Just My Luck by Kate Blackadder

Unlike Jess, I’ve never paid any heed to superstitions . . .

ONE for sorrow, two for joy,” Jess chants, indicating the park railings where a couple of birds perch, rather determinedly looking in opposite directions.

“They don’t look very joyful,” I say. “Anyway, the rhyme’s about magpies, isn’t it? These are crows.”

“Are you sure, Alan?” Jess looks disappointed.

She’s the only person I know who would be thrilled if a passing seagull decided that the top of her head was a good place to leave a deposit. It’s lucky, apparently – although presumably not if you’re on your way to a job interview or a wedding.

“I’m sure. I’ve got my glasses on. And you should wear yours,” I add as the crows take off, complaining indignantly to each other about being disturbed.

Jess half-heartedly rummages in her shoulder bag.

“They make me look dorky,” she complains.

They don’t, but she’s got a thing about them. She screws up her eyes and raises her head to the sky.

“I’m hoping my luck changes tonight.”

From long experience I know it would be useless to point out that the success or otherwise of Jess’s forthcoming date, this time with a man she’s met on the internet, will not depend on magpies.

She joined a dating site

after reading her horoscope in a magazine at the dentist’s. Put some magic into your love life this week.

Then, on the very next page, she saw the advert for magicmates.com.

“Where are you meeting this Nat guy?” I ask. “You only know what he’s told you about himself – he could be all kinds of weird.”

“No, he looks lovely in his profile pic,” Jess says dreamily. “We’re meeting at the multi-storey and then I expect he’ll whisk me away to . . .”

I interrupt. “You’re not getting in a car with him?”

“Of course not.” She shakes her head at me. “I’m not daft. We’ll go for something to eat, I expect. He’s probably booked somewhere fab.”

“Text and let me know where you are,” I order. “It’s a basic safety precaution.”

“You’re a nag, you know that?” Jess teases. “OK, I will, if it makes you happy.”

She checks the time on her phone.

“Enjoyed the walk, and thanks for the ornithology lesson! Must dash. A friend at work has an auntie who reads tea leaves. Don’t roll your eyes! I’ll text you later.”

Jess and I met at university eight years ago. We weren’t doing the same course but I was walking through the campus when someone behind me shouted, “Stop!”

It was a girl with red wavy hair, wearing round glasses.

“You were about to walk under a ladder,” she said breathlessly. “Didn’t you see it?”

“I did. What’s the problem?”

She took the glasses off, stuffed them in her pocket, and stared at me with big green eyes.

“It’s unlucky!”

“Only if someone’s painting the window frames and drops the tin on my head,” I pointed out. “I’m a scientist. I don’t believe in superstition.”

“It’s unlucky,” she repeated.

She took my arm and steered me round the ladder, and ever since she’s tried to convert me to what she calls magical thinking and I call (when I’m being polite) irrational beliefs.

I think back to that day as I watch Jess hurry towards the park gate. We’ve always kept in touch, but last year we ended up living in the same town and she’s been able to cry – literally – on my shoulder every time a relationship bites the dust.

After a while she sees another “sign” pointing her in the direction of romance and off she goes again.

I blame her granny, who brought her up. I’ve only met her once but she was unforgettable. At the reception in the university grounds on graduation day she suddenly crouched down and called out that she’d found a lucky four-leafed clover.

Short-sightedness (and a reluctance to wear specs) evidently runs in that family – everyone else could tell from yards away that it was a daisy.

In the evening I go to the pub with some friends and try not to worry about Jess, but I can’t help it – she’s too trusting and this is the first time she’s tried internet dating.

She texts at seven-thirty.

Seems nice tho not much like his photo! Going to Bill’s Burger Bar.

Bill’s Burger Bar? Very romantic – not. Jess does deserve a break on the romance front, someone who, well,

gets her. This Nat clearly doesn’t, not even on a basic level.

Jess showed me the profile she’d written for magicmates.com and she’d put down that she was vegetarian. They will have bean burgers at Bill’s, I’m sure, but it wouldn’t be Jess’s first choice when

going out to eat.

Still, it’s only a getting-toknow-you first date. She’ll probably give him the benefit of the doubt.

Enjoy your burger! I reply, deciding not to comment on the first half of her text.

As the conversation swirls around me I’m remembering what else was on her dating profile.

I’d love to meet someone dependable who won’t mind a scatterbrain!

She underestimates herself but she wouldn’t be Jess if she wasn’t a little bit scatty. A true friend and a true love – could that be you?

That is me.

As the thought hits me. I almost choke on my drink. That is me! How did I not see it these past eight years? And I’ve let her go: let Jess go to eat bean burgers with someone who could turn out to be the “magic mate” she’s been hoping for. Or he could be an axe murderer.

My phone pings again 15 minutes later just as my second pint is put in front of me.

Disaster! Heading home. Speak tomorrow.

R u OK? I text quickly. Nothing.

I thrust my phone into my coat pocket.

“Hey, folks, sorry, gotta go. Here, you have this.” I push my untouched drink a little too forcefully towards the friend sitting beside me and it spills.

I dry myself off and check my phone. One missed call.

My fingers fumble over my contact numbers.

“Jess? Are you on your way home?”

“No, I’m . . .” Her voice is muffled by the sound of an engine and a man’s voice in the background.

“I can’t hear you.” Has she got into a car with Nasty Nat? Where is he taking her? Lurid newspaper headlines form in my head. I start to run, as if that will help her. “Tell me where you are.” “On my way to hospital,” Jess says, and I think my heart will burst with fright and rage.

“Did he hurt you? Is he driving you?”

“Nat? No, of course not. I’m in a taxi.”

My heart slows down fractionally, although I’m out of breath from running.

“He’s married, Alan! I saw his ring when I put my glasses on to read the menu. He didn’t even try to deny it.”

“But . . .?”

I’m interrupted by the taxi driver’s voice again. He’s saying he’ll help her inside. Evidently they’ve arrived at A & E.

“I’m on my way!” I shout, and start waving to attract a taxi for myself.

Jess is in the waitingroom looking miserable, but a smile lights up her face when she sees me.

“Alan Miller, the best pal in the whole world. What would I do without you?”

She tries to stand up but falls back in her seat, grimacing.

“I ran for a bus to get away from him – not that he was going to follow me,” she explains, “and I tripped on the pavement. My glasses smashed and my ankle was twisted.”

I want to sit down beside her but the chairs either side are already occupied.

“The tea leaves said I was looking in the wrong direction for romance,” Jess goes on. “I should have taken that as a sign to cancel Nat.”

She takes a magazine out of her bag, the one from the dentist’s waiting room. She’s been carrying it around like a talisman this past week.

“I was so sure this time – the name of the dating site, my horoscope. All the signs were there, showing me the way.”

She lobs it towards the bin. It misses by a mile. I pick it up.

“You don’t need signs. You can take charge of your own life without . . .” I stop. “Jess, did you check the front of this magazine? It’s six months old!”

“What?” Jess looks cross and relieved at the same time. “Ah, that’s why things didn’t work out with Nat.”

I throw the magazine in the bin.

“That is not the reason,” I say, coming back to stand in front her. “It didn’t work out because Nat is a two-timing cheapskate and definitely not the right man for you.” I take a deep breath. A busy hospital waiting-room is hardly a romantic setting but I don’t care.

“You know I don’t believe in all that stuff, Jess. But, about your tea leaves – looking in the wrong direction. Have you any idea what that might mean?”

Jess hesitates.

“Not really,” she says slowly. “And they didn’t tell me what the right direction is.”

I look at the floor as I work out how to tell Jess I don’t want to be just her best friend.

“Alan? What is it?”

“I love you,” I blurt out. “I always have, although I only realised it an hour ago.” A thought occurs to me. “Did you never think that stopping me from walking under that ladder might have been a sign that we were supposed to be together?”

Jess claps her hands to her face.

“But you never said anything – you’ve always had loads of girlfriends.” Her eyes are uncertain.

“I’ve been searching for the right one and never finding her – because she was here all along. I’ve been looking in the wrong direction, too.”

“Jess Atkins,” calls a voice from the direction of the reception desk.

“Come on, Hopalong,” I say, dropping a kiss on her hair as she pulls herself to her feet. “Let’s get you sorted out.”

We’re led into a cubicle with a view over the hospital grounds.

“Look at that tree!” Jess says, collapsing into a chair. “Four magpies! Three for a girl, that’s me. And four for a boy, that’s you, Alan.” She squeezes my hand. “But I don’t need signs any more. I know who my true love is.”

I cherish the magic moment. This is not the time to correct her bird-spotting abilities.

But then I see that there really are four magpies on a branch. They’re leaning into each other as if they’re having a good old gossip, and I could swear that they’re laughing. n

How have I not seen all along that I’m the man for Jess?