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

by Sophie Ranald

  I wasn’t sure whether that was a dig at my inappropriate attire or a compliment.

  I sniffed and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. ‘That’s because I wasn’t there. I wasn’t meant to be here at all.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I was on my way to a party with my friend and we just kind of accidentally got caught up in it, and then I fell over because I’m wearing ridiculous shoes.’

  He looked me up and down appraisingly. ‘Yes, you’re not exactly dressed for it, are you? I mean, you look lovely and everything, but…’

  His lips twitched as he tried to suppress a smile, and I found myself giggling too. There was something about the way his teeth flashed in his tanned face and his eyes crinkled up at the corners that made me feel suddenly much, much better, like something good might come out of this disaster of a day after all. And I remembered the message from the app, saying that I might find love where I least expected.

  ‘I haven’t exactly got my protest-march A game on,’ I admitted.

  ‘I guess the party’s loss was the protest march’s gain.’

  ‘Not really. I mean, I wasn’t going to make much difference to global warming sitting on the pavement having a cry.’

  ‘Crying for climate change. That’s a new one on me.’

  ‘I guess it’s never going to catch on.’

  We both laughed again. He had a great laugh, totally infectious.

  ‘Show’s over, now, anyway. Fancy a drink?’ he asked.

  I felt a little leap of excitement. Could this be about to turn into an actual date? A date with a man I realised I properly fancied? Then I looked down at my scraped knees and torn dress, and realised that my make-up must be all smudged from crying.

  ‘I can’t, really. Not like this.’

  I gestured to my grazed knees and he winced sympathetically. ‘I’d suggest going back to my place to get you cleaned up, but that’s in Bedford at the moment, and I’m not sure a two-hour train journey is worth it for a bit of Savlon.’

  ‘Probably not. Mine’s closer, so I should get home and sort myself out.’

  ‘Sure. Well, I guess I’ll see you around, if social justice is your thing.’ He half turned away, then turned back again, like he didn’t really want to leave.

  I felt like I ought to wave goodbye and say I’d see him around too, even though I knew I wouldn’t. But there was a voice in my head practically jumping up and down waving its arms and saying, ‘No! Don’t! What if he’s The One that Got Away and you’re about to let him do just that?’

  He was still standing there, looking down at me, and I was looking back. It was like there was a thread running between us that we were both about to break, despite not wanting to, because we didn’t know how not to. He held out his arms and I moved into them for a hug, and he held me close for a moment. I could feel his breath ruffling my hair and the heat of his body through his T-shirt, and I didn’t want him to let go.

  ‘Hey, what star sign are you?’ I asked, my voice muffled by his chest.

  ‘You normally ask random guys that question when you don’t even know their name?’

  ‘Hardly ever. I guess it must be something about you. I’m Zoë, by the way, and Aquarius.’

  ‘The sign of spirituality, intuition, creativity, idealism and vision. I’m Gemini. Outgoing, intelligent, optimistic, passionate and dynamic. Name’s Jude. Oh, and Geminis are also highly impulsive, and highly compatible with Aquarius. Just saying.’

  ‘In that case,’ I said, ‘why don’t you come back to mine?’

  Twelve

  It may feel as if your dreams are slipping through your fingers today. But maybe you’ve just been dreaming of the wrong things?

  ‘Right, our lamb’s ready for the oven.’ Robbie gave one of the garlic-and-rosemary-studded legs a fond pat. ‘How’s that nut roast looking?’

  I poked at the mass of pulverised nuts, herbs, onion and breadcrumbs in the roasting dish. To be honest, it looked like a dog’s dinner.

  ‘It’ll be grand once it’s cooked and covered in gravy,’ I said. ‘I’m all over the place this morning. And you’re not looking too sharp yourself. You almost put the crumble topping on the broccoli. You thought I didn’t notice, didn’t you?’

  ‘But I have an excuse.’

  ‘You do? What’s that?’

  ‘Oh, Zoë.’ Theatrically, Robbie wrapped his arms around his thin shoulders. ‘I’m smitten. Properly smitten, with a bloke who came round mine last night. He’s called Rex. Isn’t that just the most amazing name ever? He’s older than me, right up against the upper limit, a whole thirty-two. But when has age ever been a barrier to true love?’

  I could have pointed out several situations in which it would be just that, but I didn’t want to dim his enthusiasm – and besides, I found I was dying to hear more. Not least to deflect Robbie’s thoughts away from the fact that I was, indeed, all over the place.

  ‘Steady on. You can’t be in love when you’ve only seen him once.’

  ‘But I can! You just know, don’t you, when you just click with somebody.’

  Did I know, now? I wasn’t sure I knew anything; my heart and my mind felt like they’d been put through a mixer on high speed.

  ‘Go on then. Tell me all about sex with Rex.’

  Robbie giggled. ‘I know, right? How could someone called that be anything other than hot AF in the sack? But there’s so much more to it. It was like we really connected. He…’

  He carried on, and I listened, peeling potatoes and trying not to allow my gaze to stray upwards, beyond the extractor fan to the ceiling, wishing it was made of glass so I could see through it, into my flat.

  When I’d left it that morning, Jude had been in the shower.

  We’d walked to the station together – or rather, he’d walked and I’d hobbled, declining his kind offer of a piggyback because, well, I wanted to salvage what scraps of dignity I could – and boarded a train together. After I’d texted Dani to check she was okay, we’d shared the rest of the water from his water bottle and the rest of a pack of nuts and raisins he’d found in his backpack, and we’d talked.

  He told me he was a vegan, just like me. His parents were divorced, just like mine. He’d even grown up in a nondescript small town about forty miles from the nondescript small town where I grew up. He’d travelled around Europe after dropping out of uni, just like me.

  It was the weirdest thing, like meeting my own shadow. We got back to the flat, stopping on the way at Craft Fever to buy some beers (he liked cucumber saison, obviously, because it was my favourite), and after I’d cleaned up my knees we decided we were both starving, so I made us beans on toast, explaining that all the proper cooking I did was in the pub downstairs, and my kitchen wasn’t equipped with much more than a microwave and a toaster.

  The flat felt even smaller than usual with him there. It wasn’t that he was particularly big – he wasn’t; he was lean and graceful, and only a bit above average height. It was more that moving around the flat, and around him, made me super-conscious of not wanting to touch him accidentally but very much wanting to touch him on purpose. Also, the bed seemed to have increased in size so it loomed hugely, there whenever I turned my head like it was following me around the place saying, ‘Come on. You’re going to end up here, you know. Get on with it.’

  ‘Beans on toast is my fave,’ Jude said. ‘So long as you’ve got chilli sauce to put on it. And you do, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, and our eyes met and we both smiled the same identical, goofy smile, because it was just too strange and amazing that this was happening.

  I told him a bit about the Ginger Cat: how Alice had saved it from being bought and redeveloped by Fabian Flatley (although I didn’t mention that it was Fabian who Dani and I had been going to meet); how in the end the pub had been purchased by a co-operative of local people who were running it for the benefit of the community; how Maurice had taught me to play dominoes. Jude told me about the internsh
ip he was doing with a homelessness charity in Bedfordshire, even though he was as good as homeless himself, sleeping on a friend’s sofa during the week and going back to his parents’ place at weekends.

  ‘I told Mum not to expect me back until late tonight,’ he said. ‘She worries about me like I’m still about fourteen and might fall off my skateboard.’

  ‘Oh my God, I had a skateboard when I was fourteen, too! I was totally crap at it. My knees were always covered in scabs, like they’ll be tomorrow.’

  ‘Mine too. Mum kept trying to make me wear pads and a helmet, but I always took them off when I met my mates because I thought it was uncool.’

  I laughed, not needing to tell him that I’d done exactly the same.

  ‘But I bet you were one of the edgy kids,’ I said. ‘Sneaking off to gigs at weekends and getting into pubs with fake ID and smoking weed behind the bike sheds. Weren’t you?’

  He widened his eyes in fake innocence. ‘Of course not! Okay, I was. How do you know? Were you there? Only there was this gorgeous redhead I snogged when I was in my GCSE year. I always felt like she was the one that got away.’

  ‘Lucky her. But it wasn’t me – you’d have remembered my braces for sure.’

  He laughed. ‘I had braces too. They’d have got caught up in yours, and we’d still be trying to untangle ourselves.’

  When we’d finished the food and the beers, Jude stood up and said he supposed he’d better get going, if he was going to make the last train, and I hesitated for only a second before saying, ‘You can stay if you like.’

  ‘I thought you’d never offer,’ he said.

  ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ I countered.

  ‘There’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom.’ I felt suddenly shy. ‘Help yourself.’

  ‘Thanks. It’s like being in a five-star hotel.’

  He disappeared into the bathroom and I enticed Frazzle out from under the sofa where he’d been hiding, feeling terrible about scaring him but telling myself he just wasn’t used to strangers, and Jude was a complete animal lover so of course it would be okay and they’d be friends before long. I gave him some dinner and changed the water in his bowl and cleaned his litter tray and gave him some fuss, all the while listening to the unfamiliar sounds of Jude in my bathroom: water running, the toilet flushing, the tread of his feet on the floorboards. The flat suddenly felt very, very small and I felt very, very shy.

  A few minutes later, Jude emerged, wearing only his T-shirt and black cotton boxer shorts. His legs were long and strong and I could see a tan line above his knees. He must spend a lot of time outside in the sun, wearing shorts.

  I gestured towards the bed, relieved that I’d remembered to make it that morning. There was a big patch of ginger fur on the duvet cover where Frazzle liked to sleep.

  ‘I can sleep on the floor, if you like,’ Jude said. ‘I’ve been up since four and I can sleep anywhere, anyway.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I’m just going to have a shower.’ And get rid of every last scrap of the make-up that had settled into my pores and made my face feel grimy and horrible, and shave my legs for the second time that day, and rub body lotion all over myself, and spend far too long staring at my body in the mirror from all angles wondering if it would do.

  ‘Sure.’ Jude stretched out on the pillows, one arm behind his head so I could see a strip of pale skin between his top and his underwear, looking at his phone, as relaxed as if he was in his own bed at home, or wherever he thought of as home. I could see Frazzle’s tail sticking out from under the bed, but I didn’t think Jude had noticed it.

  I showered quickly, worrying stupidly that he might come in. What did it matter if he did, since we were about to sleep together? But still, the idea was unsettling. My hair was already kinking and frizzing, but there was nothing I could do about that. And I wasn’t going to put on my lacy pyjamas, because that would be too try-hard. I settled for a T-shirt from a long-ago PETA convention, faded and worn almost see-through, and black pants, because if that was good enough for Jude surely it was good enough for me.

  And, after I’d brushed my teeth a second time, I pushed open the bathroom door and approached the bed.

  Jude was fast asleep, his head and feet sticking out from either end of the duvet. Frazzle was sitting on the little table where I worked and ate, looking deeply resentful.

  So I got into bed and lay there, trying to breathe without making a sound, my mind racing like a poor caged hamster on a wheel. What if I’d read this all wrong, and Jude simply hadn’t felt the same sense of connection I had? What if he had genuinely just been knackered and hadn’t wanted to trek across London at night to get a train home? What if he simply didn’t fancy me? What if no one would ever fancy me again and I was destined to be alone forever and never have sex again?

  I tried to relax, to identify points of tension in my body and release them, to distract my brain by counting backwards from three hundred, but nothing worked. Next to me, Jude turned over and flung an arm across the pillow. I looked at his face in the semi-darkness, admiring the swoop of his cheekbones and the clean line of his jaw, but it was still and unreadable in sleep. Eventually, I felt the heavy thud of Frazzle jumping up onto the bed. He didn’t get under the duvet with me as usual, though;, he just settled down on my feet in a disgruntled fashion and started to snore, and eventually I must have fallen asleep too.

  I woke up at six as usual, and for a second everything felt normal. Then I remembered Jude. I turned over, cautiously, partly not wanting to wake him, partly fearing that he might have vanished in the night, or somehow never have been there at all. But he was. His glossy brown hair was spread out over my pillow, his long body was a Z shape under my duvet, his hand was so close my hair was almost brushing it.

  Silently, I sat up. What was the etiquette here? Did I get up and get ready for work as usual, and head out? Did I wake him up and tell him he needed to leave? I didn’t have a clue. But I knew I needed to wee and clean my teeth, so I stood up and made my way to the bathroom, Frazzle padding behind me.

  When I came out, Jude was awake, sitting up against the pillows.

  ‘Hello,’ I said.

  ‘Hello. What time is it?’

  ‘Ten past six.’

  ‘Good, nice and early. Come here.’

  I went over and sat on the bed, and Jude took my hand. It was the first time he’d touched me since he’d helped me up from the pavement the previous day, which seemed like about a century ago. His hand was warm and dry and strong, and fitted perfectly around mine. I felt a surge of nervous excitement at his touch, not knowing what would happen next.

  ‘I believe we have some unfinished business,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t believe we even started.’

  ‘We didn’t. Better do something about that, then.’

  And he leaned over and kissed me on the lips, very gently. My lips parted and I felt his tongue brush mine, his fingers caress my face. His eyes were so close to mine that they were just a blur, so I let my eyelids close and let myself kiss him back, losing myself in the closeness and newness of him like I was diving into a pool of warm water.

  Thirteen

  Today, a tall dark stranger will bring good news – but you may not see it for what it is at first.

  I didn’t hear from Dani for a couple of days. Since her reply to the message I’d sent when I was on the train with Jude, in which she’d said she was okay, in one piece and about to get on a train herself, there’d been nothing. I’d messaged her a couple more times, but she hadn’t replied. In this case, I strongly suspected, no news was bad news.

  So I was relieved when I turned up at the gym on Wednesday and she was there, in the plank position on the mat, her legs trembling with the effort of holding her body still.

  ‘Hey,’ I said, squatting down next to her. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Zoë!’ She flopped down onto the mat, then rolled over on her back. To my surprise, her face was glowing with happi
ness that definitely wasn’t the result of a killer workout. ‘Look! Look over there!’

  She gestured towards the rack of wire cages that were the closest the Dark Arch had to lockers. I could see her familiar purple nylon backpack squeezed into one of them, and on the floor in front of it was an enormous bouquet of red roses, far too big to have fitted in the locker.

  ‘From Fabian?’

  She nodded. ‘They were here when I arrived. He doesn’t know my home or work address so he sent them to Mike’s. How adorable is that? And there was a note with them that just said, “Sorry. Will you consider giving me another chance?” So of course I messaged him right away.’

  Of course you did, I thought. ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘He said he was really, really sorry about Saturday night. He said there was some cock-up with the guest list and he’d asked for our names to be added but they must’ve slipped through the cracks somehow, and he was going to sack that snooty blonde woman. He said he tried to text me that evening to ask where we were, but his phone was out of battery. And then he said he was really, really sorry some more, and he’s going to come round to mine on Friday night and I’m going to make dinner for him. So it’s okay!’

  Fabian’s story had as many holes in it as a colander, and it was him who should have been making dinner for Dani, by my reckoning, but there was no point saying that to her.

  ‘You’re going to have to help me, Zoë. What the hell do I cook for him? I want to impress him but I’m totally crap with food; my signature dish is scrambled eggs. What do I do?’

  Chicken a la salmonella, I thought. Day-old rice insufficiently heated through. Jerusalem artichoke soup that’ll blow him right out of your front door with the force of his own farts.

  ‘Steak,’ I said. ‘Man like that, a fabulous steak will impress him more than anything. I’ll get the organic place we use for beef to add a couple to our order, if you like? And I’ll lend you a meat thermometer so you can get it just right.’