Sunshine on a Rainy Day: A funny, feel-good romantic comedy. Bryony Fraser
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Название: Sunshine on a Rainy Day: A funny, feel-good romantic comedy
Автор: Bryony Fraser
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Зарубежный юмор
isbn: 9780007477098
isbn:
‘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 that you’re capable, I just don’t know if you always do.’
‘I’m twenty-nine, Jack, I managed an awfully long time without you telling me what to do.’
My last comment hung in the air between us.
‘I’m sorry. Again. I’m still hungover, and you know it makes me a bastard. Let’s just stop. Let’s have this nice meal, and … who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky.’
‘Maybe you will.’ Jack brought our glasses over, still misted with cold, and cheers-ed.
When I arrived home the next day, our post was waiting on the table; Jack must have picked it up. Junk mail, junk mail, junk mail – and then one that was addressed to ‘Mr and Mrs Bestwick’. Jesus Christ, the ink wasn’t even dry on our marriage certificate yet. How the hell had – what was this, an insurance company – managed to get our names? Was this it, now? The choice to keep my name – which, let’s not forget, is an absolutely fucking absurd thing to even make СКАЧАТЬ