Читать книгу Sunshine on a Rainy Day: A funny, feel-good romantic comedy - Bryony Fraser, Bryony Fraser - Страница 9

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. She asked him if he’d make his escape tonight. He said he was now considering hanging around for a better offer. She said she was considering making one.

The next morning, Zoe woke up to a strange and empty bed. Fair enough. She’d only had one more drink 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?’