Thank You, Next: A perfect, uplifting and funny romantic comedy

by Sophie Ranald

  But there was no fooling my kitchen. Like the cranky old campervan I’d bought a few years back when I was travelling around Europe, it seemed to sense my moods and play up if my mind was in a state of anything other than zen calm. The oven, which normally had to be set at least ten degrees higher than its temperature dial claimed to be, put on a power surge and almost burned the breakfast muffins. The food mixer blew a fuse when I was halfway through blending a vat of spring vegetable soup, so I had to pretend it was supposed to be chunky, and hastily amend the description on the chalkboard in the bar. My knives, which weren’t due to be sharpened for another two weeks, all seemed to have gone dull overnight, and the blade of one of them slipped on a sweet potato and cut my thumb.

  So, all in all, I was massively relieved when the lunchtime rush was over and it was time to take my break and go to the gym. There, at least, I could lose myself, burn off some of my misery, sweat out the creeping sense of shame I felt and reset my mind ready for the evening.

  I cleared everything away, wiped the surfaces, told the kitchen to have a good long think about what it had done and decide it was better than this, quickly changed into my workout kit and headed out through the bar.

  It was quiet, almost empty, as was usual in the afternoons. The dominoes players had left, the mums had taken their toddlers home for their naps, the estate agents who always came for lunch were back in their office across the road. Only Fat Don remained in his usual place on a stool by the bar, slowly making his way down his fourth pint of the day, which would extend to five or six more by closing time.

  But he wasn’t our only customer. Alone at a table next to the shelf of board games was someone I’d never seen before, a man about my age, with a dark beard and glasses. He was drinking coffee and reading. Nothing new there – mostly, people who came into the pub in the mornings and afternoons had laptops with them and spent their time intently focused on those, but sometimes people read books or magazines or whatever.

  But this guy was reading something different. My hand was already on the door when I noticed, and I paused. He was engrossed in one of the books that had come with the Dungeons & Dragons set – the thick, heavy one. The Dungeon Master’s manual. The box was open on the table in front of him and dice were scattered around.

  I thought for a second. I needed to get to the gym; I only had a couple of hours before I was due back in the kitchen to get cracking on the evening meal. But I’d promised Alice to try and find someone to be the Ginger Cat’s Dungeon Master, and this bloke, with his fancy watch and his leather sandals and his T-shirt that had an algebra equation printed on it, certainly looked the part. He was right out of nerd central casting.

  I turned and walked over to his table.

  ‘Hi,’ I said, wondering if I should add, ‘Live long and prosper,’ or something.

  He started like I’d poked him with something. ‘Uh… hi.’

  ‘My name’s Zoë,’ I carried on. ‘I’m the chef here.’

  I extended my hand, and he hesitated a second, like touching me was the last thing he wanted to do, then shook it briefly.

  ‘I’m Adam.’

  I saw his eyes flicker back to the page he’d been reading, before turning back towards me.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ I said, because it was as clear as anything that I had, ‘but I couldn’t help noticing you were looking at our D&D set.’

  ‘It was right there on the shelf,’ he said defensively.

  ‘I know, it’s cool – people browse through the games all the time,’ I soothed. ‘But I was wondering – do you play at all?’

  ‘Only online.’

  Again, there was that flicker of his eyes, that slight tightening of his face into a reluctant half-smile, which quite clearly said, ‘I wish this woman would leave me alone.’

  ‘Only we’re starting a group, here at the Ginger Cat,’ I burbled on. ‘We’re looking for someone to be our DM. Well, I’m meant to be looking, but I’ve got nowhere so far.’

  Admittedly, that was because I hadn’t tried particularly hard. But I wasn’t going to admit that to him.

  ‘There are forums,’ he said. ‘Boards on Reddit where you could ask. Or you could try the Orcs Nest – you know, the shop in the West End?’

  ‘But you’re here,’ I persisted, with my best attempt at a winning smile. ‘And you know how to play.’

  ‘I might not be here long,’ he said. ‘I’m waiting to view a flat round the corner. I haven’t made up my mind. Mostly I’ve been looking in Hackney, where I live now.’

  ‘Oh, you should totally move here! The area’s so fun, there’s loads going on and the Ginger Cat is a real community hub.’

  ‘Why’s it called the Ginger Cat?’ Adam asked.

  Finally – a question. Perhaps I was getting somewhere with this grumpy, frankly quite rude stranger.

  ‘It’s actually named after my cat,’ I said proudly. ‘He’s called Frazzle. He lives with me in the flat upstairs, but he hangs out in the pub sometimes, when it’s quiet.’

  Right on cue, Frazzle came padding in through the door that led to the tiny beer garden outside. His tail was held high, and the breeze was ruffling his long fur. I was biased, obviously, but he did look utterly gorgeous. He strolled over to us and miaowed a greeting.

  ‘Hello,’ Adam said, with far more enthusiasm than he’d displayed when I approached him. ‘You’re a handsome boy.’

  He bent down, and Frazz pushed his face into Adam’s hand for a fuss. Seconds later, he’d jumped up onto his lap, and I heard thunderous purring.

  ‘He likes you. He never normally does that until he gets to know people better.’

  ‘I like cats,’ Adam said unnecessarily. ‘He’s cool.’

  ‘He’s great,’ I agreed, and I found myself pouring out the story of how I’d come to adopt Frazzle – or rather, how he’d come to adopt me.

  ‘I used to have a cat,’ Adam said. ‘Well, I kind of had a share in one. He belonged to our neighbours, but they had a baby and needed to move to a bigger house. So he’s gone with them. His name’s Freezer.’

  ‘It sounds a bit like Frazzle, doesn’t it? Is he white? He must be, with that name.’

  Adam nodded. ‘White with one blue eye and one green one.’

  ‘Adorable. But Frazz says ginger cats with yellow eyes are better.’

  Frazzle rolled over on Adam’s lap so he was upside down, inviting him to rub his fluffy belly.

  ‘Okay,’ Adam said. ‘If I move here, if the flat I’m seeing isn’t a total dump, I’ll consider being your Dungeon Master. Just for a few games, to see how it goes.’

  I sent up a silent prayer of gratitude for my cat’s unique charisma and charm.

  ‘Amazing! I’d be so grateful, I really would. Let me give you my number, text me and let me know how the viewing goes. And if there’s anything I can do to help set up the game, I will, obviously, although I don’t actually have a clue how to play or anything.’

  Adam tapped my number into his phone. ‘We’ll see. I’d rather stay in Hackney, but if this place is decent and I take it, I’ll let you know.’

  I sensed that that was as much of a commitment as I was going to get, so I thanked him again, wished him luck with his flat viewing and headed out to the gym, leaving Adam chatting away to Frazzle, far more animatedly than he had to me. As the door of the pub swung shut behind me, I could hear him asking my cat, ‘Who’s got the most magnificent whiskers in all Lewisham? Who’s got the fluffiest ears in the world?’ which of course Frazz already knew the answer to.

  Dani was in the gym already when I got there, but she put down her kettlebell and hurried over when she saw me.

  ‘Hey, Zoë! I thought you weren’t going to turn up. Sorry I missed you the past couple of days, work have been dicking around with my shift pattern and I’ve been doing afternoons, so I’ve been coming here in the mornings.’

  ‘That’s okay. I was late today anyway; I got held up at work.’

  I gave
her a brief overview of how I had used my cat to – hopefully – persuade someone to move to the area and volunteer to lead our Dungeons & Dragons group, and Dani laughed. I considered filling her in on the Seth situation, too, but something stopped me. I wasn’t ready to laugh about it or chalk it up to experience yet, and besides, there was a part of me that was still hoping – although the hope was faint and I secretly hated myself for it – that he’d get in touch again after all.

  ‘So,’ Dani said, picking up her kettlebell again and starting to swing it in a way that would have terrified me a year ago, ‘it’s weird here in the mornings. Different crowd.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Who did you see?’

  ‘Some of Mike’s personal training clients – my God, but they’re hardcore – and a woman who is apparently a professional dancer and is so bendy you won’t believe.’

  This was interesting enough intel, but I sensed that there was more Dani wanted to reveal, so I shut up and waited for her to carry on.

  ‘And you know that guy we saw here a while back? The totally shredded one with the American accent?’

  Fabian Flatley. But I didn’t want to say his name – it felt, stupidly, like it would be summoning Lord Voldemort.

  ‘Yeah, I remember him.’

  ‘He’s called Fabian. We worked out together a couple of times. He says he’s going to show me how to do clean and jerks.’

  As far as things Fabian Flatley might get up to went, coaching a compound barbell lift didn’t sound too sinister.

  ‘Cool,’ I said.

  ‘He’s really interesting,’ Dani went on, ‘as well as being hot, obviously. He works with loads of tech start-ups. One of them’s that thing with scooters that you can access through an app and use when you need them. It’s fantastic for the environment and getting people active.’

  Especially the kids that hack into the software and then chuck the scooters in the river, which is obviously awesome for the environment, I thought, but I didn’t say that. Dani was looking so fired up and happy, and I didn’t want to warn her off Fabian – until I had to, at any rate.

  ‘And he’s got shares in a bar in Bethnal Green,’ she went on. ‘It’s called Last Resort, and it sounds really cool. They make their own bitters for the cocktails and cure their own olives and everything. Fabian’s asked me to go there. With him. Like a date.’

  A date? With Fabian Flatley? My reaction to the idea was physical – visceral, almost. I could literally feel the hairs standing up on my arms and the back of my neck, as if the industrial-strength fans Mike had installed in the gym had suddenly been turned on full and pointed at me. But why? I asked myself.

  Fabian had tried, and failed, to buy the Ginger Cat from its previous owner and turn it into luxury apartments. He’d tried – also unsuccessfully – to float his property business on the stock exchange. He’d siphoned money from his businesses into offshore tax havens. Certainly, all of these things were a bit dodgy, a bit unscrupulous. But they were no worse than things other ambitious young entrepreneurs might do when trying to claw their way to the top. My own interactions with Fabian had been limited to seeing him sometimes in the gym, and being annoyed when he had loud conversations on his phone or didn’t wipe his sweat off the equipment – but there were plenty of other people who did that stuff too.

  Still, Dani’s news made me want to bundle her up and whisk her off to a convent where she’d never be able to date anyone ever again, if that was what it took to stop her dating Fabian. There was something about him that just gave me the creeps. Actually, there were lots of things. The stretch marks on his arms and shoulders that suggested he’d bulked up really quickly. The row of gleaming-white veneers that showed when he smiled, like he had unchewed chewing gum instead of teeth. The way he looked at you with dark eyes that were narrow, unblinking and had no light in them at all, like a snake’s.

  People born under the sign of Aquarius, my Stargazer app had told me, had highly developed levels of intuition. I wasn’t sure whether that was true, but Fabian Flatley certainly sent my intuition into overdrive, and not in a good way.

  But then, Dani was a grown-up woman. She was perfectly capable of making her own decisions about who to go out with – and, after all, it was just a drink. For now, at least.

  ‘That’s exciting,’ I said. ‘It’ll be fun to go somewhere fabulous. But Dani – be careful, okay?’

  ‘Careful of what?’

  ‘It’s just… I think Fabian might be a bit dodgy. The apartment blocks he owns…’

  ‘But I’m not looking for a flat, am I?’ She smiled.

  ‘Well, no. But his tax affairs…’

  ‘And I’m not his accountant, so that’s not my problem, is it? He’s just a guy. It’s just a date. Besides, I spoke to Mum last night and she was like, “I take it you’re still not seeing anyone, Danielle?” and I had to fess up that I wasn’t. Next time, I’ll be able to tell her I had a date with a hot entrepreneur.’

  ‘But, Dani…’ I hesitated. There was nothing concrete I could warn her about, nothing much more than the feeling Fabian gave me of deep-down wrongness. But clearly he didn’t give Dani that feeling, or she wouldn’t have agreed to go out with him. ‘Just don’t rush into anything.’

  ‘Ha! I’ll be rushing into that bar for sure. It’s ages since I’ve been anywhere that cool.’

  ‘Me too, if I’m honest.’

  I sighed, realising how true that was. When I’d thought about dating, I’d imagined that it would involve – you know – actual dates. As opposed to sitting alone in my bedroom looking at my phone for hours and hours, trying to find people I wanted to date who wanted to date me back. And so far, I’d managed a few drinks in a dull pub with an even duller man, a picnic in the park that still made me die inside a bit when I remembered it, and a hook-up that had got me ghosted faster than you could say, ‘Thank you, next.’

  I could hardly blame Dani for jumping at the chance when she was asked out by someone without having to go through all that rigmarole. And Fabian was, on the face of it, quite the catch. He was handsome, if you could overlook the fake teeth and dead eyes. He must be intelligent, to have all those business ideas. And if the sleek black Lexus he parked on double yellow lines outside the gym was anything to go by, he was wealthy too.

  Not that I was jealous – I wouldn’t have dated Fabian if Tinder lived up to its name and burned to the ground along with every man in it. I just wanted Dani to not have her confidence knocked the way Seth had knocked mine, not be disappointed like Justin had disappointed me, not have a load of abuse hurled at her like Paul had hurled at me. I just wanted her to not get hurt, and I suspected Fabian was the hurting type.

  Eleven

  With Venus rising, love is in the stars – and you could find it where you least expect to…

  ‘I mean, I’m sure he’s just busy,’ Dani said. ‘He must be, right? With all those businesses to run and stuff.’

  I delved into the bowl of Doritos and took one with loads of chilli seasoning on it. We were in the living room of Dani’s shared flat, with the place to ourselves as her flatmates were all out – one having tea with his mum, one away for the weekend camping with her boyfriend, and one at an all-day work conference with drinks afterwards in the evening. Nothing wildly exciting, admittedly, but it made Dani’s and my lack of dates or social lives feel all the more tragic by comparison. So when she’d suggested earlier, after our workout, that I drop round to hers in the evening for Netflix and a takeaway, I’d jumped at the chance.

  Even if it meant listening to her agonise about Fabian on repeat.

  ‘You mustn’t let him treat you like a doormat, Dani. Seriously. How long does it take to send a text?’

  ‘I know, I know. But we’ve only been on one date. It’s not like we’re serious or anything. Yet.’

  He might not be, but you are, I thought. I splashed some more of the pinot grigio I’d brought into our glasses.

  ‘I could call him, I suppose,’ Dani said, as if th
e idea had only just occurred to her for the first time, quite out of the blue.

  ‘No, you couldn’t.’

  ‘Why not? It’s the twenty-first century.’

  ‘Because you have already.’

  Dani met my eyes with a look of wide-eyed innocence, then dropped her gaze and giggled. ‘Okay. I have.’

  ‘How many times?’

  ‘Just the once. Well, once that I left a message.’

  ‘And how many times when you didn’t?’

  She checked her phone, even though I knew she didn’t need to. ‘Twice.’

  ‘And how many times with your number withheld, to see if he’d pick up if he didn’t know it was you?’

  ‘Bloody hell, Zoë. This is like being on Burden of Truth.’

  ‘So? How many times?’

  ‘Five,’ she admitted.

  ‘And did he pick up?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘So you see. That’s good really. It means he probably is actually busy, and he isn’t just avoiding you.’

  Although it could equally mean that he was one of those people who no one ever rings without arranging a time first, and so a bunch of calls, three from Dani’s number and five from an unknown one, were all blatantly the same person. But of course I didn’t say that.

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘It’s possible. But don’t call him again, okay? Otherwise I’m going to have to take your phone off you and hide it, and then when he does ring you won’t be able to answer.’

  ‘Promise.’ Reluctantly, Dani put her phone down. Then she picked it up again. ‘Shall we order food? And find a movie to watch?’

  ‘And open another bottle?’

  ‘Done. Pizza or curry?’

  ‘Pizza. I cook spicy food all the time at work, and I’ve been craving pizza ever since I heard Papa John’s are doing one with fake cheese and jackfruit pepperoni,’ I said.

  ‘And I love their ham and pineapple.’

  ‘Pineapple? On pizza? Who are you and what have you done with my mate?’