thought why not?"

There were a million reasons why not. The area's soaring crime rates. The monstrosity of the seventies shopping center. The fact they'd been digging up the heart of it for years now, making a traffic-clogged hellhole full of thundering drills and melted tarmac.

"Well. Thanks for bringing it." She stuck Polly's letter out the gap. "Bye then."

Polly didn't budge. "Are you going to the hospital today?"

Every instinct told Annie to lie, but for some reason she didn't. "Oh — yeah. I will be, but —"

"Appointment?"

"Not exactly." She didn't feel up to explaining.

"I'm going in too. I thought we could travel together."

Annie had been known to stay in the office for an extra twenty minutes some days, just to be sure her colleagues were gone so she wouldn't have to catch the bus with them. "I'm not ready," she said.

"That's OK. I can wait."

"But ... but ... Annie's stupid brain couldn't think of a single reason not to let this annoying, oddly dressed stranger into her home. "I guess. OK then."

"So this is your place." Polly stood in Annie's drab living room like a Christmas tree. Today, she wore what looked like an ankle-length cocktail dress in crème de menthe satin, and underneath it, biker boots. A fake fur jacket and a knitted hat completed the oddly stylish look. The hem of the dress was damp and dirty, as if she'd just walked through Lewisham in the rain.

"I'm not allowed to decorate. Landlord won't let me." The tenth-floor flat still had its depressing MDF floorboards and seventies knobbly walls. It smelled of damp and other people's cooking. "Um — I need to shower. Do you want — you want tea or anything?"

"That's OK. I'll just stay here and read or something." She looked round at the shabby room, the laundry on the rack that had dried all crispy, Annie's over-washed pants and leggings. Polly picked something up from the dusty coffee table. "How to Obtain Power of Attorney. This looks interesting." Was that sarcasm? A slim pamphlet with a depressing stock photo of someone holding an old person's hand. When really getting power of attorney was more like grabbing that old person's hand and tying it to their side before they could hurt themselves. Or someone else.

"Well, OK. I won't be long."

Annie went into the bathroom — rusty mirror, moldering shower curtain — and wondered if she'd gone mad. There was a strange woman in her house and she was just letting it happen. A woman she knew nothing about, who could be crazy, and quite likely was judging by her clothes. Maybe that was why they'd met in the neurological department. Maybe she'd had a blow to the head and it had turned her into a person with no boundaries, who came to your flat and read your depressing private pamphlets.

Annie had the world's quickest wash, what her mum would have called a lick and a polish. For many months after her life fell apart, the shower used to be the place she cried, her fist stuffed in her mouth to muffle the sound. But there was no time for that today, so threw on a near-identical outfit to the one she'd worn yesterday. No point in looking nice. Not for a place where people either were dying, or wished they were.

On her way out — no makeup, wet hair bundled up — she heard voices from the living room. Her heart sank. He must be on a short shift today.

"Annie!" Polly beamed at her as she went in. "I was just meeting your lovely friend here!"

"Hiya, Annie!" Costas waved. Costas was Greek, gorgeous, and had abs you could crack eggs on. He was also twenty-two, had turned Annie's spare room into a festering rubbish dump, and hilariously enough worked in Costa Coffee. At least, he thought it was hilarious.

"He's my flatmate. I need to go now."

"In a minute. Costas brought back some pastries!"

"Boss says I should take away. Still good though!" He was holding open a brown paper bag full of croissants and Danish pastries. He smiled at Polly. "You come to Costa sometime, I make you special Greek coffee. Strong enough to blow off your head!"

Suddenly Annie was angry. How dare this woman come here and lift the lid on Annie's life, the sordid flat, the unwashed dishes? "I'm going now," she said. "Costas, could you wash up your pans? You left green stuff all over the baking dish last night."

"Spanakopita — needs to soak."

"Oh, I love spanakopita!" cried Polly. "I backpacked in Greece when I was eighteen. Kyria!"

"Kyria!" Costas gave her a thumbs up, and his widest white grin. He was always smiling. It was wearing. "Very good, Polly."

Annie put her coat on, as passive-aggressively as she could. "I'll be late."

"Oh! Right, let's split. Lovely to meet you, Costas-Annie'sfriend."

"He's my flatmate," she said, opening the door crossly. She wasn't entirely sure why.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the bus will now stop to change drivers. It will take ... er ... we don't know."

The carriage filled with a gust of sighs. "I'll definitely be late now," muttered Annie, to no one in particular.

"Bloody wasters," grumbled an elderly man next to her, who was wearing a hairy suit that smelled strongly of damp. "Two pound a journey for this. Lining their pockets, they are."

Polly said, "Well, it gives us a chance to look around." Annie and the man exchanged a quick incredulous glance. The view out the window was of a large Tesco's and a patch of waste ground with a burnt-out car on it. "Or chat," Polly went on. "Where are you off to, sir?"

"Funeral," he grunted, leaning on his stick.

"I'm sorry. Friend of yours?"

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Something Like Happy by Eva Woods. Copyright © 2017 Claire McGowan. Excerpted by permission of Harlequin Enterprises Limited.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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