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

by Sophie Ranald

I looked bizarre, yet also sexy, in a totally in-your-face kind of way. And I felt absolutely terrified, far more nervous than the first time I’d brought Jude back to the flat. What would he do? Would this overt display of my assets drive him wild with desire and transform him into a lover of Seth-like enthusiasm and skill, as I hoped? Or would he be horrified, assuming that his girlfriend had somehow transformed into Mistress Whiplash in the course of a fifteen-minute shower? Or maybe my new kit would have the opposite of the desired effect, turning him on so much that our usual perfunctory sex didn’t even get that far?

  I had no idea, but there was only one way to find out.

  I opened the bathroom door and stepped out as tentatively as a Victorian virgin on her wedding night, although rather less modestly dressed.

  Jude looked up from the sofa and for a second he gawped at me, his jaw literally falling open.

  And then he burst out laughing.

  Twenty-Three

  Today presents you with questions, Aquarius: why are you so afraid to be alone? What are you willing to sacrifice for love? And why is your closet full of odd socks?

  In the gym the next afternoon, I pushed myself relentlessly, lifting heavier weights than I ever had before, carrying on until my muscles were burning and trembling and Mike came over and stood by me, his face impassive, his hands ready to support my arms if they gave up altogether.

  ‘You were giving it some today,’ he commented when I got up off the bench, leaving behind the sweaty imprint of my arms and shoulders.

  I nodded, for a few moments enjoying the sensation of there being nothing else in the world except my screaming muscles and my pounding heart. There was no space to think, and that was what I wanted.

  ‘Missing your training buddy?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah. Was Dani in earlier?’

  ‘Nah. I haven’t seen her all week. I sent her a message but she didn’t read it.’

  ‘We went for drinks a few days ago. She’s okay, but she didn’t say anything about having a break from training. And she didn’t read the last message I sent her either.’

  ‘Sometimes people need a break,’ he said. ‘And sometimes they just quit. You get used to people being around, you think they’re part of the furniture, and then they just don’t turn up one day and that’s it.’

  ‘I’m sure that won’t happen with Dani, though. She loves it here.’

  ‘She’s made great progress. You too.’

  His words gave me a glow of pride, but that wasn’t enough to dispel the shadow of worry I felt over Dani. She wouldn’t just quit. Not out of the blue like that. Something was wrong. I made my way back to work with various scenarios jostling around in my head like unwelcome house guests, resolving to go round to Dani’s as soon as I could and check she was okay.

  The pub was busy that night, and Robbie had the evening off, so I had work to keep me occupied at least. I turned out plate after plate of food, the rhythm of a busy service as compelling and all-encompassing as that of a workout in the gym. Alone in the kitchen, at least I didn’t have to smile or pretend that everything was okay. I plugged in my headphones, I worked flat out until ten, and then I cleaned everything down, said a brief goodnight to Kelly and Freddie, and dragged myself wearily up the stairs to the flat.

  I found myself half-hoping that Jude wouldn’t be there, although I knew he would be.

  I still burned with shame, remembering the previous night – how he’d totally corpsed at the sight of me, laughing so hard he’d barely been able to speak, and then, when at last he could, he’d asked me what the hell I was doing in that hooker’s get-up.

  ‘I thought you were a feminist, Zoë,’ he’d said, gasping for breath. ‘Never realised you moonlighted as a Playboy centrefold.’

  ‘I… I just wanted to do something different. Something nice. For us.’

  ‘Different is right. Good grief. I haven’t seen anything like that since I was knocking one out over Babestation when I was sixteen.’

  ‘Don’t you like it?’ I folded my arms over my chest, not feeling even a bit sexy any more, only embarrassed and exposed.

  ‘Come here.’ He crossed the room and folded me in his arms. ‘You don’t need shit like that to be beautiful. No one does. You’re lovely as you are.’

  But his words couldn’t take away the sting of his laughter.

  ‘I just…’ I tried again, but my throat was closing up and I knew if I carried on, I’d start to cry.

  ‘Come on, let’s get you out of that nonsense.’

  He unhooked the bra – easily enough, because there was just one tiny clasp – and tugged the stretchy elastic thong down over my hips, tossing it into the corner of the room, where Frazzle leaped on it and started to savage it ferociously. Even if I was dishonest enough to try and return it, I thought, my cat had put paid to any chance of that.

  ‘If you’re in the mood, you only have to say, you know,’ Jude went on.

  I’d never, ever, been less in the mood in my life. But still, I felt I had to go through with it, and I did. Knowing it would be over in just a few short minutes, which it was.

  I’d lain awake for what felt like hours afterwards, cold with misery. And now I was going to have to spend the evening with him, with that between us.

  Jude was in the flat, lying on the bed, his shoes still on, his laptop on his knees.

  He glanced up when I came in. ‘Evening, babe. Busy day?’

  ‘Crazy.’ I leaned over to fuss Frazzle hello, and so I didn’t have to meet Jude’s eyes. ‘Has he had his dinner? Have you?’

  Jude shook his head. ‘I literally just walked in. I’m starving, actually.’

  And he and Frazzle both looked at me hopefully, expecting me to magic up their dinner. Well, Frazzle was entitled to, of course – he was a cat and if I didn’t provide regular meals, he would decimate the local wildlife and probably leave home. But I couldn’t help feeling slightly resentful that Jude, knowing I’d spent almost all day cooking for other people, now expected me to cook for him, too.

  ‘I ate earlier,’ I reminded him. ‘Family meal in the pub, remember? Five every evening.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Jude looked crestfallen. ‘Haven’t we got anything in, then?’

  ‘There’s some bread,’ I said. ‘And some porridge oats. And the twenty-four-hour Tesco down the road. And Uber Eats.’

  I opened the fridge and found a pack of the special raw cat food I’d started buying for Frazzle, on the basis that it was organic and ethically produced and apparently identical to cats’ natural diet, even though it cost a fortune and every time I ordered it I felt like the manufacturer, and my cat, had seen me coming. Frazz wound himself around my legs, meowing urgently as he always did, like he was quite sure that if he didn’t keep reminding me, I’d change my mind and do something else instead of feeding him.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind some ramen,’ Jude said. ‘Fancy any?’

  I shook my head. ‘Like I said, I ate earlier.’

  ‘Okay. Only, do you mind ordering on your account? I’m kind of skint, to be honest.’

  I felt resentment flare inside me. He’d been living here rent free for three months and never paid a penny towards the bills, and now he expected me to bankroll his takeaway as well? He’d laughed at me when I’d tried to make our sex life better by pushing my own boundaries.

  But was any of that his fault?

  He couldn’t have expected my clumsy attempt at seduction. The Zoë he’d met lived in trainers and was on a year-long shopping ban. I’d never said that there was anything amiss with our sex life; I’d just expected him to understand that what was okay for him wasn’t for me.

  I’d known when he moved in that he wasn’t earning a proper wage. It was unfair to judge him for that. But was it unfair to expect him to go to the supermarket on his way home and sort out some food for himself to eat, like an adult? Or eat toast and peanut butter, like I’d done on more occasions than I cared to remember, when my finances had been even more perilou
s than usual?

  But Jude was lying there on the bed, looking at me with wide pleading eyes just like Frazzle’s, and I found I didn’t have the energy to point any of that out to him.

  ‘Sure. Where do you want to order from?’

  ‘Blessing Bowl?’ he said immediately. ‘White natural with shiitake broth, crispy tofu, bamboo shoots and seaweed? And a side of edamame, and maybe some pumpkin gyoza? And a couple of bottles of lager. Thanks babe.’

  I couldn’t help wondering if he’d had the menu already open on his laptop, waiting for me to come home so he could place his order with me, and I could place it with the noodle place. That lot would set me back almost thirty quid, I calculated, tapping it all into the app. But it was churlish to point that out – churlish and mean. It wasn’t fair to take my worry over Dani out on Jude, when he was doing nothing he didn’t normally do.

  ‘It’ll be about thirty minutes,’ I said.

  ‘Great.’ Jude got up off the bed and stretched. ‘I’ll have a shower while I wait, then. And do you know where my jeans are? I couldn’t find any clean ones this morning.’

  ‘I should imagine they’re in the washing machine,’ I said, ‘with the rest of your stuff that I put in this morning.’

  ‘Damn it,’ he said, ‘I’ll have to hang them out now, and they probably won’t be dry by the morning.’

  ‘They probably won’t. There’s a twenty-four-hour launderette down the road; I expect they have dryers, if you’re desperate.’

  Finally, Jude looked sheepish. ‘Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’ve had a total fucker of a day and I’m tired and cranky and work’s just like a bloody pressure cooker at the moment with all these factions squabbling with one another, and I know I’m going to have to take a side but I don’t know which one to take. But that’s no excuse to be a bastard to you. Believe me, I appreciate everything you do for me, because ultimately that helps me to fight for what’s right. Okay?’

  There was so much to unpick there I didn’t know where to start. And I suddenly felt desperately weary. Wasn’t this the kind of conversation you were meant to have in a ten-year marriage that had begun to go sour, not in a relationship that was still brand new, still meant to be in its honeymoon period? I needed someone to confide in, someone to comfort me, someone who had my back and right now – actually, always – Jude wasn’t that person. Frazzle gave me more emotional support than Jude did and just about as much practical help.

  But I was too tired to think about it, too tired to argue about it, and definitely, categorically too tired to get myself into a row that might need make-up sex to resolve itself.

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘Just sort out your own clothes tonight, okay? I’m going to sleep.’

  And so I found myself, a few minutes later, lying rigid in my bed, with all the lights still on and Jude next to me, scrolling on his phone while he waited for his food, a half-smile on his face. Glancing at the screen over his shoulder, I could see he was on Indigo’s Instagram feed; I’d have recognised those abstract canvasses and that messy apartment anywhere. She was his friend, I reminded myself. There was no reason for him not to engage with her social media. But still, I felt like the four walls of the flat were closing in on me, the space getting smaller and smaller. I knew that if I managed to drift into sleep, I’d be woken immediately by the buzz of the entry phone and Jude crashing around finding plates and cutlery, probably asking me where the salt and hot sauce were, and possibly opening the washing machine to try and dry his jeans with my hairdryer.

  I was furious, exhausted and desperately sad, but I had no idea what to do. I could tell him to pack his stuff and leave, but I wasn’t capable of that. It felt too cruel, too final. I could leave myself, just for the night, to get some head space, but I had nowhere to go. Or, of course, I could just lie here, seething with resentment, and hope that eventually I’d fall asleep and maybe in the morning a solution would magically present itself.

  But I didn’t fall asleep, because after just a few minutes the door buzzer sounded, jerking me out of my thoughts. It wasn’t just one buzz, either – it was three or four, strung rapidly together.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Jude said, ‘take it easy, mate. You’re a fucking pizza delivery monkey not an air raid warden.’

  I sat up and looked at him, and he added hastily, ‘The pressure these guys work under on zero-hours contracts is a bloody disgrace. Got any change?’

  I hadn’t, but I got up and handed him a fiver out of my purse, and he hurried out. I heard his bare feet pattering on the stairs, then the click of the outside door opening.

  And then I realised I hadn’t heard what I would have expected: the rumble of a moped engine turning from the street into the alleyway that led to my flat, then cutting out. And now I heard something I totally wasn’t expecting: a woman’s voice, high with panic and tears.

  ‘Is Zoë here?’

  Twenty-Four

  When you compare yourself to your friends, you do everyone a disservice. Especially yourself, if you come out second best. Focus on what makes you special, even if no one else agrees.

  Although the night was mild, Dani was wrapped in a long woollen coat, and she was shivering. When I folded her into a hug, I could hear her teeth chattering above my ear.

  ‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘Whatever’s happened, it’s going to be okay. Here, come on in.’

  I hesitated for a second, about to guide her up the stairs to the flat. But then I thought, whatever it was that had happened, she probably wouldn’t want to tell me about it with Jude there.

  ‘Wait here just a second. I’ll be right back.’

  I ran up the stairs, grabbed my bunch of keys and hurried down again, Frazzle trailing curiously at my heels as I unlocked the door to the pub. Dani followed me inside. The Ginger Cat was empty: the last guests had gone home for the night and the cleaner wouldn’t arrive for her early-morning round for another four hours. I flicked the light switch and the spotlights over the bar came on, but the rest of the pub remained in soft darkness.

  It could have felt eerie and spooky, but it didn’t. The room was warm and the dim light created a little circle of intimacy just big enough for the two of us to sit at a table.

  ‘Cup of tea? Or something stronger?’

  ‘I’m half pissed already,’ Dani said. ‘Guess there’s no point stopping now.’

  I found a bottle of red wine and two glasses, promising myself that I’d put money for it in the till and wash the glasses before I went home, and we sat down. Frazzle prowled off into the shadows, hopeful of mice scavenging for dropped crumbs under the tables.

  ‘What’s happened? Is it Fabian?’

  Dani nodded, taking a big gulp of wine.

  ‘Did you have a row?’

  She shook her head, pulling the collar of her coat close around her neck.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘Whatever’s happened, you’ll be fine here. You can stay with me tonight if you like. Jude can sleep on the floor – he won’t mind. You don’t even have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.’

  Dani took another swallow of wine, then gave a little choking gasp and started to cry. I grabbed some paper napkins and scooted my chair closer so I could put my arm round her heaving shoulders.

  ‘Shit,’ she said. ‘I can’t even bloody cry. It hurts too much.’

  ‘What hurts? Did he finish with you? It’s awful, if he did, but you’ll be okay. I totally one hundred per cent promise you will.’

  ‘Not that.’ She released her tight grip on her coat collar and it fell open. ‘This.’

  ‘Jesus.’ The warm golden light fell on the smooth golden skin of her neck, and I could see, as clearly as if they’d been painted on with make-up, the livid red marks on her throat. Four of them, just below her ear, and a fifth stretching around underneath her jaw. She didn’t have to turn around for me to know that there would be the same marks on the other side, because Fabian had two hands.

  ‘Fucking hurts,’ she said.
r />   I realised I was trembling too. ‘We should call the police. Report him for assault.’

  ‘We can’t do that. There’s literally no point.’

  ‘Why not? He tried to fucking strangle you.’

  ‘Only because I let him.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘It’s a thing he’s into. Breath play, he calls it. He’s done it before and it was okay – I mean, like, kind of scary and everything, but it made him happy so I went along with it and I was turned on and…’ She tailed off and drank more wine.

  ‘But this time was different?’

  ‘Yeah. He’d had a bad day and he was really stressed and he didn’t want to talk to me about what was wrong, and he didn’t want to go out or anything. When he’s like that it feels like sex is the only thing I can do to make him feel better. I can’t give him advice about his job or be any help at all, really. But I can do that.’

  That’s all kinds of wrong, I thought. But I just said, ‘Go on.’

  ‘And I knew that he’d be in a better mood after a good old session. So I got dressed – he’d bought a load of stuff for me to wear, that I keep at his place – and he put on some porn and… well, you know.’

  I didn’t really know. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  ‘And he said he wanted to choke me, and I said yes, because like I said, he’d done it before and I was okay after, just a bit bruised. That’s why I haven’t been in the gym for a while, because I thought you and Mike might be freaked out, and anyway it was a bit too sore for me to want to get massively out of breath.’

  Too sore for you to breathe for a week? And you thought that was okay? my mind screamed.

  ‘But this time he did it harder. I was so scared, Zoë, I felt like I was going to die. There were dots swimming in front of my eyes and I couldn’t breathe at all. I tried to get him off me, but he’s so much bigger than me and really strong. And then I guess I must’ve passed out because when I came round again he’d finished.’