Cloudy with a Chance of Love

by Fiona Collins

  ‘No, I haven’t!

  ‘Yes, you have, and he’s in love with you.’

  ‘What the hell! What the hell are you going on about, Sam?’

  ‘Yes, Sam,’ said Peony turning to her with an amused look on her face. ‘Explain what the hell you’re going on about.’

  ‘Look,’ said Sam, ‘A man doesn’t just walk around in the rain, looking for a woman, when he’s not sure where she’ll be and when. He didn’t know you’d be outside Caspar’s at that exact time of night, did he–’

  ‘– well, no, I just told him I had the graduation and the dinner – I didn’t say where or when…’

  ‘So he came looking for you. A man doesn’t come looking for a woman at this time of night – in the pouring rain – with flowers unless he likes her. Really likes her’

  ‘But the flowers were an apology,’ I protested. ‘Because he made a mistake. He said so. He said–’

  ‘I heard what he said. I heard it all. Is it within the realms of possibility that he made a mistake because he stopped kissing you, because he let you go…?

  ‘No, not at all, not at all, Sam. I know he regretted that kiss. It was a bad idea, it…’

  ‘Do you regret that kiss?

  ‘No.’ I sat back against the seat and closed my eyes.

  ‘I saw how he looked at you, Daryl. He doesn’t regret it either.’

  ‘Oh, Sam,’ I said, opening my eyes again and shaking my head at her. ‘Are you sure you’ve not got your head in the clouds again? Are we venturing into mumbo jumbo territory? Are you going to start going on about the stars?’

  ‘No, I’m not. And I haven’t got my head in the clouds,’ said Sam. ‘My feet are firmly on the ground. But you, my friend, have got your head in the sand. He likes you, I’m telling you. The whole searching-in-the-rain-with-flowers thing would not have been happening otherwise.’

  ‘I must admit, I agree,’ said Peony. ‘Who would do that, otherwise?’

  ‘I don’t know…’ I said.

  ‘Oh, stop being so bloody obtuse,’ snapped Sam, but she was grinning. ‘You really like him, don’t you? Tell the truth, Daryl.’

  I leant further back against the back seat and sighed. ‘Oh bloody hell, Sam, you’ve got me bang to rights.’ (And I did feel a bit like an American criminal, actually, in the back seat of a car like this, being driven by my two interrogators – good cop, bad cop; it was obvious who was who…) ‘Yes, I do bloody like him. I like him more than I’ve ever liked anyone for a very, very long time.’

  ‘Right, then…’ Sam indicated left and turned onto a road that seemed to have a million kebab shops, all with extremely bright lights. ‘…Stop being so bloody stupid and let’s get you home.’

  It was still absolutely chucking it down when Sam pulled up outside my house. I’d done a lot of thinking on that journey. After my admission, Sam and Peony had chatted amongst themselves about work and I had stared out of the window into the rain and the streets flashing by. Was Sam right, did Will really like me? It did seem to make sort of sense what she said, about the flowers, and Will wandering the streets trying to find me, and it was a really nice bunch of flowers. Why had he gone to all that bother if he just wanted us to be friends and neighbours? I thought about it. I know he didn’t normally work on a Friday afternoon and evening, he’d told me so, so he could have been in that area specially. Especially for me. Then again, he could have been on call tonight, he could have got the flowers from a very glamorous petrol station, he could hate me and my kisses and the bouquet really was just an empty gesture to undermine the fact he’d made a huge mistake and felt bad about it… Could Sam really have determined all that romantic stuff by the flowers and the look on his face?

  ‘Do you really think he likes me, Sam?’ I’d asked her as we’d driven through Wimbledon and down towards my road.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Sam. ‘And if you’re still not convinced, why don’t you go and ask him? You could knock for him, when you get home.’

  I laughed. ‘You’re full of it, tonight,’ I said. ‘And we’re not fifteen. God, I don’t know. I don’t know if I could do that. I don’t think I’m brave enough.’

  ‘Want us to come with you?’ Sam looked at Peony and grinned.

  ‘As I said, we’re not fifteen – but thanks for the offer.’

  ‘No worries.’

  ‘Will you be all right?’ asked Peony. ‘Tonight.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll be absolutely fine.’

  ‘We can come and tuck you in?’

  ‘No, I’ll be fine. You’ve done more than enough, really. You rescued me. Thank you so much.’ I really meant it. I loved these two. So I once had a friend who had betrayed me in the worst possible way, so what? I also had these two absolute gems in my life, who I knew would always be there for me and would always come through for me. I appreciated it more than they could ever know.

  Sam turned into my street. We drove down it, past the Victorian semis, and all the cars parked outside. All was quiet. All was still. The rain continued to plummet down. The windscreen wipers were going like the clappers.

  ‘Oh, hello!’ she said. ‘There appears to be a man on your doorstep.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘Love you, Daryl!’

  ‘Love you guys, too. I’ll call you tomorrow.’

  ‘Make sure you do!’

  I shut the car door and walked slowly up the drive. Will, not a bunch of flowers in sight, was sitting in my porch, on my front doorstep. He still looked completely wet through, but as he was out of the rain, his hair was no longer dripping torrents into his eyes; it was swept upwards in a damp approximation of its usual style. It looked cute. Really cute. And so did he.

  ‘Hello, Daryl.’

  ‘Hello, Will.’ I stepped into the porch, aware of not wanting to trip up in my heels. I pulled down the hem of my dress self-consciously, but at the same time I was glad I was wearing it. My bag and my half-a-cape were clutched in one hand. ‘This is a surprise.’ I realised I was shaking; my mind all over the place. What was he doing here?

  ‘I promise I’m not going to try and give you flowers again,’ he said. There was certainly no sign of them. It was just Will. Will in his smart trousers and shoes and his dark grey overcoat.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And I’m sorry if I startled you, approaching you on the street like that.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I repeated. I felt so unsure of myself. I didn’t know what he was going to say; I didn’t know what I was going to say. I was half excited, half bloody terrified.

  ‘I’m glad you got home all right.’

  ‘Me too,’ I nodded.

  ‘Were those your friends? Who picked you up?’

  ‘Yes. My two best friends.’

  ‘Great. Good.’ He placed his hands in his lap like he didn’t know what to do with them. His eyes were all big and brown, and framed by eyelashes that were damp. ‘So how was the graduation? Were you okay? Freya’s dad, your ex-husband was there, was he?’

  ‘Yes, he was. And his new girlfriend who used to be my best friend.’

  Will raised his eyebrows. ‘Ah, is that a story for another day?’

  ‘It could be.’ Would it be? ‘And yes, thank you, I was okay.’

  ‘That’s good. I was a bit worried about you.’ He moved his hands from his lap and motioned towards the door. ‘Are you going in?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would it be okay if I came in… as well? I’d like to talk to you. Try to talk to you again. If I may.’

  My heart started beating in my chest. He wanted to come in. He wanted to talk to me. Was Sam right?

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Yes, that would be okay.’

  ‘Oh. Here.’ Will stood up and held out a multi-coloured envelope. ‘Some more post came to me by mistake, this morning. That rookie postman still can’t read, I’m afraid… it might be important… Sorry, it’s a bit wet. I’d left it in my porch to remind me to give it to you.’

  I took the
envelope from him. His fingers were cold and slightly damp but they lingered on mine for a fleeting second. Our eyes met then I looked away. Oh, it was only a bit of junk mail. A charity thing with a free pen; I could feel it through the envelope.

  ‘Thanks,’ I smiled. Then I put my key in the lock and stepped into the hall, with Will stepping in behind me.

  ‘Hey, this looks good,’ said Will, pretending to look around him all surprised. ‘Do it yourself?’

  No,’ I grinned nervously. ‘I got a man in.’

  ‘Good brushwork.’

  He grinned right back at me – we were standing quite close to each other again. What was it with me and this man and halls?

  ‘Shoes on or off?’ he asked. He was asking that, at a time like this?

  ‘Keep them on, it’s fine,’ I said. I liked the height my heels were giving me. They made me feel less nervous. I didn’t want to be padding round in my bare feet as I’d feel more vulnerable, somehow. ‘Right. So,’ I said. ‘Shall we go in the kitchen?’

  He followed me into the kitchen, where I placed my bag on the side then turned on the big light. Ouch, that seemed too bright, so I swiftly turned it off again and switched on the under-cupboard strip lights instead. That was better; I hoped the effect was akin to candlelight, but doubted it. I shrugged off my cape and folded it over the back of a kitchen chair. I was glad he was seeing me in this dress but at the same time I was glad my bottom was facing away from him, wedged as it was against a counter top.

  ‘Nice dress,’ he said, giving me a gentle – and what I hoped was appreciative – smile.

  ‘It should be – it cost me a bomb!’

  He took his coat off, too, folded it and put it on the worktop. He was wearing a casual chambray shirt; it suited him. ‘I hope you didn’t get any offers tonight,’ he said, in a teasing but good-natured manner. ‘You, in that dress.’

  ‘I get offers every night,’ I replied, in an equally teasing but good-natured way, but with my cheeks warming with a sudden blush. It was true, I pretty much had, this week, got lots of offers. Never mind that most of them were unsavoury.

  ‘Daryl,’ he said hesitantly. ‘Can I ask you…’ – and it came out all in a rush – ‘… are you still seeing that speed-date guy?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I told you I wasn’t.’ Why was he asking? Why was he asking this now? And why had he teased about ‘offers’? My pulse quickened and I felt a little light-headed.

  ‘I just want to be clear why you rejected my flowers tonight.’

  ‘Ah,’ I said. ‘The flowers.’ I sighed. ‘To be honest, Will, I wasn’t happy with your apology.’

  ‘Can you please expand on that?’ He looked all plaintive again.

  ‘You were telling me you’d made a mistake. No woman likes to hear from a man that kissing her was a mistake.’ I sounded pretty flippant but my heart was going like the clappers. What was he going to say?

  He paused for a moment, then nodded. ‘Ah. Right. No, I agree,’ he said, and I held my breath, waiting for him to continue. ‘But that’s not what I meant.’

  I exhaled, just a tiny bit. ‘What did you mean?’

  He sighed and wiped a hand across his brow. ‘The thing is…well… God, no wonder you said what you did, really. I didn’t articulate myself properly… I was nervous…’

  My heart was beating ridiculously fast. ‘I can’t imagine you being nervous.’

  ‘Oh, I can be, believe me,’ he smiled, running his hand through his hair. ‘I’m nervous now.’

  ‘Are you?’ I realised I was holding onto the edge of the kitchen worktop, like a ballast. My heart was now in danger of stopping altogether.

  ‘Yes! For god’s sake, Daryl, you’re not making this easy for me. Can I please just explain myself to you?’

  ‘Okay.’ I wasn’t making it easy for him, was I? I was just suddenly petrified of what he might say.

  ‘Can we start with me being a jealous numpty?’

  ‘Jealous?’

  ‘Yes.’ He looked so serious. My heart kick-started and really began to race now. All those feelings I’d tried to squash since last night – since I’d met him, in fact – were flooding back round my body and I wasn’t sure I wanted them to. I didn’t dare hope they were worth re-igniting. No, he is not that good looking. No, you have no desire whatsoever to kiss him again. No, you do not think he would make the best boyfriend ever. He couldn’t hear my heart could he? He couldn’t see my body shaking or notice my cheeks flushing in the glow of the under-cupboard lights? I hoped my pupils weren’t dilating to the size of saucers, like those of dogs in cartoons.

  ‘I haven’t behaved particularly impeccably this week,’ he said and cleared his throat slightly. ‘I thought – and I think you gave me that impression – that you’d been out two nights with the same man, Tuesday night and Wednesday night. I saw you go out again, that second time; you looked lovely.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I’m polite; it just slipped out. I was really gripping the worktop now. I had given him the impression I’d been out with Ben two nights running…

  ‘You’re welcome.’ He smiled, a nervous sort of smile. ‘I was worried it must be getting serious really quickly. I was jealous… and I sort of panicked. I thought, as us blokes say, I’d better get in there, quick, ask you over to mine for Halloween. Stop you from seeing him for a third night, I suppose. I didn’t dare ask you about your love forecast – the whole ninety-nine percent chance of love thing you told me about – and if it was working out.’ I’d forgotten he even knew about that. Fancy him remembering that. ‘So, I invited you to spend Halloween with me.’ He looked all guilty. ‘And it all went really well, didn’t it?’

  ‘Halloween?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It did.’ All I could think about was that he was jealous. Jealous!

  ‘Then we had that kiss.’

  ‘Yes.’ I looked away. I was blushing again, beneath my half rained-off make-up.

  ‘That kiss was… pretty amazing.’ Oh god, he’d felt it too. Had he really felt it, too? ‘But then my annoying sense of what’s right kicked in. We’re neighbours, new neighbours at that. We’d become pretty good friends, Daryl, at least I thought so. I didn’t want to ruin what we had. You’d just got divorced; you needed a friend, not some next door neighbour trying to get off with you… I was sure it was the last thing you wanted… and I did feel terrible because you were seeing someone and I’m really not the kind of bloke to steal someone else’s girl –’(Girl, I loved that, despite the fact he was telling me why he hadn’t wanted to carry on kissing me). ‘– And…’

  I gave him a half-smile.

  ‘Angie,’ I said.

  ‘Angie?’

  It was so hard to read the look on his face, but I suddenly knew, with my heart deflating like a balloon, that I was right and Sam was wrong. It would never work between Will and me; there were too many obstacles between us.

  I sighed. ‘You couldn’t carry on kissing me because of Angie. You’re not ready to move on. I completely understand. You don’t want to be on some tragic rebound with a neighbour you hardly know – although maybe you’ve had lots of other rebounds, who knows, you’re so good looking – and… well, you really don’t want to rebound with me, do you, if you’re not ready? I’ve only just got divorced, as you say. I’m hardly a catch… I’ve got a big bottom, I…’

  ‘Daryl,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Will you come somewhere with me?’

  ‘What? Where?

  ‘Next door. I want to show you something.’

  ‘Your etchings? Ha ha.’ It was a feeble joke and no one was laughing.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Okay.’ I felt more than nervous now, suddenly. ‘Shall I put the kettle on first? Coffee, tea..?’

  ‘No.’ The way he said it made parts of my body tingle. Oh god, he was all commanding and serious and sexy. What did he want to show me? And he took my arm and led me out of the front door (I remembered to grab my key
s, on the way out; I’m sensible like that) and across the front of his house through to his side gate, and across his garden to his summerhouse. The rain was still coming down but I hardly noticed. It could have been hail, snow and thunder and I still probably wouldn’t have noticed.

  Even as we approached Will’s summerhouse I could tell there was something hugely different about it. There was a wavering yellow-y, orange glow coming from inside. The windows looked all clean. A cute hanging basket of winter blooms was above the door.

  Will had the key in his pocket. He opened the door. I stepped inside and, I couldn’t help it, I let out a surprised gasp.

  ‘Oh my god, Will, a Calamity Jane make-over!’

  It was clean, it was tidy; it had been completely swept of dust and cobwebs. All of the teetering pile of junk had gone. There were candles on the little ledges all around the walls, flickering merrily in little silver candle holders. Two garden chairs, with striped canvas seats, immaculately clean and pretty, sat opposite each other at a small, scrubbed wooden table. And on the table was a jug of flowers and some sort of pie, pale orange in colour and sitting on a white plate, as well as two mugs, a thermos flask and a pot of what looked like clotted cream. I realised it was also lovely and warm in there; an electric fan heater was on in one corner, chucking out heat.

  ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘I love it.’ My voice was barely above a whisper. What was all this about?

  ‘I’ve done hot chocolate. Do you like it?’

  ‘I love it,’ I repeated. ‘Who doesn’t like hot chocolate?’

  ‘And there’s George,’ he said, pointing at the pie. ‘What’s left of him. I made it last night.’

  ‘You and your insomniac baking…’

  He shrugged. ‘What can you do? It’s when I do my best work. Please sit down.’

  I sat down, looking around me and marvelling at everything, whilst trying not to shake. My foot immediately started going, under the table. When had he done this? When had he transformed the summerhouse? He poured the hot chocolate and cut us both a slice of pie. We ate for a few moments, in silence – well, I tried to; it was delicious, but I really didn’t have much of an appetite.