Sophie Jenkins - The Forgotten Guide to Happiness

Published by Avon an imprint of

HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street,

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2018

Copyright © Sophie Jenkins 2018

Cover design © Sinem Erkas 2018

Sophie Jenkins asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008281809

Ebook Edition © May 2018 ISBN: 9780008281816

Version: 2019-02-26

To Paul and Joe, Elaine, Pat, William and George,

for humour, happiness, tolerance and joy;

and for Rowena, with love

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One: The Sequel

Chapter Two: Heroic Attributes

Chapter Three: Reflections

Chapter Four: Catalysts for Change

Chapter Five: Writer’s Block

Chapter Six: Plateau

Chapter Seven: Turning Point

Chapter Eight: Words, Words, Words

Chapter Nine: A New Dawn

Chapter Ten: Perseverance

Chapter Eleven: The Science of Attraction

Chapter Twelve: Defining Stories

Chapter Thirteen: The Way Forward

Chapter Fourteen: A Source of Inspiration

Chapter Fifteen: Rapport

Chapter Sixteen: Archetypes

Chapter Seventeen: Antagonists

Chapter Eighteen: Barriers

Chapter Nineteen: The Shape of the Hole in the Hero’s World

Chapter Twenty: Return of the Antagonist

Chapter Twenty-One: Heroines

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Wrong Turning

Chapter Twenty-Three: Conflict

Chapter Twenty-Four: Consequences

Chapter Twenty-Five: Departures and Reunions

Chapter Twenty-Six: Reliving the Dream

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Viewpoints

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Equanimity

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Regrouping

Chapter Thirty: The Lonely Hearts Literary Society

Chapter Thirty-One: External Conflict

Chapter Thirty-Two: Plans

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Dream Realised

Chapter Thirty-Four: The Dark Night of the Soul

Chapter Thirty-Five: Downturn

Chapter Thirty-Six: Resurrection

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Settings

Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Destination

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Ideas for an Epilogue

Chapter Forty: Treasure

Chapter Forty-One: Trilogy

Acknowledgements

About the Publisher

How I thought my story ended …

After months on the road in her camper van, she was coming to her journey’s end, to the place where it had begun. In the distance the city sparkled. Marco drove through the outskirts of north London and the leafy suburban streets, into Highgate Village with its Victorian and Georgian houses, and down Highgate West Hill where he bumped up the kerb and parked up next to a red-bricked mansion block with a green wooden gate flanked by dark hedges. The engine cooled and ticked.

‘This is it.’ Marco took the key out of the ignition and kissed her, his mouth warm on hers. ‘We’re home, Lauren,’ he said softly, watching her, his eyes dark with love.

The word took her breath away. She looked up at the building with its warm, lighted windows.

She thought back to the moment everything had changed. The moment he’d asked her to go back with him.

‘I hoped you might be ready to come home now,’ he’d said, squeezing her hand. ‘Come home with me.’

‘Home?’ For a moment she’d felt as if she was stepping on quicksand; that off-balance terror and the thrill of excitement.

‘Lauren, I love your independence. You’re the most self-contained woman I’ve ever met. You and me, we’re two of a kind, don’t you think? You can have all the freedom you need and I’ll be away some of the time anyway. It will be like it is now except I won’t have to rely on a tracker to find you.’

‘That’s crazy!’ she’d said. Put together all the time they’d known each other and it amounted to a few weeks at the most.

‘I know,’ he’d said cheerfully, taking it as a compliment.

And now, for the first time, they weren’t parting with promises to keep in touch, promises that faded as time passed. Home was togetherness and warmth and permanence and, after nine months of travelling, the word was like a forgotten dream and she was filled with sudden happiness.

Their adventure wasn’t over.

It was just about to begin.

Some days start off looking hopeful: it’s August, the sun is out, the birds are singing, people are smiling – this was one of those days. I was waiting with anticipation for my literary agent Kitty Golding to let me into her apartment block. She lives in the penthouse of a modern architectural block bordering Regent’s Park, which is five storeys high and glass-fronted, giving it the effect of a doll’s house. On the ground floor, the white sofa had its back to the window and I could see the top of a head of black, curly hair – could be a man or woman, girl, boy or dog. I was itching to reach in and rearrange the furniture.

The intercom clicked into life. ‘Come on up, Lana.’ The door clunked open, and I got into the lift which took me up to my agent’s floor.

Kitty was waiting for me, smiling faintly. Early forties, lean, glossy black hair, wearing a lime-and-heather-coloured boiled-wool dress.

She held the door open, and I smiled back at her and went into her office. The glass wall looked out at the sky and the rooftops above the busy street below. The other three walls were lined with books. Mine was easy to spot: Love Crazy , with LANA GREEN emblazoned along the spine.

I headed for a low tan and chrome chair, and for a disconcerting second I had the sensation of plummeting – the chair was lower than it looked. I tugged at my red skirt: I could see my fake-tanned knees in close-up.

Kitty took the chair opposite me, gripping the armrests and lowering herself in a sort of triceps dip. She picked up the typescript of my sequel, Heartbreak , from the glass table and flicked through a few pages, nodding thoughtfully.

‘Nice paper.’ She looked up. Her gaze met mine, and held.

The feeling of anticipation was similar to the early days of a relationship: expectation mingled with excitement. Kitty doesn’t show much emotion – she leaves that to editors – but I was waiting for my high-five moment.