Veronica Struggled to Find True Happiness: Nearly Forty, Still Alone Despite Her Intelligence, Beauty, and a Great Career – Everything But Love

Verity just couldnt stumble upon her own bit of happiness. She was nearing the big four-oh, and yet here she was, still single as a solitary teabag at the back of the cupboard. Mind you, she wasnt short-changed in the looks or brains department. She had a splendid job, a hefty wage, but stillno hint of domestic bliss.

Her parents, Margaret and Geoffrey Smith, fretted over their daughter as only English parents can. Their help was mainly emotionalwell, as emotional as a cup of strong teaand, if anything, Verity could spot them a fiver if times got rough. Theyd never accept it, of course.

Stay with us, love! Margaret and Geoffrey would plead, Plenty of room here! Besides, youll need your money when you finally meet your Mr Right!

Every evening, as Verity trudged home from work, Margaret would sigh, No one feels sorry for you but your old mum and dad, poor thing! Geoffrey would follow it up with, When were gone, youll be all alone! You really need to find your happiness, petal. Then the three of them would settle down in front of the tele for yet another evening, the nations favourite pastimelooking for joy somewhere between EastEnders and Antiques Roadshow. Repeat every night, every year, until you cant bear it.

It was especially rich hearing her father mutter about when were gone. After all, Verity was born when Margaret and Geoffrey were mere teenagers, high on fish and chips and young love. Seemed a bit premature to be doing the whole not-long-for-this-world thing.

Way back at university, Verity had had a boyfrienda chap named Nigel. He waswell, large and a bit clumsy. Whenever he came round, something ended up smashed, toppled, or inexplicably sticky. Margaret affectionately dubbed him Nigel the Disaster or, on occasion, The Walking Accident. Geoffrey had everyone in stitches, imitating Nigels knock-kneed shuffle and his eternal quest to catch things mid-fall.

No, love, hes a non-starter, theyd warn Verity. He cant hold on to anythinghow will he ever hold on to you? Not your kind of happiness.

After months of this, even Verity started seeing Nigel through disaster-tinted glasses. Funny thing, though. Nigel went on to graduate, launch his own legal office, and marry a woman who thought his tendency to break crockery was simply adorable. Turns out, all Nigel needed was a bit more spaceliterally. He now lived in the countryside with dogs, ducks, and, presumably, much sturdier furniture.

Veritys happiness is still out there somewhere, her parents would grin, reassuring themselves as much as her.

Truth was, the Smiths were a tight-knit, loving bunch. Just a couple of months ago, they jetted off to Spain for a family holiday. Now theyd spend many an evening leafing through their photo album, reminiscing about sunburn, sangria, and that time Geoffrey ate calamari without realising what it was.

On that very holiday, Verity met a chap named Edward. He was from Scotlanda bit of an exotic twist for the Smiths. But of course, her parents had a field day. Would you believe! exclaimed Margaret, Verity brings back a holiday romance with Edward from Edinburgh! Geoffrey waddled about the hotel room, stuffing a cushion under his shirt to mimic Edwards apparently robust figure.

Honestly, Edward wasnt overweight, justsolid. And fascinating, especially when he began pointing out constellations each evening on the beach. In a small act of rebellion, Verity gave Edward her number.

Once back in burgundy-bricked Birmingham, Margaret caught wind that Verity and Edward were still chatting on the phone. Holiday flings, honestly, darling. They never end wellnothing but trouble! Mark my words, that never works out.

Did it matter that both Verity and Edward were single? Not a jot. What really mattered was that it was a holiday romancealways a dead-end in Margarets eyes.

Keep looking for your happiness, sweetheart! You know were always here for you, insisted Geoffrey. No pressure at all.

That summer, the three of them headed off in the battered Volvo to their allotment outside towna river close by, wildflowers, afternoon cream teas under the old apple tree. The perfect slice of English paradise. The neighbours would pop over for a natter (and a scone or two). One afternoon, the neighbours son, Simon, arrived with his own boy, Tobyboth dead ringers for Beatrix Potter bunnies: fair hair, blue eyes, ears sticking out like taxi doors.

The neighbours confided that Simons wife had run off with a City banker, leaving him with the boy. The banker didnt want a child that looked so much like his fatherbit harsh, really. So Simon was left, single dad in tow.

Verity was charmed. There was something so genuine and endearing about Simon and Toby, her heart did a little hop. And Toby warmed up to her instantly.

But Margaret was quick with her banter: Simons munched all the carrots but left one for our Verity! His parents probably invited him just to set him up with you! Why go for a bloke with baggage? Geoffrey muttered, Bit of a loser! Why else would a wife walk out and take up with a suit from Canary Wharf?

For the first time, Verity disagreed. Dad, a decent woman trusts a good man to raise a childthats the real test! It means shes sure he wont flake out.

No, Verity, thats not your happiness! We want our own grandkids to spoil, not someone elses! Want to hold little hands and hear those tiny footsteps on our hallway

Suddenly, Margaret and Geoffrey grew distantno more friendly neighbours, no more scones shared. Hostilities resumed, and plenty of cutting words flew. No more summer gatherings; just sighing into tea under the apple tree, lamenting that fate refused to give Verity her due happiness. And so the summer was frittered away.

Still, Verity cared for Simon and little Toby with all her heartand she adored her parents, too. She wouldnt dream of hurting them. Secretly, she even felt guilty for not falling in love with the type of man her parents had handpicked. By the time the allotment season ended, she left with her parents, back to the city flat, quietly swallowing her feelings.

Her parents kept loving her, though. During the bleak, rainy autumn, nothing was ever mentioned of Simon or Toby, not even for a laugh.

One day, Verity was out for a stroll when she spotted a soggy, ginger kitten, mewling underneath a parked Mini. Utterly bedraggled, it looked as lost as Toby did, the day hed met her. The kitten was hopelessly alone, parked in harms way.

Without thinking, Verity scooped up the little misfit, shoving it inside her coat. She ignored the muck and the smellher only thought was to warm the shivering furball.

Back home, she towelled the kitten dry and offered some milk in a saucer. She sat on the kitchen floor, watching the little thing lap noisily with its tiny, frantic tongue.

Starving, are you? she murmured.

In the kitchen doorway appeared Geoffrey with his Times, followed by Margaret. Both regarded the scene with all the warmth of a traffic warden, faces etched in horror rather than delight.

And what, pray, are we supposed to do with that? Margaret demanded, aghast. The catll ruin everything! Scratch up the furniture, shred the curtains! Geoffrey, say something!

Well smell like a cattery! Geoffrey protested. Well never have decent visitors again!

Mum, Dad, shes only a kitten! Ill get her a scratching postshell learn. Verity pleaded, not understanding how a six-inch ball of fluff could possibly pose a threat to their sprawling flat.

No, absolutely not! snapped Margaret.

You feel bad, I get it, love, Geoffrey cut in. Just take her to the RSPCA. Thats what theyre for. If not, threaten to write to the Telegraph!

Hurt and indignant, Verity bundled up the kitten, slammed the door behind her, and stormed out. How was it possible that at nearly forty, she had nothing to call her own? No husband, no children, not even a place where she could keep a cat. In that moment, Verity knew: she needed her own homeeven if it was just a single room somewhere.

Rather than the animal shelter, she made her way straight to an estate agent. Within hours, shed secured the keys to a snug little flather one stipulation: Pets welcome.

For the first time, she felt like her own person. She bought every comfort for the kitten. The vet told her the kitten was a girl, about eight weeks old. Verity called her Dotty.

Sitting in her own little kitchen, surrounded by Dottys cheerful chaos, Verity finally felt a whisper closer to happiness. Dotty, unsurprisingly, reminded her of little Toby and his father.

And then, out of the blue, the phone rang. She nearly dropped her cuppa; after all, Margaret and Geoffrey had burnt any remaining bridges with the neighbours. But it was Simon! He sounded casual, unfazed, as if nothing had happened.

Hi Verity! Toby wants to say something!

She grinned, remembering his sunny freckles and eager little eyes.

Verity! We miss you! Please come over and visit! Me and Daddy are waiting! piped up Toby.

Id love to, but can I bring my kitten? she asked.

Simons laughter came ringing down the line. Bring the whole Battersea Cats Home if you like! Well pop by and pick you upjust give us the address!

And that, after lifes many plot twists, is how Verity found her happiness. Against all odds, she found joy with Simon, Toby, and Dotty. There would soon be another sibling for Tobyboy or girl, did it even matter? Meanwhile, Verity never forgot her parents. She loved them just the same, ringing Margaret and Geoffrey all the time just to say, Im happy, I really am.

It wasnt quite the happiness theyd imagined for her. But it was hers.

Maybe, one day, her parents would come round, open their arms, and finally get to hold those little hands, and hear the patter of tiny feet in a hallway not so very far away.