Sunshine on a Rainy Day: A funny, feel-good romantic comedy. Bryony Fraser
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after the Bloody Mary and could remember everything well enough to know she’d be disappointed that this was only a one-night thing, but it was a pity he hadn’t even hung around long enough for a little small talk, perhaps a brief replay of last night. She stretched, got up, dressed – debated leaving a note, but thought there was little point. She found her handbag and shoes – one under the bed, one balanced on the dripping tap in the corner sink – attempted to shape her hair into something presentable, and headed out, pulling the door until it locked, heading down the corridor that looked just like every college hall corridor in the country, and out into the street. Her bus arrived almost immediately and she headed back to her student house to take a long bath and have a good long think about what she’d done. In fact, what they’d both done.
Five minutes later, there was a soft knock-knocking at the bedroom she’d so recently vacated. A key in the door, and the barman opened it from outside, juggling two coffees and two bags of pastries.
‘I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got one of—’
He stopped, saw the empty bed, the vanished shoes and bag.
‘Bugger.’
Two weeks later, Zoe stood waiting outside a workshop at the design college with a tote bag over one arm. After a quarter of an hour, the doors opened and the students streamed out.
‘Hey!’ she called. Half the class looked around. ‘Barman!’
He joined the half of the class who were looking, and smiled. ‘It’s Jack, actually,’ he called back.
She nodded. ‘Jack. Ok. Bit out there, but I can work with it.’
He walked over, stood in front of her. ‘Zoe.’
‘You remembered.’
‘I did.’ He smiled a little more. ‘I remembered where you were at uni, too, and your course, and I was actually going to come and find you there, but I thought how would I actually find you—’
‘There are literally three black students on my whole course.’
‘And I didn’t know if it would be a bit weird, me just pitching up at your lectures—’
‘In front of my whole class? Like this?’
‘Yeah – oh, no, I mean – this is different. It’s charming when you do it. But it’s a bit weird if this barman you just had a one-night stand with turns up, even if he’s brought flowers—’
‘You were going to buy me flowers?’
‘Yeah, of course. I mean, I had such a great time with you. And then you’d bolted, and I didn’t really know how to find you.’
‘Again. Literally three black students on my whole course.’
‘But here you are!’
‘Ruining our romantic reunion.’
Jack laughed. ‘A little bit. And I don’t even have your flowers.’
Zoe opened her tote bag. ‘But I have shoes. Can you fix them, please?’
He took the bag and offered his arm. ‘But first. A drink?’
That second date was as good as their first, if that bar conversation could be counted as their first. For their second date, they made an effort: Jack wore a new jacket, Zoe wore the heels Jack had fixed for her, and the pair of them left their film early. They never made it to their restaurant booking, but later found one of the few obliging pizza delivery places still willing to deliver to university halls.
The third date was with Jack’s parents.
On the morning after their pizza-in-bed date, Jack had waved Zoe off at the bus stop and headed back to his room to get ready for his day. Zoe, rummaging in her bag on the top deck of the bus, found that she’d picked up his student ID by mistake. She looked at her watch. Dammit, she didn’t have time to return it now, but she’d swing by and drop it off later.
By the time she was free, it was early evening. She knew she could get buzzed in by anyone, and she’d just slip it under his door if he wasn’t about. Outside his room, however, she could hear muffled voices. She knocked. Jack opened the door in nothing but a towel and face mask, and he stared at her for a moment before he gave a small scream.
‘What are you doing here?’
She held out his ID. ‘Sorry. I picked this up this morning. Good to see you too, Jack.’ Zoe raised an eyebrow.
‘Who’s that, Jack?’ A woman’s voice came from behind the door.
Zoe crossed her arms in front of her and took a deep breath.
‘Jack?’ The same voice, more insistent.
Jack had jammed his foot on the inside of the door, and it was shaking with the effort of the person behind it trying to open it wider. ‘Look, can you just – stop being so silly – can you—’
Zoe switched to her other hip and re-crossed her arms. The door was finally yanked open.
A middle-aged couple stood in Jack’s room, the man stretched out on Jack’s bed reading the Telegraph, the woman, slight and well-dressed, with glossy brown hair, her hand still on the inside door handle.
‘Well, Jack,’ the woman said. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’
Now
When Jack got back that night, the flat was filled with the smells of jollof rice, his favourite of my mum’s dishes and one of the few I managed to get even close to Mum’s quality. I’d lit candles, drawn the curtains (you only make that mistake once – thanks to one amorous night when we forgot to close them, our blushing neighbours opposite now ran like rats whenever they saw us) and poured the wine. As he dropped his bag and coat, he said, ‘Well, someone should have hangovers more often, if this is the result.’ I laughed, then he added, ‘I thought we were married already – do we still have to keep trying to seduce each other?’
I didn’t laugh, although I knew it was a joke; it seemed too close to what I’d been worrying about in the small hours this morning. Why couldn’t we keep seducing each other? What was the alternative – that we’d come back each evening to find our other half in an egg-stained fleecy dressing gown watching EastEnders and picking the hardened bits of a Pot Noodle out of the bottom of the cup?
Jack saw my face and came over. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and kissed me.
I sighed. ‘No, I’m sorry. I was doing this to apologise for this morning, and now you’re apologising to me.’
‘Ok, we’re both sorry. Although not as sorry as you looked this morning—’
‘Thank you.’
‘But we’re both sorry.’
‘I’m sorry for being so vile this morning.’
‘And I’m sorry for the ill-judged joke. This smells and looks amazing.’
‘And for trying to lift me out of bed?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘And you’re sorry for trying to physically lift me out of bed this morning, even though I didn’t want you to?’
‘Zo, you were going to miss a whole day!’
‘Of course I wasn’t! I made it to school.’
‘Eventually. I didn’t know that though, did I?’
‘You didn’t ask. You can just take it as read from now on that you’re free to treat me as an adult, able to make my own decisions about my own life, ok?’
‘I know