This Time Next Year(23)

She narrowed her eyes as though trying to convey some secret code. Quinn’s dark eyebrows furrowed in confusion, then he went ahead and ordered an eye-wateringly expensive bottle of Meursault. The import prices here were criminal, but it was their last meal out. As Quinn closed the wine list, he glanced down and saw Jaya stroking her clove and orange scented hands and it hit him.

No.

Why would she think that? Surely she couldn’t think that? They’d been dating a matter of months, why the hell would she think that? Maybe he was wrong. He had to be wrong. Of course he was wrong. As he looked back into her smiling eyes, he knew it – he wasn’t wrong. She thought he was about to propose.

The wine waiter nodded and left. Quinn started to feel hot and pulled at his collar uncomfortably. He should have ended things earlier; this was never supposed to be long-term. How had he let it get to this point? His usual relationship cap was six months; no one got hurt if you kept it below six months. Now he had to endure a treacly romance-by-numbers evening, with a pink polyester bow attached to his chair, knowing she was waiting for a small box that was definitely not on the menu.

His eyes darted down the beach and he saw a scrawny-looking dog trotting up the shoreline towards them. It was a scruffy white and grey mutt with a stump for a tail and a slight limp in its hind leg.

‘Oh, look at that cute dog,’ he said, his voice coming out higher than he’d ever heard it before. Jaya turned to look.

‘Quinn, no! It’s a filthy stray. Don’t pay it any attention or it won’t leave us alone,’ she scowled.

‘Poor thing looks hungry,’ said Quinn, clicking his fingers to get the dog’s attention.

‘Quinn,’ Jaya was kicking his shin under the table. ‘Don’t!’

Quinn held out some naan bread for the dog. It bounded towards them, gently taking the bread, then licking Quinn’s palm with gratitude.

‘Poor little fella,’ said Quinn, giving the dog an affectionate rub behind the ear. ‘When did you last have a meal, buddy?’

‘The hotel won’t be able to get rid of it now,’ Jaya said sharply. ‘You aren’t helping it in the long run.’

Spurred on by Jaya’s anger and grateful to the dog for appearing, Quinn fed him another piece of bread. Though the dog was scruffy and underfed, he had a friendly face and he nuzzled affectionately into Quinn’s arm.

‘He must belong to someone – he’s so tame,’ said Quinn.

‘He just knows a sucker when he sees one. Honestly, Quinn I’m serious, I don’t want that dog anywhere near our dinner or me. Call the waiter to get rid of it,’ Jaya pouted, folding her arms in front of her gold-dusted cleavage.

‘OK, I’ll take him back the way he came,’ said Quinn, jumping up and tossing his napkin onto the chair. ‘He probably lives down by those beach shacks beyond the palm trees. You relax, take in the view, I’ll be back soon.’

Before Jaya could respond, Quinn scooped the dog up into his arms and strode off down the beach with him. He took a deep breath of sea air – the smell of freedom. A pang of guilt told him that the dog only offered a temporary reprieve. He’d have to go back, set the jilted record in its place and face whatever music was coming his way. But not now, not this minute. Once he was far enough away, he nuzzled his face into the dog’s head and whispered,

‘I owe you one buddy. Come on, let’s find you a proper meal.’





2 January 2020





Quinn had said he would be in Dalston in thirty minutes. He hadn’t given Minnie a chance to object, and before she knew it, she was desperately trying to get all the pies finished whilst surreptitiously making herself look less like a dowdy dinner lady in a hairnet.

‘You don’t happen to have a make-up bag here, do you?’ she asked Fleur as casually as possible.

‘Always,’ said Fleur with a wink, pulling out a hefty tote from beneath the front desk.

Minnie rationalised that she wasn’t going to any particular effort; she just wanted to look normal. She would have put on a dab of mascara if she’d planned to meet anyone other than her colleagues today. She didn’t want Leila to see her putting on make-up, though; Leila would read something into it. Unfortunately, this whole covert borrowing and putting on of make-up caused such a distraction that another batch of pies came out of the oven overbaked.

‘See, easily done,’ said Bev triumphantly, as Minnie pulled a tray of dark brown pies from the shelf.

‘They’re fine, I like them like this,’ said Minnie, though she knew these pies wouldn’t pass her usually stringent quality control. Alan had already taken one box of deliveries off on the bike and trailer, and soon Quinn would be here. They didn’t have the manpower or the time to be fussy today.

Leila walked through from the store cupboard with more flat-packed cardboard boxes and a stack of aluminium pie cases.

‘Look at all this packaging,’ Bev sighed, ‘how much of it do you think gets recycled?’

‘Bev, give me a break, we’re feeding the elderly and isolated, we can’t be expected to save the planet too,’ said Leila, dumping all the packaging on the central steel countertop.

‘You know my granddaughter Betty, she’s four, she said to me last week, “Gran, what are you doing to save the planet from snowball warming?” ’