Chapter Thirty-Seven
Although we part on good terms, I’m feeling down as I leave the restaurant and head home because this would normally be the time when I’d message Jonah and he’d have something fun and romantic to watch lined up for when I got back.
And there’d be hugs, maybe tears, but I’d feel safe and loved.
But I can’t do that now after our spat. So I don’t go home, heading down to Boyd Mill Park instead, perching on the walled edge of the fountain as I contemplate my next move.
I don’t know how long I sit there for, but it must be a while as my bum is going numb from sitting on the narrow, icy-cold wall, and I’m about to get up and slink home when I hear a yell.
Looking up, I see a dog hurtling towards me.
It’s huge. And familiar. And looks quite excited to see me as he bounds towards me.
His paws lift up in the air, landing on my chest and pushing me backwards into the fountain as his full weight presses down onto me.
‘Donald! Get back!’
The dog is yanked off my chest and a man’s face appears above me as I lie, arms and legs up in the air while the freezing water soaks through my clothes.
‘I am so sorry.’ A hand reaches out and pulls me up out of the fountain, which is thankfully quite shallow but has still managed to soak me through.
‘He saw a squirrel and took off, yanking the lead out of my hand.’ He gives the dog a reproachful look.
I recognise the dog as the runaway from ages ago, the dog who sparked an art class and an almost dalliance with its male life model, but I don’t recognise the person grappling with him now. ‘And now you’re all wet. And hurt?’
I shake my head. I’m soggy but unharmed. ‘I’m fine. Just…’ I hold my arms out, dripping water onto the ground. ‘You know.’ Donald nudges his head under my hand as I drop my arms back down to my side, cheekily looking for fuss after what he’s done.
‘You’re going to freeze to death.’ Donald’s caretaker shrugs off his coat, holding it out to me. ‘Here, borrow this.’
My teeth are starting to chatter. The November air is already chilly, and now I’m soaked to my knickers in freezing water. I take the jacket, throwing it on and zipping it all the way to the chin.
‘Thanks, but how am I supposed to get this back to you?’
Donald’s caretaker frowns for a moment before he brightens. ‘Meet me back here? Same time tomorrow?’
This is quite obviously another meet-cute. A very annoying one that could cause hypothermia and finish me off, so I have little choice but to borrow the coat and agree to meet up again to return it. This doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it though.
He gives the dog another reproachful look. ‘Don’t worry – I won’t bring him tomorrow.’
‘Probably for the best.’ I smile weakly as I lift a hand in farewell. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then.’
It isn’t a pleasant walk home as not only am I soaked through to the knickers with murky, freezing-cold fountain water, but my shoulders are tensed at the thought of returning to the flat.
I try sneaking inside and stealthily making my way to the bathroom, but my shoes are squelchy from my dip in the fountain and Jonah steps out into the hallway as I’m gently pushing down on the bathroom door.
‘What happened to you?’ Jonah’s face is creased with worry and bewilderment as he takes in my sodden pants and shoes and the borrowed coat that was once beige but now has darker, damp patches, like a sepia cow.
‘I made a wish months ago and ended up in the fountain in the park.’
Jonah tilts his head to one side and narrows his eyes. ‘You’re going to have to fill in some gaps for me.’
So I tell him about Donald, the out-of-control hound who pushed me into the fountain and inadvertently set up a meet-up with his owner tomorrow.
To his credit, Jonah doesn’t laugh when I tell him about being shoved into the fountain by a delinquent dog, not even when I describe how my arms and legs were ramrod straight up in the air as I lay on my back.
‘I looked like a dog waiting for tummy rubs.’ I cringe at the memory and Jonah opens his arms to me, even though I’m soggy and smell like ditchwater.
I fall into them and allow myself to be wrapped up in warmth and love, and suddenly it doesn’t matter that we had a quarrel or that I flounced off in a huff.
We’re Jonah and Christina again. Jo-Jo and Jelly.
Flatmates. Best friends. And I giggle into Jonah’s chest, picturing how I must have looked in that fountain, and I feel Jonah rumble beneath me as he catches the giggles too.
‘You have the worst luck, Jellybean.’
‘The. Worst.’ I wipe away the tears of mirth on the borrowed coat. ‘The fountain thing isn’t the only bit of bad luck I’ve had today.’ I press myself into Jonah’s chest, the mirth all dried up. ‘Noah and I… We decided we’re better off as friends.’
Jonah rests his chin on the top of my head and emits a sad sigh. ‘I’m sorry. That sucks.’
I shrug, though it does suck. ‘I thought meet-cute-ing would be fun. I thought it’d make me happy, because it does in the films, doesn’t it? And that’s all I want, to be happy.’
‘You deserve to be happy.’ Jonah kisses the top of my head, on the bit of my hair that dodged the water, and I sigh, because why can’t the meet-cute thing be like this? Why can’t I meet someone who makes me feel warm and safe and loved?
‘I don’t have to meet that guy tomorrow, do I?’ I snuggle further into Jonah. ‘I can stay here with you instead, just like this.’
‘Just like this? Not happening.’ Still holding onto me, Jonah reaches for the bathroom door, pushing it open. ‘No offence, but you stink. Why don’t you get in the shower, and I’ll make us a brew?’
I don’t protest or take offence, because Jonah’s right.
As promised, my cup of tea is waiting for me as I join Jonah in the living room, having showered and changed into my pyjamas.
He takes my fountain-drenched laundry and bungs it into the washing machine for me, and if I hadn’t already forgiven him for the ‘desperate’ thing at the weekend, it would totally be forgotten for that act alone.
Donald’s owner is waiting for me in the park the following day. He’s sitting on a bench rather than perching on the wall of the fountain, which I think is pretty sensible, and he’s without the errant dog as promised.
‘Hi.’ He rises from the bench as I approach and he leans forward, as though he’s going to kiss my cheek, but he pauses and gives me a nod instead. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t ask for your name yesterday. I was too mortified to think straight.’
‘Me too.’ We both smile wryly, communicating a moment of shared suffering because even though we were on opposite sides of the trauma coin, we were both embarrassed by the situation. ‘I’m Christina.’ I hold out my hand and he takes it, giving it a short but firm shake.
‘Owen.’ He turns and stoops towards the bench, holding out a takeaway cup when he faces me again. ‘I brought refreshments. I took a punt on coffee. Flat white. I hope that’s okay?’
‘That’s perfect. Thank you.’ I take the coffee with one hand and hold out the beige coat with the other. ‘And I brought your coat.’
‘Sorry, again, for what Donald did.’ Owen flumps onto the bench. ‘He’s a handful.’
‘I know.’ I blow into the little gap on my coffee cup’s lid. ‘That wasn’t my first encounter with him.’
Owen looks at me, blinking slowly. ‘It wasn’t?’
I tell him about my first clash with his wayward dog, when I tripped over the spaghetti of leads and scattered posters for the New Year’s Eve entertainment onto the pavement before Donald made a dash for it and scared the crap out of a woman who then turned on me, as though any of it was my fault.
I don’t tell him about thinking I’d gone on a date with his dogwalker, Darryl, when he was simply apologising for the unruly dog, but Donald has form.
‘I am so sorry.’ Owen drops his head into his hands. ‘I’ve tried courses with him but he’s untrainable. He’s a complete and utter knob.’
Owen looks so distraught that I can’t help feeling sorry for him. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ I sit down next to him on the bench, being careful not to knock over the second cup of coffee resting on there. ‘There was no real harm done. But maybe keep a tighter hold on his lead?’
Owen nods, his mouth still downturned and his forehead lined with deep grooves. ‘Thank you for being understanding.’
I shrug and take a sip of the coffee. ‘Like I said, there was no real harm done.’ It was only my ego that was dented, and it did become a talking point that allowed me and Jonah to make our peace, so I can forgive Donald, even though I agree that he is a bit of a knob.
‘Do you have any pets?’
I shake my head. ‘I live in a pretty small flat, but I’d like to have a pet one day. Maybe a cat?’
Owen huffs out a laugh. ‘Has Donald put you off dogs? I don’t blame you.’ He picks up his coffee and takes a sip. ‘He’s put me off them as well.’
‘He must have some good points?’
Owen thinks about it and then smiles. ‘He is good at stopping the ginger cat who wanders into my garden from crapping on my lawn. And he did pick up a few tricks at dog school: paw, roll over, spin. He’s selective about when he wants to do them though.’
‘I bet he’s a good guard dog too?’
Owen nods, his face brightening a bit. ‘Oh, he is. You can’t even sneeze on my street without Donald howling about it.
’ Owen juts his chin up, proud of his dog’s protective triumphs.
‘And he hasn’t had an easy life. I rescued Donald from a shelter when he was three or four – we’re not sure how old he is.
Or what he is, other than a menace, obviously – but he wasn’t treated well for the first few years of his life. ’
‘He’s lucky to have you then.’ I nudge Owen with my arm, and he smiles.
‘Yeah, I guess he is. And I’m lucky to have him, even though it doesn’t always feel like it.’ He takes another sip of his coffee before groaning. ‘Listen to me, banging on about myself and my dog. What about you? Tell me all about yourself, Christina.’
There isn’t much to tell, to be honest, but I tell him about Rollerz, wheeling out some of the amusing stories about customers I’ve witnessed over the years, and I tell him about sharing a flat with Jonah and our love of romcoms.
Owen scrunches up his nose. ‘Romcoms? You don’t seriously enjoy them, do you?’
‘Er, yeah.’ I pull my chin back. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’
Owen scoffs. ‘They’re so cheesy and predictable. Boy meets girl, they fall in love and live happily ever after.’
I shrug. ‘That’s what I like most about them.’ I take a sip of my coffee, draining the last mouthful from the cup. ‘What’s your favourite film?’
Owen sits up straighter, his eyes alight. ‘I watch Lord of the Rings at least once a week, and Avatar is a close second. The cinematography is beautiful. Have you seen it?’
‘I saw it at the cinema.’
‘And?’ Owen leans towards me, his eyes wide, his hands pressed together. ‘What did you think?’
‘It was… okay.’ I shrug. I’d been more invested in the popcorn and Tango Ice Blast, to be honest.
‘Okay?’ Owen rears back, as though I’ve slapped him across the face.
‘Okay? Are you okay? Avatar is a masterpiece of storytelling, and the framing and the shots are an act of pure genius. You cannot tell me that Avatar is okay…’ He says the word ‘okay’ with a heavy sneer.
‘…And yet you’ll sit through absolute guff about falling in love? ’
‘There’s a love story in Avatar.’
Owen throws his hands up in the air. ‘But it’s so much more than that!’
‘And so are romcoms. They’re fun, and they give me hope.’
Owen gives a pitying shake of his head. ‘But they’re not real though, are they?’
I laugh then, short and sharp and unexpected.
‘And blue people are?’ I raise my eyebrows, waiting for Owen to respond.
He does not, and we sit on the bench in awkward silence while I wish for a huge dog to throw me in the fountain again.
No huge dog appears and we continue to sit in silence, my skin itching with the uneasiness of it until I can’t take it any more and I stand up, dusting off the back of my combats.
‘Well, this was… nice.’ It was not. ‘Thank you for lending me the coat, and for the coffee.’ I hold up the empty coffee cup.
Owen nods, refusing to meet my eye, and I take off, dumping the coffee cup in a bin on the way to the car park.
I breathe a sigh of relief as I spot my car, but my ordeal is not over.
Of course it isn’t.
Because, unbeknownst to me, there’s a wonky paving stone just ahead, exactly where I’m walking towards.
And of course I trip over that wonky paving stone.
And of course, there’s a handsome stranger of the male variety right there to catch me as I stumble.
And obviously he is charming and attentive, and you’d be a fool not to guess that he wants to guide me over to a bench so he can check out the ankle I’m limping on.
But I will not be guided. I will not be checked over.
Because I’ve already had one meet-cute disaster today and I’m in no mood to notch up another one.
So, with gritted teeth, I hobble over to my car and I get the hell out of that park and back to the safety of my flat.
I am officially done with this meet-cute thing.