Sunshine on a Rainy Day: A funny, feel-good romantic comedy. Bryony Fraser
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yes, I know you haven’t changed your name. It was just Miks’s little joke. Ok?’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Now, are you coming for a Monday night cocktail or do you need to ask your hubby for permission?’
‘You might have been my “mentor” – your words, not mine, I might add – since I started teaching, but—’
‘If you don’t know I’m joking then I’m going to have to put you up for a very long and boring disciplinary procedure.’
‘Drinks are on you then.’
‘Drinks are on me, darling.’
It was half ten before Benni and I had finished at the bar – departmental stuff had come up that required intense discussions over many glasses of melon daiquiri – and my entry into the flat was noisier than I’d intended. Smash! The front door. Crash! A low bookcase falling over. Crunch! The pile of recycling I was going to lie on for juuust a second.
‘Shhh,’ I recommended.
‘Zo, is that you?’ Jack called from the sofa.
If I stay quiet, he won’t know it’s me, I thought.
‘Zo, if that’s not you, it’s a woefully clumsy burglar and I’ll need to actually get up and do something about it.’
Shhh, I thought again.
Suddenly, Jack was standing over me.
‘Come on, you, let’s get you to bed.’
‘Bossy,’ I muttered, as he pulled me up and half walked, half carried me to bed. He removed my clothes, but as he tried to tuck me in I wrapped my arms around him, suddenly amorous.
‘Stay with me,’ I groaned.
‘I’ll get you a pint of water, then I’m coming to bed, ok?’
‘I don’t want a pint of water, I want you.’
‘You’ll want a pint of water when you wake up in three hours’ time, Zo.’
‘Yes, but I want you now,’ I said, closing my eyes to give them a rest.
When I woke up again at 2 a.m., my mouth tasted like the sole of my shoe, and Jack was snoring next to me. There was a time, even a month ago, when he would have been with me tonight. He’d have been out, I’d have been out, we’d have eventually met up on our routes and we’d only just be getting in now. There might even have been dancing, Monday night be damned.
I wanted to wake him up and ask him why that hadn’t happened tonight, but when I rolled over into a sitting position I realised I wanted to die instead, and any heart to hearts would just have to wait until I was able to sit up without vomiting, or had actually died, whichever came first. In my Magic 8-Ball brain, I thought about work tomorrow and came up with ‘OUTLOOK NOT SO GOOD’. I’d email Benni and see if she’d mind telling the Head I’d passed on.
At 7 a.m., Jack was shaking me, shouting and shining a torch into my eyes like a friendly interrogator. I groaned and pulled the pillow over my head, but he kept on. Eventually his words translated, and I heard, ‘Zo, wake up, you’re going to be late. I’ve made you a coffee and toast. Do you want me to turn the shower on?’
‘What the ever-loving fuck is this?’ I groaned again, trying to turn away without having to move my body. ‘What are you doing?’
Jack lifted the pillow off. ‘Zo, time to get up. You’ve only been back a day. You can’t call in sick.’
‘I was out with Benni, she’ll be the same.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Come on, once you’re up you’ll feel much better.’
I pulled the pillow over my head again. Jack pulled it off again, and tried to lift me up.
‘Jack, just piss off, alright?’
There was a shocked moment of silence, then Jack lowered me down and put both his hands up. ‘Fine. Fine. I’m off to work, you do what you want.’ I caterpillared under the duvet and heard him pack up and slam the front door. I’d made one discovery already that morning: if there was ever a hangover tip to make you feel even worse, it was being a total bastard to your boyfriend. Husband.
I knew he was right though, and after a minute or two of checking my limbs were still attached, I crawled on all fours to the bathroom, threw up for a while, then got into the shower. I found a coffee and banana under the mirror when I got out again, once the water was running completely cold.
In the kitchen, Jack’s toast for me was also cold in the toaster. I mashed the banana on top with a little cinnamon, and sat chewing thoughtfully until the shakes had subsided. This was a bad one. I’d already sent a text to Benni to warn her of the state I was in (I’d just got a Ugh. Me too in response), but I needed something more than just a text for Jack. Looking at the scattered remains of my breakfast, I realised that this was why I loved him – his thoughtfulness, his commitment, his kindness. But this morning I had a killer hangover and I just wanted to lie in bed and suffer. Why couldn’t he just leave me be, if only for five more minutes?
I’d overreacted, but I couldn’t bear being treated like a wayward child by someone insisting on what was best for me.
Staggering through the school gates as the bell rang, I was sure we could fix it.
Seven years earlier
Zoe sat at the bar and picked at her nail polish, something both Ava and her mum told her not to do whenever they caught her. She flaked off big chunks of deep blue onto the napkin on the copper-topped bar, then folded the napkin over to keep them from scattering. She took another swig of her salt-rimmed margarita and checked the clock on the wall. He wasn’t coming.
She’d had to be convinced about this date in the first place, by the Chemistry course-mate who had set her up with this guy at a recent party – yes, he was good-looking, but she hadn’t got a good vibe from him. Not at all. When they’d been introduced, he’d given her the kind of smile that made her feel like a mirror, that he was just looking at her to get a tab on how great he looked that day. And when he’d nodded a casual Yeah, sure to her course-mate’s suggestion that he and Zoe should get a drink some time, she’d wanted to back away from the whole thing, hitting undo.
She might only be twenty-two, but she knew enough to listen to her gut on things like this. Glancing round the empty bar, she realised she’d just learned that the hard way. But she hadn’t been on a date in ages, and if nothing else, she was reasonably sure he’d have put out at the end of the night. She sighed, and drained the final dregs from the glass.
The barman took the glass and the folded paper napkin, and wiped down the counter. ‘Another?’
Zoe realised she felt slightly giddy from her margarita.
‘What do you recommend?’ She folded her chipped fingernails inside her fists and rested them on the bar.
‘Maybe a better date, from the look of things? Otherwise, I make a mean Bloody Mary.’
She speared three olives in the little dish by the napkins, and ate them, one by one.
‘I feel pretty bloody. Go on then. Please.’
He didn’t talk while he was making her drink, but once he’d served it he stayed at her end of the bar and chatted to her, in between serving other people. It was a quiet Tuesday in October, and there weren’t that many people to serve, so they were mostly talking. He was a student too, doing a design degree. He was into shoes, he said, planning to make a break from behind this bar at some point to actually start his own shoe shop, shoes that he’d designed and created himself.