Bryony Fraser - Sunshine on a Rainy Day - A funny, feel-good romantic comedy

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.

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 ?’