This Time Next Year(69)

‘I’m embarrassed you had to witness that,’ Quinn said, holding a hand to his forehead.

‘Which part, the office drinking or the dial-a-date?’

‘Both.’

He gave her an embarrassed grimace. She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t, he just took a large bite of his bacon roll.

‘How’s your mother doing?’ Minnie asked.

Quinn paused as he finished his mouthful. ‘OK.’

‘You don’t like talking about her.’

‘It’s been a while since anyone asked me about my mother.’

‘I’d like to hear more about her,’ said Minnie softly, looking over the rim of her coffee cup at him. ‘You mentioned she struggles with some things.’

Quinn puffed out his cheeks, exhaling. He put his cup down on the grass and started massaging one wrist with his palm.

‘OK, well, the potted version – she suffers from anxiety; sometimes she struggles with leaving the house. She wasn’t so bad when I was a child, but when my father left it got ten times worse.’ Quinn stared down at his hands.

‘I’m sorry, that sounds tough. Does she see someone? Do you have anyone to help look after her?’ Minnie asked gently.

‘She sees a therapist, a doctor. I’ve paid for carers in the past but she takes against them all in the end. She’s up and down. And when she’s down she’ll only see me.’

‘That must be hard,’ said Minnie, ‘to be that relied upon.’

Quinn brushed a hand through his hair; he sat up and pulled his knees to his chest.

‘Enough about me.’ He picked up his coffee again. ‘I’m sure it’s very boring. People have bigger problems.’

Minnie watched him, waiting for him to look over at her again.

‘I don’t think the scale of other people’s problems make your own any easier to live with.’

Quinn paused, dropping his gaze to the grass between them.

‘I think what I find hardest is that I often feel I’m enabling her to be a prisoner. I do errands for her, order her shopping, I come running when she needs something. She has this ongoing anxiety about house security, the locks not working, or paranoia that someone’s in the garden. Every time I’ll come over to check, just to ease her mind.’ Quinn’s brow puckered as he stared down at his empty cup. ‘Once I didn’t go when she called. I just said, “No, walk out of the front door and go to the pharmacy yourself, it’s a three-minute walk.”’ Quinn paused. ‘I’d had enough.’

‘That’s understandable,’ said Minnie.

‘She had this terrible anxiety attack, fell down the stairs, twisted her ankle. The cleaning lady found her the next morning, still lying there. God, why am I telling you all this?’

‘Because I asked.’ Minnie put an arm on his shoulder.

‘What kind of monster leaves an agoraphobic alone in the house without her medication?’ he said, turning to look at her, his eyes burning with emotion.

‘Someone who tried everything else and didn’t know what else to try.’

This confident, sure-footed man suddenly just looked like someone in desperate need of a hug, but Minnie didn’t dare initiate one.

‘The worst thing is, I can’t sympathise any more. I know she can’t help it, but part of me thinks, “Come on, just try, do the steps!” There’s this treatment strategy for agoraphobics; they take small steps to face their fear, open the door, on to the street, walk one block. Baby steps every day and gradually you see progress. She did it before – there were a few years when she wasn’t so bad. Now, it’s like she doesn’t even want to try. She’s given up, and I let her.’

Minnie paused, looking over at him. She didn’t know what to say so they sat in silence. It wasn’t an awkward silence; it was one of those companionable silences when you don’t need to speak in order to communicate.

They finished their breakfast, walked up Parliament Hill to see the view of London, and then back down towards the train station. Minnie looked sideways at Quinn as they passed the cafés and shops near Hampstead Heath train station. His mother’s health issues were clearly a lot worse than she’d imagined. How had her first impressions of Quinn been so wrong? This man who she’d assumed must’ve had such an easy life; clearly it had not been easy at all. Minnie always thought about her own upbringing with a sense of regret. She regretted not having a better relationship with her mother. She regretted that everything felt like a battle with her family – battling to get away, battling to stay, battling to be heard. Then again, maybe everyone had something to complain about when it came to family – at least her mother was able to leave the house.

As they got to the train station, Minnie turned to Quinn with a hopeful look. She didn’t want the morning to end.

‘So what are you up to now?’ she said, brushing away a chunk of tangled hair.

‘I was going to go to my office. I need to sign some paperwork,’ Quinn said. ‘I know, Fun Time Quinn, aren’t I?’ He rubbed the stubble on his chin with a palm.

‘OK,’ said Minnie, biting her lip and looking away.

‘I’m sorry about all that back there, I didn’t mean to get so heavy on you. I don’t tend to talk about her with my friends any more; I’ve bored them all to death over the years.’