Begin Again | ongoing - Chapter 20: Chapter 20

When Fraser leaves to help young minds grow in his classroom and Ravi leaves to spread the joy of music in the record shop, Sunny leaves to read The Perks of Being a Wallflower. At nine o'clock in the morning, with eight hours until her shift starts, she sneaks past Fenfen's room – the door is open enough that she can see her flatmate's naked body tangled in the covers and a lump beneath the covers that must be her latest fling – to grab a few things and head out for the day. The sun is shining, the pale yellow of a poor yolk, so she heads down to the water with the book in one hand and her Walkman in the other.
Today is a new day. She is refreshed after a night with her boys and instead of hopping on the 19 when it sails towards her, she carries on walking, relishing in the cool sea breeze on her cheeks. The weather is back to being unseasonably warm for April and after the first half mile, she takes off her zip hoodie to tie around her waist, the arms flapping behind her as she speed walks (she's too gay to have any other pace) all the way to the shore. After a bit of digging in her cupboard this morning she found her Ziggy Stardust t-shirt and though they're not the best choice for a long walk, she has her pink jelly shoes on her feet.
The seafront isn't so warm, a bit too breezy to sit outside, so she orders a croissant and a mocha and ducks into a cafe off the promenade, a stone's throw from the ocean. There's one table free, smoke still wafting up from a cigarette butt ground into the ashtray, but Sunny doesn't mind the smell. Although she has never smoked and never plans to, she finds the smell oddly pleasant; it has never bothered her when she's been seated in the smoking area of a restaurant, and she quite likes the atmosphere created by cafe catch ups with coffee and cigarettes. Friends laughing and smoking and tapping ash into the cold remains of their drinks.
It's busy for a Friday morning. There are mothers meeting up after dropping their kids at school, friends grabbing a drink on their way past, singletons like her staking claim to a table with a book in their hand and a mug at their elbow. She sits in an armchair with her legs crossed and watches the people around her, occasionally sipping her drink when she remembers it's there, and when she catches people staring she remembers her vivid purple hair. Black Sands is not the kind of town used to people with unnatural hair.
The book isn't long. Just over two hundred pages. No more than a few hours. Two if she gets absorbed into it; four if she gets distracted by everything going on around her in the cafe. Even longer if she fixates on the waves outside and suddenly half the day has gone. Sunny doesn't always have the strongest grasp on time. It never seems to go at the same pace. Sometimes an hour flashes by in seconds and sometimes it seems to drag on for days so how is she supposed to trust the length of a minute?
Earphones secured to ensure minimal distraction, she hits play on track one of the latest Now That's What I Call Music albums and folds the book in half to hold easily in one hand, and she starts to read.
Before Sunny was born, her parents would read to her. Whatever Martha was reading at the time, she would read out loud, whether it was a cookbook or a romance novel (she kept the steamy scenes to herself) because she wanted her baby to know her voice the moment she was born. When Sunny was a baby, her parents would take it in turns to read children's books to her: before she could sit up by herself, they would plant her in their laps and show her the pictures. By the time she could talk, she would beg to be read to and her mothers were more than happy to acquiesce – they never complained when she begged for just one more story, Mummy because all they'd ever wanted was a child who loved to read. Every weekend they would drive to the charity shop near their house with a one pound note and come home with an arm full of stories. Now, a single book sets Sunny back at least five pounds. She misses being five years old. Life was simpler in 1980.
It wasn't long before she could read to herself. Thanks to Martha and Sylvia, her literacy came on in leaps and bounds and she read herself to sleep every night. There was never any need to hide under the covers with a torch to hide her books from her parents, because why would that ever be a restricted hobby? They would never dream of clamping down on how much she read, even if it meant she stayed up too late and her head drooped at school. When she was eight, her teacher pulled her mother to one side at pick-up and expressed her concern that Sunny showed no interest in the books they read as a class, and she was worried that Sunny's reading comprehension was suffering. Sylvia pointed out that Sunny's reading comprehension was, in fact, sky high – she showed no interest because the books were boring, and she was reading far more engaging stories of her own volition.
When Matilda came out just before Christmas when Sunny was twenty-one, she saw it in the cinema three times before the year was up because for the first time she felt seen by a character on the screen: her maths isn't remotely up to Matilda's level, nor does she have such vile parents, but the books? Oh, the books. That was her as a child. Too short to reach the shelves in the library in her quest to find stories she hadn't read yet.
A sad side effect of growing up is that Sunny doesn't read as much anymore because time doesn't seem to work the way it did when she was a kid. Now there's so much else to do and she has to do it herself: when she was nine, her mother would pick her up from school and make supper, and Sunny would have her nose buried in a book because she played no part in food preparation. Now, if she wants to eat, she has to sort it out herself. Which is, she's sure, why half the time she forgets.
But as she sits in that café with a view of the calm sea and the bright sky, smelling coffee and flaky pastry and cigarette smoke, listening to the chatter of adults and the giggles of babies and the caw of seagulls, she remembers her passion for reading. Her eyes devour the words, her brain turning them into pictures that play like a film reel in her mind's eye, conjuring up images of Charlie and Sam and Patrick.
There's one line that she has to reread when she comes across it, and then she reads it again with a tightness in her throat, tracing her thumb over every letter that joins with another to punch her in the gut. So I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe we'll never know most of them.
It's not a big line. It's certainly not one of the most meaningful in the book. But it's the one that hits her the hardest because of where she is right now. When she reads it a fifth time, she switches out the who for where and the two lines with their new meaning slip over her shoulders like a shawl. She is where she is for a lot of reasons, and maybe she won't ever know most of them, and ... maybe that's okay. Because in the end, what does it matter why she's here? She's here, and there's probably nothing to do about it.
And if what Astrid and Celeste told her has any ring of truth to it, she'll only end up here again if she goes back in time. What would be the point in going back to the cold of February 1999 only to meet Viv the very next day and live all this again? This is a blessing. It has to be. It's well-disguised but it is, in its own way, a blessing nonetheless.
Time flies. Her half drunk mocha is cold but she downs the dregs anyway as she turns the last page and there's a funny prickle in her chest, that feeling of finishing a book that has managed to lodge itself in her heart like a fish hook. It has been three hours since she sat down and in that time, a rare feat for Sunny, she has hardly moved a muscle. She can never sit still, and yet the book grabbed her attention and held it and now her legs are numb and crampy because she hasn't changed her position, and her hands are shaking because she has fallen in love with this story and these characters, this bunch of misfit toys: she aches for Charlie and she yearns for the exhilaration of standing in an open-topped car speeding through a tunnel.
This might be her new favourite book, she thinks. Though she often thinks that, and another book invariably comes along. But until then, this can take the top spot. No wonder she has read it so many times: already, she wants to go back to the start and read it a second time with her mother's critical professor's eye, analysing every turn of phrase, every scene and choice of word. She wants to take a highlighter and mark her favourite lines, scrawl her thoughts in the margins and notate the sentences that make her heart swell.
The clientele of the café has changed when she lifts her head. Gone are the morning's mothers, replaced by the lunch crowd: people in suits ducking away from the office for a sandwich by the sea before they crawl back to their dull nine to fives. Sunny may not know what she wants to do with her life but she knows she never wants to be stuck in an office – worse, in an office chair – for eight hours a day. She needs to be on her feet, needs something that will keep her interested and engaged.
The Book Nook is a fifteen-minute walk from here. Sunny looks down at her jelly shoes and wiggles her toes. How much more walking can she do in these things before she gets a blister? So far, so good. Another mile won't hurt, she reckons. Stuffing the book into her back pocket – it's a small book, and she only ever buys shorts with decent sized pockets – she puts her CD back to the start because at some point the music came to an end and she didn't even notice. Martine McCutcheon starts singing about a perfect moment as she heads out the door with a goal in mind: find Viv and ask her out on a date.
There are quite a few people milling about the bookstore. Viv's at the till, her hair teased back into a ponytail, and she doesn't notice when Sunny enters, so Sunny heads towards the discounted fiction at the back, out of sight until Viv's free. She browses the shelves of used or damaged books, their prices cut down to a pound or two, and gets lost browsing the spines and pulling them out to read the blurbs as Vengaboys sing some kind of party sex song. It's annoyingly catchy. Her head bobs to the Eurodance beat, her foot tapping away. When Phats and Small come on, she finds herself singing along to Turn Around (Hey What's Wrong With You) under her breath after the first verse despite never having heard the song before.
If someone tapped her on the shoulder and asked how long she'd been in the shop, Sunny would've guessed maybe ten minutes. But she has a stack of cheap paperbacks in her hand and Beverley Knight in her ear, thirteen tracks since she got to The Book Nook and her original goal is forgotten until someone does tap on her shoulder.
She drops all her books and rips her headphones off and almost headbutts Viv when they both squat to pick everything up.
"Hey," Viv says. It's the first they've spoken to each other since Viv left the coffee shop three days ago. Those three days feel like a gaping chasm. "When did you get here?"
"Uh ... I think it's been a while," Sunny says, mentally playing through all the songs she's bopped along to while she has worked her way through every shelf in the sale section. "I came to see you but you were busy."
"I'm free now," Viv says. "I'm on my break."
"Can we talk?"
"Sure. I was just going to head next door for a sarnie." She nods at Percolatte. "We can go somewhere else, if you'd rather."
"No, no, that's fine. Might as well use my staff discount."
Viv holds out the stack of books to Sunny. "Were you going to buy these?"
"Yeah. I think I've got enough cash."
"Might as well use my staff discount." There's a free till so Viv logs in and tallies up each book and knocks off her twenty-five percent discount, and Sunny only pays ten pounds for thirteen books that Viv packs into a Book Nook branded tote bag.
When they're sitting on Sunny's favourite sofa in Percolatte with a couple of sandwiches and a couple of drinks that Sunny insisted on paying for – it's the very least she can do for Viv – there's a stall. A stilted pause where they can't decide who talks first.
"You didn't call," Sunny says. Not the right way to start this conversation but that's what comes out.
"Yeah." Viv sighs. "I've been struggling to figure out how I feel because there isn't really a playbook for our situation." She tears her sandwich in two and picks off the crust, eating those first. Maybe that's why her hair's so curly. "I didn't want to call before I knew what to say and end up getting mad at myself and you." Holding up a hand before Sunny can interrupt, she says, "I'm not mad at you, by the way. I've just been trying to, you know, figure all this out."
"Join the club." Sunny laughs. Viv smiles and drops her eyes to her sandwich.
"It's good to see you."
"I owe you a massive apology." Sunny takes too big a bite and almost chokes on hot cheesy bread. Her cheeks flush bright red as she chews and swallows and puts the sandwich down because she cannot be trusted to eat and converse at the same time. "I've been really fucking selfish and I'm sorry. I've only been thinking about myself and not everyone else involved in all this."
Viv's eyes are locked on Sunny, her sandwich held halfway to her mouth.
"The universe wants us together, and I have to trust the universe, and myself. In another life, I am madly in love with you," Sunny says, pulling over her drink for something to do with her hands. "I want to get back to where we were, if you'll have me."
"Of course I'll have you, Sunny," Viv says as though that's the most obvious thing in the world.
"But we have to go back to the start."
Viv frowns. Those beautiful eyebrows pull together until they bunch in the middle and she resembles a pink-haired half-Greek Frida Kahlo. "What does that mean?"
Sunny scoots to the edge of her seat and pulls the now even more battered copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower from her pocket. She holds it up in both hands and holds Viv's intoxicating gaze and says, "I just read this book that you recommended to me and I fucking love it."
Viv laughs. "Sunny, you don't have to do thi—"
"I'm not kidding. I went to the café on the beach this morning and I started reading this and I didn't move until I finished it. I literally didn't move for three hours." She's holding the book so tight her fingertips are going white and she's making such intense eye contact that she expects Viv to look away, but she doesn't. "I know it sounds stupid but this book, there was this line"—she starts flipping through looking for that line again—"that made me realise I'm here for a reason and I don't have to know what that reason is because it doesn't matter. I'm here. You're here. The universe conspired to bring us together and I'd be the biggest fucking idiot in the world if I let my fear jeopardise that."
Viv sits back. Her shoulders loosen and so does her confusion, replaced by an easy smile. "That's a lot to realise in one morning."
"Yeah, my heart's galloping like a fucking racehorse." Sunny slots the book into the tote bag and takes a bite of her sandwich to regulate herself. The melted cheese is at it's best when it's on the cusp of being too hot to eat.
"Take a second, babe," Viv says. Sunny's used to being called babe – her parents and friends all use the word – but to hear it from this beautiful girl? That does something to her. It plants caterpillars in her belly that transform into chrysalides before emerging as butterflies that flap incessantly and make her heart flutter. She takes a second. She swallows her sandwich and fills her lungs, holding the breath for a few seconds.
"Okay, this next part, I don't know how to do 'cause I've never done it before," she says.
Viv raises an eyebrow. God, those eyebrows are a work of art. Sunny wants to frame each one. She wants to run her finger over each individual hair, wants to follow the curve of Viv's brow to her hairline and push her hand into those curls.
"Need a hand?" Viv asks.
"Nope, I got this." Sunny fists her hands in her lap. "I want to ask you on a date. I'm not sure how you're supposed to do that but ... yeah. I'm asking you on a date."
Viv cracks into a grin that lights up the room. She is luminescent. She is no moon reflecting the light of others, but the light source itself: she, not Sunny, is the sun here. "God, I love you," she says quietly on a laugh. Sunny's heart skips several beats. Viv doesn't seem to realise the impact of her words. "When is this date, then?"
"Tomorrow. You're not working, are you?"
"Nope. I'm free as a bird."
"Okay. Good. Then we're going on a date."
"Can I know where?"
"No. It's a surprise." Sunny feels the knots of her body loosening because this is going well, despite her incompetence with regard to expressing herself. Viv is smiling, her dimple deepening.
"Okay. A surprise date. What time, at least? Am I allowed to know that?"
"Um ... ten o'clock," Sunny says, deciding on the spot. The crazy golf place opens at nine but that's a bit too early considering she'll be at work until one tomorrow morning, but they can't start too late as she has work at five. That gives her seven hours to recreate Viv's and her first date, which may sound like a lot but ... Monopoly. That is not a quick game.
Viv's lips are twitching like she's trying to tame her amusement. It's clear in her eyes. They're sparkling, and not with tears this time.
"I want to do better," Sunny says. "You deserve better." She tears into her toastie, chewing slowly to stop herself from trying to fill the space between them with words. "I've been running away from all of this because it overwhelms me and I'm shit at dealing with the big stuff and I never thought I'd actually have a girlfriend – a really fucking hot girlfriend, by the way."
Viv blushes deeply and rolls her eyes to deflect the compliment. "Right back at you, Sunshine."
"Some wise people made me realise that no good comes from passivity – is that a word?" Viv nods. "Life is about active choices and I am actively choosing you. Us. This." Sunny spreads out her hands. Viv catches them and holds on tight.
"I can't tell you how much that means to me, Sunny."
"Save it for after our first date," Sunny jokes. "You might be feeling differently by then."
"Nah." Viv folds her arms and sits back, shaking her head. "You don't realise it yet but we're lobsters." She forms pincers with her thumbs and forefingers and links them together. In another life, they know they'll be together forever. It's only a matter of time before Sunny comes to that realisation all over again.
Sunny laughs when she catches Viv's reference and says, "Except we're a way hotter couple than Ross and Rachel."
"Well, duh. That goes without saying." Viv clasps both hands around her latte, hiding her smile behind the mug. "So. Ten o'clock tomorrow, huh?"
"Yup. Get ready to be blown away by my dating prowess."
"I can't wait. Is there anywhere I should be or are you going to rock up on my doorstep and blindfold me?"
Sunny taps her chin. "We'll meet at the pier," she decides at last. They can walk to the crazy golf course from there and retain a bit of the mystery.
"Should I have breakfast first?"
"God, Vivian, so many questions!"
"I don't trust you to feed me. Don't forget I have over a year's worth of experience dating you and your ability to go without breakfast is unmatched."
Sunny was going to tell her to eat before the date but now she has another area in which to prove herself. "Okay, change of plans. We're meeting at nine thirty now and the date's starting with breakfast. So don't eat."
"Okay." Viv salutes. "Message received."
They sink into companionable quiet as they eat and finish their drinks and when twenty-seven minutes have passed, Viv's break almost over, she lets her hand drop to Sunny's knee, her voice a lullaby when she says, "Thank you, Sunny."
"Thank you," Sunny says. She still can't tell which one of them is in a weirder position – the one who has forgotten the last year or the one who has been forgotten? – and she knows Viv is well within her rights to up and leave at any moment because this would be too much for a lot of people, she's sure.
"I'm looking forward to tomorrow."
"Me too." And it surprises her to realise how true that is. She's excited for a date. The one thing she wanted to avoid when she got herself into this situation.
"I've got to get back." Viv wipes her mouth and tightens her ponytail, the bobble lost somewhere in her masses of hair, and she presses a kiss to Sunny's cheek as she stands. "See you tomorrow, Sunny."
Sunny watches her leave. Once she's out of sight, she presses her fingers to the spot where Viv's lips touched her skin, and her smile blooms like a rose unfurling in the sunlight after a storm.