This Time Next Year(40)

‘Wow, and I thought we were supposed to be the anxious generation,’ said Fleur. ‘We’re the ones consumed by social media pressures and the fear of robots taking our jobs. We’re the ones with nowhere to live because your generation won’t recycle and eats way too much ham.’

‘Ham?’ Minnie asked.

‘Only old people eat ham,’ Fleur said, as though it was the most obvious point in the world.

Minnie looked back at Bev. She felt as though some sage words were required, but she couldn’t think of anything wise to say.

‘What about going on a protest march? You could take Betty, show her you care?’ she said. ‘There’s nothing like waving a placard in the air to make you feel like you’re doing something.’

Bev looked up at her curiously. ‘What kind of march would I go on?’

‘I don’t know, something you feel strongly about,’ said Minnie.

‘I’ll tell you what’s coming up,’ said Fleur, scrolling through a website on her phone. ‘Right, you’ve got Climate Action on the twelfth, Action on Climate on the fifteenth – bit basic; Save the Badgers, blah blah blah, Rage Against Palm Oil, politics, politics, blah blah politics, Save the Bees … Oh, here we go, Ban Single Use Plastics on the thirtieth: that sounds like your cup of tea, Bev.’

‘There you go,’ said Minnie cheerfully, ‘there’s something for everyone to get angry about, isn’t there.’

‘You really think that might help?’ said Bev, looking up at Minnie with hopeful eyes.

‘No one’s too small to make a difference; just ask Greta Thunberg,’ said Minnie.

‘Make sure you take a compact; there’s never anywhere to check your make-up on a protest march. Also, throat lozenges and water, you get hoarse from all the chanting, “WE WANT THIS! WE WANT THAT!”’ said Fleur.

‘Do I need to buy a ticket in advance?’ asked Bev.

‘No Bev, you don’t need to buy a ticket,’ said Minnie.

‘Such a classic Pisces,’ Fleur nodded. ‘All this anxiety about helping everyone.’

‘I’m not a Pisces,’ said Bev.

‘Really? You definitely should be,’ said Fleur, squinting her eyes. ‘While we’re on the topic of star signs, Minnie, I’ve been looking up Capricorn compatibility and it’s not good news. Don’t dump Greg for your hot love twin, the stars say it will never work.’

Minnie frowned at Fleur. Why was she spending time googling Minnie’s compatibility with people? She also felt an inexplicable stab of irritation that Fleur had decreed her and Quinn incompatible, which was ridiculous – Minnie didn’t even believe in astrology.

Minnie’s phone pinged, a reply from Greg. ‘No, did not order pies. Do you want to watch Life of Pi tonight, though?’ Then another text pinged through, ‘Or The Pie Who Loved Me? With Nail and Pie? Pieture Perfect? (Jennifer Aniston!)’

Greg had a bit of a thing about Jennifer Aniston. Minnie frowned.

‘What star sign is Greg if his birthday is twenty-fifth of April?’ she asked Fleur.

‘Taurus,’ said Fleur. ‘Perfect for you, Minnie.’





14 January 2020





Alan pulled the van into the next address on their delivery list, a private car park just off Old Street.

‘Private car park, très fancy,’ said Alan, buzzing the intercom through the driver side window.

Minnie looked out of the window at the silver plaque which listed the businesses in the building. They were delivering to Tantive Consulting on Level Four.

‘Huh,’ Minnie made a nondescript noise.

‘What’s that?’ asked Alan.

‘Nothing,’ Minnie shook her head, ‘it’s just the name of this company. I think it’s a Star Wars reference. It’s the name of one of the ships.’

‘Minnie, I do believe behind that pretty face of yours you are hiding an inner geek.’

They both carried a pallet of pies into the lift and headed up to the fourth floor. A striking redhead welcomed them at reception as if they were valuable clients rather than caterers delivering lunch.

‘If you could just lay them out in the boardroom, there’s a table set up all ready,’ said the receptionist with quick, blinking eyes and a Julia Roberts smile.

Tantive Consulting’s office space was smart and modern. The place was tastefully furnished and, by the looks of things, expensively. There were Chesterfield armchairs made from soft, worn-looking leather, and plush thick pile carpet throughout. The vibe was professional and minimalist, yet homely and welcoming. On the walls hung framed photographs of strange landscapes and interesting faces; art that drew your attention, not the generic abstracts you’d normally see in an office such as this.

Minnie and Alan unpacked the pies in the boardroom. It was a large room, partitioned down the middle with a temporary room divider. A white linen tablecloth had been laid out with cutlery and plates at one end. As they unpacked the pies, they could hear people talking on the other side of the partition.

‘Do you smell that? Something insanely good,’ said a man’s voice.

Alan and Minnie glanced at each other and smiled.

‘Top man ordered pies for lunch,’ said another voice.