This Time Next Year

by Sophie Cousens

  Minnie looked over at him, biting her lip. “I don’t think so, I’m sorry.”

  Quinn let his head fall backward and looked up at the sky.

  “Not the weirdo bit, just the passenger part,” she said.

  They’d walked right to the bottom of the hill now. Barney’s van had been moved for the winter. A large square of dead grass was all that remained, like the chalk outline showing where a body had been.

  “We’ll still be friends?” Minnie asked, her voice breaking slightly. “I would like you in my life, Quinn, and with our mothers hanging out so much now . . .”

  “Sure,” he said softly, though something in his voice made her think they would not.

  “How’s your mum doing?”

  “Good, actually. Better than she’s been in years. Your mum is incredible, she just bulldozes in and . . . Well, she’s managed to do in a few months what I failed to do in decades.”

  “You didn’t fail.”

  Quinn looked across at her and sighed. Minnie couldn’t quite read his expression—he looked tired.

  “Well, she’s a force of nature. We’re both very grateful to her.”

  “I’m so pleased, Quinn.”

  She squeezed his arm. He slowly unlinked his arm from hers and thrust his hands back into his pockets.

  “Just tell me one thing before I go. This car you’re driving alone into the sunset—it’s a Mini Cooper, right?”

  She smiled. “Actually, I was imagining more of an open-top Mustang—the kind they drive in Thelma and Louise.”

  “You know they drive off a cliff in that film, right?”

  “Thanks for the spoiler, Quinn—I’ve never seen it.” She pretended to be angry, giving him a gentle punch on the arm.

  They both laughed, a half-laugh half-sigh—a laugh that signaled an ending.

  “Good-bye then, Minnie,” he said, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek.

  She inhaled the smell of his neck, and the angry owls in her belly started to flap their wings and cry, “What have you done, Minnie? What have you done? Take every word of it back while you can!”

  But she did not.

  December 30, 2020

  Leila clinked her champagne glass with a fork and stood up to address the long trestle table of guests. She was wearing a wedding dress made of feathers and tulle. The dress had a fitted corset and a flowing skirt—it was a pretty conventional wedding dress design, if you ignored the huge feather shoulder pads thrusting upward like some angelic Boudicca, preparing to charge into romantic battle.

  “I just wanted to say a few words,” Leila said, “because it’s my wedding and I can do what I like.” There were a few whoops and chuckles from the table. “First of all, I want to thank my husband . . .” Leila said it in that way brides do when they expect a cheer for simply using the word. The wedding guests obliged. “Ian has made me so happy these last four years—mainly because he lets me have all the cupboard space in our flat, and he knows never—ever ever—to wash any of my underwear at more than thirty degrees. He learned that the hard way.”

  Minnie was seated next to Leila at the table. She looked along the row of familiar faces laughing at Leila’s jokes. Dotted among Leila’s friends and family were their regular customers from No Hard Fillings—Leila had invited them all. Fleur, Alan, and Bev were there, so were the two Clares. Poor Bev was sandwiched between deaf old Mrs. Harris and Terry Piper, who suffered from dementia. Leila turned to look at Minnie as she went on with her speech.

  “But before I bang on about Ian, I have to talk about the other love of my life, my first wife—my Minnie.” Everyone cheered. Minnie blushed and covered her face with a napkin. “Minnie, who has been my best friend since we met at summer camp when we were fifteen. The second I saw her on a bench eating the Penguin biscuit out of her packed lunch at nine o’clock in the morning, I knew we were going to be friends.”

  Minnie lowered the napkin and shrugged as people laughed at her.

  “Minnie, who has been on so many adventures with me—to India with suspicious luggage . . .” Leila gave Minnie a wink and left a pause long enough to have Minnie worried she was about to launch into the Rampant Rabbit story in front of both sets of parents. “Adventures with pies—so many pies; adventures with men, I’m sorry to say so, Ian, but there were a few before you.” Ian played along and gave a comical scowl. “But the biggest adventure of all has simply been being your friend.” Leila turned back to Minnie with a tear in her eye. “I know there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for me. This is the woman who I called three days ago in tears, explaining that our wedding venue had been flooded. She only went and volunteered to cater the whole thing here in her brand-spanking-new kitchen, before she’d even worked out how to turn on the ridiculously high-tech ovens.”

  Everyone cheered and clapped, there were whoops of “go Minnie!” from around the table.

  “She saved the day, for someone else—as she always does. And I hope you’ll take this the right way”—Leila looked pensive for a moment, gazing slightly off focus into her champagne glass—“if I steal a Cooper family adage to say—all this, these wonderful people here today, this amazing new business, this would never have happened to a Quinn Cooper. Some things are all Minnie, and I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

  “To Minnie!” everyone cheered, raising their glasses high in the air.

  * * *

  —

  Alan turned out to be surprisingly adept at the accordion. After dinner, he launched into a traditional Irish wedding dance and everyone helped push the tables back to make room for dancing. Mrs. Mentis pulled out her harmonica to accompany him and a few guests started clapping along to the beat.

  “We do have a professional band waiting to play,” Fleur said irritably, cocking her head at Minnie and then pouting in Alan’s direction. Clearly she was not a fan of accordion music. “I had to call in some serious favors to get this band in from Zurich. I don’t think you realize what a big deal it is for Green Marmite to play a private gig.”

  “Fleur, I need to hear more about your new business,” said Minnie, putting an arm around her shoulders. “How is it going?”

  Since the engagement video had gone viral, Fleur had been inundated with requests from people to help them stage their own elaborate proposals.

  “I’m calling it ‘Proposals by Fleur,’” said Fleur, handing Minnie a pink business card. “I’m flying to Cairo next week, to produce a proposal in the tomb of Tutankhamun with loads of dead mummies running about. This guy wants to scare the shit out of his girlfriend and then pop the question. People are so weird.”

  “Wow, that’s so exciting, Fleur. I’m glad it’s all taken off. What about the dating site you were designing?”

  “Oh, it’s going to be a whole franchise, Minnie—this year we’re focusing on Proposals by Fleur, then we’ll do Dates by Fleur, Weddings by Fleur—who knows, I hear the funeral market is due a shake-up.” Minnie laughed. “Oh, and my Instagram feed has now officially reached influencer status, so let me know if you want me to do any influencing for you.” Fleur turned to look at the dance floor. “Is this harmonica woman still going? Sorry, Minnie, I’m going to have to intervene.”

  Minnie crept away from the dancing to have a moment alone. The last week had been intense. She’d only had the keys to this kitchen a week. And then, with Leila’s wedding venue falling through, she’d had to get everything set up and working in twenty-four hours. She didn’t even have staff yet, except Bev and Alan. She’d worked all night to get the space ready and pulled in a lot of favors from catering contacts to find people who would work last minute. Looking back across the room at everyone dancing and singing, she realized something; she had pulled it off. This industrial kitchen in Old Street wasn’t quite the romantic stately home that had been booked, but Leila was happy, and something about doing it this way felt so perfect. Now, M
innie couldn’t imagine the wedding party being any other way.

  Fleur, to her credit, had done an amazing job with the decorations. She had turned the kitchen into a winter wedding wonderland, full of fairy lights and garlands of silver bells strung up between the steel girders. Bev had sourced all the linen, crockery, and chairs for dinner, and Alan had spent the last few days picking up everything they needed in the new van. It was so good to see so many old friends, people she was going to start delivering to again as soon as next week.

  Minnie stroked her hand along the jars lining the shelves, taking a moment to breathe in the familiar floury smell of her baking apron, which hung ready on a peg. She turned the gooseneck tap on and off at the sink—she’d always wanted a gooseneck tap. She couldn’t believe this kitchen was hers and that in a few weeks’ time she’d be coordinating hundreds of pies a day being delivered all over London.

  Bev clocked Minnie alone by the sink and came to stand beside her. They both had fifties hair and wore outfits that had bridesmaid written up the side in italic gold writing. This had been Leila’s solution to the perennial problem of finding bridesmaid dresses that suited everyone.

  “Are you hiding from Fleur?” Bev asked.

  “Kind of.”

  Bev laughed. “I can’t believe we pulled this off.”

  “Me neither.”

  “And I can’t believe we’re going to be doing all this for real in a few weeks. Just like the good old days, hey?”

  “Except no Fleur, and no Leila,” Minnie said, watching Leila throw some shapes on the makeshift dance floor, as the band started to play.

  “They’ll always be there,” said Bev, putting her arm around Minnie’s shoulders. “Life is change—if nothing’s changing, you aren’t living.”

  Minnie looked sideways at Bev. “That sounded profound.”

  “It did, didn’t it?” Bev grinned. She looked down at the silver dress she was wearing, and at Minnie’s dark blue silk jumpsuit. “Do you think we can wear these again?”

  “Sure, we’ll have dress-down Fridays at work.”

  “Minnie, while I’ve got you here, I had an idea I wanted to mention,” said Bev. “Do you remember that friend of Fleur’s who invented the seaweed packaging?” Minnie nodded. “Well, Fleur got her along to one of my Pick Litter, Have a Witter groups. She’s an incredible woman; I think we should use her packaging for all our pies. Do our bit to be green, you know?”

  Bev looked at Minnie nervously; this clearly meant a lot to her.

  “You know what, Bev,” said Minnie, “I think that’s a wonderful idea. I think our clients will love it too.”

  Bev beamed and started jumping up and down on the spot.

  “And can we do more jump meetings? Honestly, I think Leila was onto something, it really gets my brain jelly moving.”

  * * *

  —

  The party went on all afternoon and into the evening. It only ended because Leila and Ian had to leave to get the Eurostar to Paris that night. As Green Marmite played their last song, Leila found Minnie on the packed dance floor.

  “I’m going to wear my dress all the way to Paris,” Leila said, pulling Minnie into a tight hug. “I’m not going to take it off until I’ve climbed to the top of the Eiffel Tower tomorrow.”

  “I look forward to seeing the photos,” said Minnie.

  “I wish you were coming too,” Leila whispered, swaying slightly on her feet.

  “I’m sure Ian doesn’t,” said Minnie.

  “This has been the best day ever, all thanks to you,” Leila gushed. “I want you to be this happy, Minnie.”

  “I am happy,” said Minnie.

  “I know you are.” Leila paused, as though weighing her words. “Do you still think about Love Twin?”

  “Leila, please,” Minnie said, shaking her head. “It’s been months.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “You’re the one who said I needed to put myself first, channel my inner Leila, refuse to compromise.”

  Leila pulled her friend in tight and whispered in her ear. “If he’s still in your head, it’s worth taking the risk. You never know just how perfect it might turn out to be.”

  And before Minnie could reply, Ian stepped in and swept Leila away.

  New Year’s Eve 2020

  Minnie sat on her sofa with a large bag of Maltesers, wearing her favorite owl pajamas. Leila had given them to her for Christmas three years ago. The bottoms were covered in pictures of real owls dressed up as the characters from Friends and the T-shirt top had owl be there for you written across it in the Friends font.

  She had been shopping yesterday and stocked up on all her favorite foods. Bev had offered to keep her company this evening, but Minnie said no, she was happier holed up in her flat alone. To be clear, this wasn’t a fearful hiding-from-the-world kind of bunking down; this was simply an I’d-rather-be-at-home-watching-Netflix-in-my-owl-pajamas-because-I’m-exhausted-after-yesterday kind of bunking down. On one of their park walks, when Minnie had told Quinn about her New Year superstition, he’d called her “selectively agoraphobic.” This wasn’t that, this was hashtag self-care. Loads of people stayed in on New Year’s Eve, it wasn’t a big deal.

  This time last year she’d taken a sleeping pill just to get through her birthday. That wasn’t going to happen this year. Tomorrow she had plans; she was going for lunch with her family.

  Was she anxious about it, already catastrophizing about all the things that might go wrong at such a lunch? Yes, OK she was, but that didn’t mean she was going to cancel. It didn’t mean she was going to stay in and hide. So much had changed for Minnie this year, but facing the New Year’s jinx was the ultimate test.

  One thing at a time, she thought. Get through tonight, then get through tomorrow, then she could stop just trying to get through. She could start living.

  She scrolled through the list of films she had flagged as possible downloads to watch tonight: Working Girl, Erin Brockovich, The Iron Lady—OK, so maybe she’d gone too far with a theme here, but she didn’t want to sit here on her own watching Sleepless in Seattle.

  She was fine. She was fine on her own. She didn’t need a man to make her life complete. She didn’t want the cliché you-complete-me ending. She was finally on an even keel and someone like Quinn would definitely rock the boat. She smiled, imagining what Quinn would say about her matching boat metaphors.

  No, it wasn’t worth the risk. Sure, they’d have amazing sex for a few months—Minnie cleared a frog from her throat as she imagined it. Right here where she was sitting, this is where they had almost . . . She bit her lip thinking about it. Yes, of course it would be mind-blowing, life-affirming, house-screaming-down-to-the-point-of-the-neighbors-complaining sex, but then what? Her mind went to Lucy’s article in the paper. All his old commitment issues would creep back to the surface; he’d feel awkward about ending things; she’d have her heart broken and this safe new life she had built for herself would crumble like crops after a nuclear catastrophe. No, it was safer to leave things as they were. In any case, she had no reason to believe he was still even an option. Just because she still thought about him didn’t mean he felt the same as he had a few months ago.

  And yet.

  Leila’s words banged against the inside of her skull: “If he’s still in your head, it’s worth taking the risk.” Clearly Minnie still thought about him. She noticed things she knew he’d find funny. With all the new ideas for the business, it was his opinion she craved. Whenever her mother talked about her trips to see Tara, she found herself angling for news of him.

  The time she had spent with Quinn had changed something. It was as though in all her previous relationships she’d been wearing a suit of armor, this barrier skin. With Quinn she felt laid bare, he saw who she really was. Yet she also remembered how low she’d felt when he’d bailed on her, how frag
ile and vulnerable. When she felt emotions like that, she was transported right back to those hellish years at school.

  Minnie wondered what Quinn was doing now. Maybe she could call him. She could just be friendly; he’d said they could be friends. She could just call him, perhaps invite him over, just see. It was nine o’clock on New Year’s Eve; he would be out at a party. Before she could talk herself out of it, she scrolled down to his name in her phone and dialed his number. He’d get a missed call and then he’d know she’d tried to—

  “Hello?”

  “Oh, hi,” she said, surprised he had picked up.

  “Minnie?”

  It sounded loud where he was, windy or airplanes overhead. Music was playing.

  “Yeah, I just—um—I thought I’d call you to say happy birthday, even though I’m a few hours early. I didn’t know where you’d be tomorrow and—”

  Why had she called without working out what she was going to say? What did she want to say?

  “I’m so glad you called,” he said. It sounded as though he’d walked away from the source of the noise.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said,” she said.

  “You have?”

  “I don’t know.” Minnie pressed her eyes closed. “I still don’t know. I just—I miss you . . .”

  “Minnie, my battery is about to go, it’s beeping at me. I’m getting on a boat with some friends—a party on the Thames, we leave from Westminster Pier in an hour.” He paused. “Come, jump in a cab and come join me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I’m not asking for you to decide anything. Let’s just spend New Year with each other, let’s do the countdown together.”

  “Not tonight,” she said, “but maybe we could hang out on the second, when all this New Year stuff is over?”

  The line went quiet for a moment.

  “The jinx is still keeping you indoors.” He sounded disappointed.