This Time Next Year(100)

‘Felt?’ Quinn said, the fire in his eyes already dampened by disappointment.

‘I’m sorry, but things have changed for me since I last saw you.’

‘Oh.’ Quinn hung his head.

Minnie wrapped an arm through his and pulled him into stride next to her. It was easier to talk while walking.

‘Not like that. I’ve just been doing a lot of soul-searching too I guess. What you said about being the cardboard girl … ’

‘I’m not the cardboard girl, I don’t want to be the cardboard girl.’

‘Maybe not, but I think I’ve always been that penguin, always looking beyond the penguin enclosure for someone else to make me happy.’

They walked a few steps in silence. Minnie loved the feeling of his arm in hers. Physically it felt so right to be here next to him, but she had to fight that feeling – she needed to think with her head. It was something Fleur once said to her, which stuck in her mind: ‘You need to be a “me” before you can be a “we”.’ It sounded twee, but Minnie felt it to be true. This last month she’d felt more ‘me’ than she’d felt in her whole life: more contained, more comfortable in her own skin. She had a new confidence, an inner fire, and she didn’t want it to go out. It was that quote on the back of her print: ‘Be a good companion to yourself and you will never be lonely’ – that had to be the aspiration. She wanted to fuel her own fire. If you got your fuel from men, they could leave, and you’d be left alone in the cold.

‘I’ve been getting on with my parents,’ she said. ‘I have you to thank for that. My mum is a different person since she’s been spending time with yours.’

‘The vegetable project,’ Quinn said with a nod.

‘“Gardening their way through anxiety”,’ said Minnie, making air quotes with her free hand.

‘Yes, she told me about their blog project, it’s all she can talk about,’ Quinn smiled.

‘I can’t describe how much she’s changed, Quinn – it’s like she’s put down this sack of resentment she’s been carrying around for decades. And when she put it down, for some reason it made me feel so much lighter.’ Minnie shook her head. ‘I know it sounds ridiculous.’

‘It doesn’t,’ said Quinn.

‘I pitched this new business idea to Lucy Donohue last week, a way to get my pies funded again. She loved it; Lexon are going to sponsor the whole thing. We’ll cater for their staff canteens, and they’ll subsidise pies for people in the community.’

‘Lucy? Wow.’ Quinn gave a perplexed smile, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. Then he nodded, ‘Minnie, that’s great, I’m so impressed. Lucy’s got a great eye for business.’

‘I know you didn’t end things on the best terms with her,’ said Minnie.

‘I owe that woman a lot – I’ll always be grateful to her for dragging me to therapy in the first place.’

‘This year, turning thirty, I don’t know – I feel like I’ve finally been given the keys to my own car and I just want to drive. I’m happy to be me, and I’ve never felt like that before.’

Quinn took a loud, slow inhale. ‘And you’re not ready to take any passengers in this new car of yours. Especially not messed-up weirdoes who’d scuff the interior and play all the wrong music on the radio.’

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

Quinn let his head fall backwards 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 signalled an ending.