This Time Next Year Read online

  “How was I to know you were stuck somewhere? Some waiter said he saw you leave. I walked up and down the street looking for you for at least half an hour; it totally ruined my night.”

  “Why would I have left without telling you?”

  “Some kind of jinx-related paranoia? I don’t know why you do half the things you do, Minnie.” Greg paused. “I mean, if you only kept your phone charged . . .”

  “Well, I didn’t leave, I was stuck in the loo all night.” Minnie took a deep breath, tempering her irritation and reminding herself that she was calling Greg for a favor. “Listen, I’m sorry the night was such a disaster. Are you at home? I’m having a nightmare at work. Please can I borrow your car?”

  “No, Minnie, you can’t borrow my car . . .”

  Greg sounded annoyed. The phone made a noise like screws in a blender and then the line went dead. Had he hung up on her, or had she just lost the connection? Minnie pawed at the keypad, trying to call him back. Greg had a thing about people hanging up on him. Maybe he had tried looking for her—whatever the truth, right now she needed to swallow her pride and get him back on side for the sake of today’s pies. Her phone screen looked as if it was resetting some temporary glitch. Minnie started to sweat as she desperately thumbed the keypad again, and finally it started to ring.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “Look, I’m sorry if you are pissed off about the other night,” Minnie blurted out, “I didn’t mean to get stuck in the toilet, did I? I tried calling you as soon as I could, and I really did feel terrible yesterday. Now I’ve got forty-five pies to deliver all over London and Alan got our van clamped and if we don’t get them out today, we’re going to be in serious trouble, and you’re the only person I know with a car, so please, please can I borrow it and I’ll make things up to you later?” She paused, weighing up how much ground she needed to recover. “Maybe I’ll even dress up as a dental nurse again, I know how much you liked that. I could pick up some new toothbrushes and appointment cards on the way home?” Minnie closed her eyes, willing Greg to soften.

  “Minnie?” he said, but he didn’t sound like Greg anymore.

  Minnie looked down at her screen. The caller ID was displaying some random number she didn’t recognize.

  “Greg?” she said.

  “No. It’s Quinn. Quinn Hamilton.”

  Minnie froze, not knowing whether to hang up the phone or throw it across the street like a burning lump of coal that had scorched her hand. How in the name of dentistry had she managed to call Quinn Hamilton?

  “Oh god, sorry,” she said, clutching the phone to her ear and closing her eyes. “I don’t know how I managed to call you, I was trying to call someone else.”

  She must have somehow clicked on the Facebook message when the call dropped.

  “Clearly,” said Quinn. He sounded amused. “You got my message then?”

  “Uh-huh.” Minnie still had her eyes closed. So much for her plan to play it cool and leave it a few days before replying.

  “And you need a car?” said Quinn.

  “No,” said Minnie, shaking her head. “Well, yes. Sorry, I honestly don’t know how I ended up calling you, my phone must have a mind of its own.”

  “I have a car you can borrow,” said Quinn.

  “No, honestly, I don’t need your car, I can borrow my boyfriend’s car . . .” She paused. “Thank you, though, it’s kind of you to offer.”

  “Well, if you borrow Greg’s car, you’ll have to go and buy new toothbrushes and that sounds”—his deep voice cracked slightly—“like hard work.”

  Minnie flexed out the fingers on her other hand, every fiber of her body cringing.

  “Honestly, Minnie, I’d be happy to help you out. Let me know where you are and I’ll come drop off the car. Consider it restitution for stealing your name.”

  Minnie walked back into the kitchen with a dazed look on her face.

  “Is Greg bringing his car?” Leila asked, as she folded flat-packed cardboard into pie boxes.

  “No,” said Minnie, staring off into space, still shell-shocked. “Quinn Hamilton is bringing his.”

  New Year’s Eve 2015

  Quinn had booked a private dinner on the beach. He’d been deliberating between the hotel’s “Romance at Sunset” package and the “Anniversary Package.” Optional extras included a serenading violinist, your own personal butler, or an upgrade to the waterfront gazebo complete with “waterside entertainment,” whatever that involved. When had eating food become so complicated? He’d opted for the basic “Romance at Sunset” with none of the extras—good to keep this simple.

  Throughout the afternoon, hotel staff had been back and forth to the beach outside their villa setting everything up. Jaya had spent the day at the spa and, when she returned, Quinn shut the villa blinds while she got changed so that their dinner plans would be a surprise. As he led Jaya outside, he saw how much effort the staff had gone to. A trail of paper lanterns made a path across the beach to a solitary white-linen-covered table. Tiki lights were positioned in a circle around it, demarking an island in the sand, and garlands of opulent white flowers hung between the flaming tiki lights. Jaya gasped, “Oh, Quinn, how romantic!”

  “The hotel set it up,” said Quinn, anxious not to get too much credit for this ostentatious display.

  They walked through the screen doors onto the sand and Jaya paused, bending down to take off her heels. Quinn wore a dark blue linen suit and Jaya was dressed in the green silk evening gown that Quinn had bought her during their stopover in Munich. She looked beautiful; the dress hugged her body in all the right places and she’d spent hours at the hotel salon, getting a blow-dry and various other treatments Quinn had soon lost interest in hearing about.

  Quinn put one hand against the small of her back, guiding her forward, while with the other he pulled out the white cotton-covered chair for her. He noticed there was a pink bow tied to the back of it. It looked slightly frayed on one side and he wondered how many “Romance at Sunset” packages this ribbon had been witness to.

  It had been Jaya’s idea to come to India for the holidays. She wanted to see her family in Mumbai and she’d persuaded him to come too, promising him a week on the beach in Goa at the end of their trip. On one level the trip had been a success; Jaya’s family had all greeted Quinn like some celebrity, parading out cousins and aunts to meet the “man from Cambridge University.” Now they were at the most luxurious resort Quinn had ever stayed in, or paid for. Jaya had been an obliging companion, as insatiable as ever. He wouldn’t admit this to anyone, but last night he’d wondered if, just once, they couldn’t simply watch a DVD and not have sex four times.

  On the plus side, Jaya had been so busy using all the hotel facilities that Quinn had had plenty of time to himself. It was such a relief to be away from home, not to be needed by someone at a moment’s notice, not to be called in the middle of the night. It was only being away that made him see how draining it was being in permanent standby mode.

  He felt bad being away for so long, especially over Christmas. His mother had reassured him she’d be fine. She had her sister over from America, Aunt Patricia—one of the lucky, trusted few.

  “Oh look, how precious,” Jaya said, wrinkling her nose into a smile, “they made the napkins into hearts, isn’t that cute?”

  “Nice,” Quinn said, shaking his heart out with a sharp flick of the wrist.

  “The perfect setting for a special evening,” Jaya said, leaning over to touch his arm, her deep brown eyes gazing into his. Looking across the table at her, he noticed that each of her eyebrow hairs had been perfectly combed into conformity.

  On a cold, snowy November day in Cambridge, when Jaya had suggested sundowners on the beach for New Year, Quinn had not been hard to convince. Especially knowing his aunt was coming over, and it might be one of his few opportunities to get away. But as the trip w
ent on, and Quinn was presented to more and more of Jaya’s relations, he started to worry that “meeting the family” might have more significance to Jaya than he realized. He and Jaya had been dating only a few months—he wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea.

  Jaya smiled at Quinn across the table. He could see she was wearing the makeup she reserved for “big nights out,” the gold dust that made her cheekbones glow. She was wearing it on her cleavage too, and some of the makeup had smudged onto the dress by her breast. Quinn had a sudden urge to pick her up in a fireman’s lift and run with her into the sea, plunging both their heads beneath the waves. Jaya didn’t like to get her hair wet. It made Quinn smile, just thinking about how cross she would be.

  “Can you?” Jaya asked, pulling out her camera phone and handing it to Quinn. He obliged, snapping four photos of her at a flattering angle. She was never happy with any less than four.

  “Thanks, hun, I’ll get the guy to take one of both of us when he comes,” she said, placing her phone facedown on the table next to her fork.

  Jaya had numerous social media followers, whom she updated regularly about her life. Quinn noticed she posted a lot more on days when she’d taken time to add the golden glow to her face. Quinn didn’t have a social media account before going to Cambridge to do his master’s. It was Jaya who’d convinced him he needed to have one. She liked to tag him in photos of them together with comments like, “I want to let my beau know he means the world to me!” Jaya was very worried he might miss these messages if she couldn’t tag him, so he had created an account to please her.

  “This holiday has been so magical, Quinny,” Jaya said, looking out to sea, where the sun was beginning to dip below the clouds. “Would it sound selfish if I said it’s been wonderful to have you all to myself for so long?”

  “I’ve enjoyed it too,” said Quinn, picking up the menu. “Hey, they have those curried clams you like, should we get a ton?”

  “Because sometimes in Cambridge, well, don’t take this the wrong way, but you can seem a little distracted,” Jaya said, picking up her knife and checking her reflection in the blade.

  “Hmm.” Quinn made a nondescript noise as he looked out to sea.

  He wanted to see the sunrise tomorrow, and he was working out the best place from which to view it. He’d get up early and say he was going for a run. He liked to be alone for the first sunrise of the year.

  A waiter approached from the hotel. He was short and dressed in an impeccable white shirt, black trousers, and a purple waistcoat imprinted with the hotel’s insignia. He placed a basket of naan wrapped in linen and a delicate pot of yogurt dip onto the table, then he presented Quinn with a wine list. Jaya asked the man if he would take a photo of them together. The waiter nodded politely and took the phone from Jaya’s hand. He took one photo and made to hand it back. Quinn quickly shook his head, trying to warn the man, but he just grinned at Quinn and soon Jaya was lecturing him about composition and lighting positions. She wouldn’t let him leave until she had checked the photos and then directed him to try again at a higher, more flattering angle.

  “Too short,” Jaya whispered to Quinn once she’d finally dismissed the poor man. “You never get a good photo when you ask a short person. Maybe the wine waiter will be taller?”

  Quinn wondered how many hours of his life he’d have to spend posing for photographs if he and Jaya stayed together.

  “So, will I finally get to meet your mother when we get back to England?” Jaya asked, stroking one of her hands with the other, drawing attention to her new manicure. “Mothers love me, you know, I’m great with mums.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, I doubt there’ll be time, especially if you want to go shopping on Oxford Street—the sales will be on, remember,” Quinn said.

  Jaya paused, her eyes drifting off into space. He’d thrown her by mentioning the sales, but she gave her head a brisk shake, exorcizing the distraction.

  “Isn’t she curious about me?” she asked, tilting her head and smoothing a hand through her hair. “I’d want to meet the girl monopolizing my son’s time and attention.” When Quinn didn’t respond, Jaya pouted. “Don’t you want her to meet me? All those times you scurry down to London at a moment’s notice, and you never take me with you.”

  Quinn hadn’t mentioned Jaya to his mother. He’d told her he was going to India with a group of friends. Quinn buried his head in the wine list and the wine waiter appeared at just the right moment.

  “Oh, much better,” said Jaya, raising her eyebrows at Quinn and looking the waiter up and down to convey how happy she was with his height. She leaned in and touched Quinn’s wrist. “You will give them plenty of notice, won’t you?” He looked up to see she was staring intently at him. “If there is any particular moment we’d like him to come back and capture. It’s just too perfect a setting not to have it recorded.”

  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 toward them. It was a scruffy white and gray 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 said with a scowl.

  “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 for the dog. It bounded toward 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 f
reedom. 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.”

  January 2, 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 makeup 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 rationalized 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 makeup, though; Leila would read something into it. Unfortunately, this whole covert borrowing and putting on of makeup 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 aluminum pie cases.

  “Look at all this packaging.” Bev sighed. “How much of it do you think gets recycled?”