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

felt sober.

      ‘I’m happy to cancel, although given the way this conversation is going, I can’t begin to imagine why we’d want to spend the evening together instead.’

      I thought of all the things I could do tonight if Jack wasn’t about: have a long bath, watch a trashy film, call Ava for a chat, take an early night with Jilly Cooper flopping open at all the right pages. Lie really still and wait for the room to stop spinning. In all honesty, I didn’t care that he was going out. And yet, something – utterly unreasonably – still rankled.

      ‘Fine. Go. Have a nice time.’ I gave him a brief kiss on the cheek and a tight smile, and before I knew it he was gone.

      I was shaking. I was so angry at myself. I didn’t care – I’d never cared – if he was seeing friends.

      But I was also angry at his tone, and the creeping realisation that if I’d asked him to stay with me, he’d have had to tell his friends a lie, and they wouldn’t believe the lie, and how they’d tease him for months about his wife being in charge now. Then, if I insisted on him staying with me again, they’d eventually stop teasing, and stop calling. Ugh. I didn’t want to star as the worst kind of clichéd spouse. I couldn’t stop seeing it from his angle too: his partner, suddenly turning the flame-throwers on him. But then I flipped back again: if I was feeling this bad, why was he going out? And yet, why was I feeling this bad if he hadn’t done anything wrong? Then back again: I felt bad because I’d been a weasel to him. This was my problem, not his.

      Back and forth, back and forth I went, the whole evening, sitting in front of unsatisfying TV, not doing anything I’d planned, losing my evening, losing my mind, feeling my pub-buzz sour. I scuttled to bed when I heard his key in the main door, throwing my clothes off and hunkering under the duvet as he opened our front door. I pretended to be asleep when he came in, wrapped up in fleecy pyjamas, not up to facing what I, or he, or we, had done, with one tiny, toxic argument.

       FOUR

      Seven years earlier

      There was only so much refusing they could do before someone got offended, so within half an hour, Zoe and Jack – minus Jack’s face mask (‘The air round here is so polluting, don’t you find?’ asked Jack’s mother, Linda; slim, groomed, tortoiseshell glasses pushed into her shiny chestnut hair) – were in a taxi with Jack’s parents. Linda had taken Zoe’s arm from the moment Jack had introduced her and hadn’t let go since. Graham, his father, said very little, pale and quiet in a pale, quiet shirt and corduroy trousers, merely smiling at her and giving her a muttered hello. Once they’d been seated at the restaurant Zoe realised that was probably the highlight of his interactions for today. Linda chose his food for him, reminding him that tomato soup never agrees with you this time of night, does it, Graham? and Maybe you should just stick to the garlic bread, Graham, and, Graham, I think you’d best have the lamb, after your trouble with the chicken last time. Zoe, on a student budget, skipped the starters and chose the cheapest thing from the mains, a three-bean salad. Jack chose the same.

      ‘So then,’ said Linda, settling her glasses on her face and tilting her head to one side. ‘When were you going to tell us about your new girlfriend, Jack?’

      ‘Oh, I’m—’

      ‘It’s quite—’

      ‘Do you go to the same college as Jack, dear?’

      ‘No, I’m way over the other side of town – I’m doing Chemistry.’

      ‘Ooh! A scientist! Well, that is posh. Isn’t that posh, Graham? Zoe’s going to be a scientist!’

      ‘Well, I hope I will. It’s a long way to go yet. If I do my Masters I’ve got another couple of years left.’

      ‘So Jack will have left before you’ve even finished?’

      ‘Mum, we’ve only just—’

      ‘Yeah. Yeah, I suppose he will. I hadn’t thought about that. We really only met just—’

      ‘My cousin’s son is a scientist.’

      ‘Mum, Stuart works in Boots.’

      ‘No, well, he started in Science, but decided he wanted to be more hands-on.’

      ‘He didn’t “start in Science”, Mum. He did a Science GCSE, which he failed.’

      ‘Oh, so now you know all your second cousins’ academic careers, do you? You can’t ever remember to send your Auntie Chrissie a Christmas card, and yet you can remember all her children’s grades?’

      ‘Mum, I’m sure he’s a really great … retail guy. But that’s not the same as what Zoe’s doing.’ He looked at Zoe, who was smiling at him with something like sympathy in her eyes.

      ‘Well, you know best, Jack, obviously.’

      The starters arrived – garlic bread for Graham, crab terrine for Linda – and Zoe and Jack worked their way in silence through the complimentary bread basket while his parents ate, Graham in small mouthfuls, Linda spreading a single piece of toast with the crab terrine before sniffing it, wrinkling up her nose and putting it back on the plate.

      ‘Is it alright, Mum?’

      She wrinkled her nose again, her mouth a disgusted moue. ‘I don’t think that crab’s any good, you know.’

      ‘Well, do you want to tell the waiter?’

      ‘Oh no, it’s fine.’

      ‘It’s not fine – if your crab’s off we should tell them. Get you another one.’

      ‘No no, if that one’s spoiled, they’re probably all off.’

      ‘Let’s get you something else then. Do you want me to tell the waiter?’

      ‘Jack, just leave it, I’m fine. I don’t need a starter. Once they bring me something else your mains will be arriving anyway.’

      Jack took in a huge breath, slowly breathing out through his nose while Zoe squeezed his thigh under the table. He put his hand on hers and squeezed it too, his breathing becoming easier.

      The waiter came over, went to take the plates away, but saw Linda’s was still full.

      ‘Are you – is this still going?’

      ‘No no! It’s fine, I just don’t want to spoil my appetite for my main course!’

      The waiter looked baffled. ‘Was everything alright?’

      ‘Yes! Lovely! Thank you!’

      Jack dropped his head down, closing his eyes. When the waiter had taken the two plates away, he said, ‘Could you not have told him, Mum?’

      ‘Well. I don’t know. Maybe the crab wasn’t spoiled. It just smelled a bit—’

      ‘Don’t say fishy.’

      ‘Well it did!’

      ‘Mum.’

      ‘You didn’t have to eat it, Jack. You wouldn’t have been the one with food poisoning.’

      ‘I didn’t eat it because you didn’t offer it to me. If I’d thought you were basing your rejection of your seafood dish on it “smelling fishy” I would have made more of an effort to try it myself.’ Zoe squeezed his thigh again and Jack took a quick drink. ‘Sorry, Mum. It was your food.’

      Linda blinked at him. ‘Thank you, Jack,’ she said, surprised. ‘I’m sure I’ll say something if there’s anything wrong with the main.’

      Zoe gave Jack a tiny nudge, and he snorted into his glass of water. She smiled at Graham, who smiled absently back at her then returned to rearranging his napkin on his lap.