This Time Next Year

by Sophie Cousens

  “I’m sorry, I can’t,” said Minnie briskly. “I need to get home and have a shower, and I need to find out what happened to my boyfriend. He’ll be worried about me.”

  “Sure,” Quinn said, dropping his eyes to the ground and ruffling a hand through his thick hair. “Maybe another time?”

  “Maybe,” said Minnie, picking up her bag to go.

  “You’re not seriously annoyed about the name thing, are you?” Quinn asked. “It’s only a name.”

  “Maybe to you,” said Minnie, shaking her hair out so that it covered more of her face.

  They walked down to the main door of the club and Quinn opened the door to the street for her.

  “Listen, if you can’t do breakfast, can I at least get your number?” he said. “If nothing else I need to get that membership card from you.”

  “Membership card?”

  “The First of January Club.”

  “Right. Well, you can find me pretty easily. There aren’t many Minnie Coopers on Facebook who don’t have cars as their profile picture.”

  Minnie looked up at him. He was standing right next to her in the doorway, propping open the door for her to go through. She felt her arms prickle with goose bumps and she hugged them closer to her chest.

  “You don’t have a coat?” he said.

  “I lost it on the way here.”

  “Let me lend you mine, you’ll freeze.”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Minnie tilted her head to one side; he hadn’t moved from the doorway. She felt strangely unnerved by his physical proximity. She was so close to him she could feel the heat radiating from his torso. She found herself breathing him in, the smell of hot skin and pressed cotton. She unconsciously wet her lips. It was a momentary gesture, but he saw it and smiled. Minnie frowned then quickly ducked beneath his arm and skipped out onto the street. This man was clearly used to women wilting beneath his gaze. She doubted he’d ever been turned down for anything, least of all breakfast.

  “Well, happy birthday, Name Stealer,” she said as she turned to go.

  “You too, Birthday Twin,” said Quinn, leaning against the door frame, his cheek dimpled in amusement.

  Minnie darted across the street and up the small side road, away from the club. She fought the urge to look back, to see if he was still watching her. As she crossed out onto the main road, the previously bright sky suddenly clouded over and giant raindrops began to fall.

  January 1, 2020

  Minnie got off the fifty-six bus halfway up the Essex Road, just outside Sainsbury’s. A few lost-looking souls were waiting outside for the supermarket to open. Plastic glasses littered the curb by the pub opposite, and the rain had not yet washed away the cigarette butts and half-eaten takeaways that lay on the pavement by overflowing trash bins. It was still pouring with rain as she ran down the side street to her flat, her arms cradled over her head for protection. At her door she fumbled in her bag, looking for her keys—they weren’t there. She stood, soaking wet and shivering, then emptied the bag onto the doorstep, clinging to the hope they might be hiding among old receipts and loose makeup. Looking down at the sodden pile of handbag clutter, she closed her eyes and exhaled slowly; her keys were in her coat pocket, the coat she’d lost on the bus the night before. Of course they were. It was her birthday—nothing would go right today.

  Minnie looked up at the window of her flat. She could see her cat’s little gray face pressed up against the window.

  “Oh Lucky—poor Lucky!” she cried. “I need to feed you, darling.”

  Minnie stuffed everything back into her bag and rang the buzzers for the other two flats in the building. Maybe someone would take pity on her. She could at least charge her phone, get dry, and ring her landlord to let her in. Nobody answered.

  * * *

  —

  “You’re early,” said Leila as she opened her front door to Minnie half an hour later. “I thought I was taking you out for lunch?”

  Leila lived in Stoke Newington in northeast London, half an hour by bus from Minnie’s place. She shared a flat with her boyfriend on the top floor of an ex-council building. Their block was an unremarkable concrete stack with graffiti all over the hallways, but inside the place felt light and homey. Leila stood in the doorway wearing a pink dressing gown covered in unicorns. do i make you unicorny? was written across the front in sparkling pink lettering. Leila’s rainbow-streaked hair was pulled to the top of her head in a messy topknot; the stripes of bold color had grown out to reveal several inches of mousy-brown roots beneath. When describing Leila, Minnie often said she was a 1950s film star with crazy hair; she had a curvy figure and these deep, hooded eyes that somehow always seemed to look sultry. This morning’s dressing gown ensemble wasn’t necessarily highlighting her film-star qualities.

  “I lost my house keys and got trapped in a nightclub toilet all night,” said Minnie, walking through the front door and waving Leila away as she tried to hug her. “Don’t, you’ll get soaked.”

  “Nightclub toilet?” Leila dropped her face into her hands. “Poor jinxsy girl.” She reached out to pat Minnie’s head and stroke her cheek as though she were a pet. “Happy birthday, Min.”

  “Thanks,” said Minnie, pinching the bridge of her nose then taking a loud inhalation of breath.

  “Look at you, you’re soaking—come in, come in. I’m impressed you braved a club, you must really like Greg.”

  Minnie followed her friend down the narrow corridor through to the bathroom. Leila pulled a grayish-pink towel from the rail and handed it to her. It was stiff like cardboard, as though it had been washed at a million degrees five hundred times too many.

  “Have a hot shower then borrow some dry clothes,” Leila suggested.

  “Happy birthday, Minnie,” came Ian’s voice from the other room.

  Minnie poked her head around the living-room door. Ian was sitting on the low beige sofa in his boxer shorts playing the Xbox. He had his feet resting on the upturned orange crate that served as their coffee table. His short-shaven hair was hidden under a red baseball cap and he had a new, angry-looking tattoo on his upper arm that read player one.

  “Thanks, Ian. New tattoo?”

  “Christmas present from Leils,” Ian said.

  “I didn’t wrap it,” Leila called from the bathroom, “and I didn’t choose it, or approve it.”

  “Wanna play two-player? You can break my losing streak,” said Ian.

  “Maybe when my fingertips have regained some sensation,” said Minnie.

  Leila came back out of the bathroom and pressed a small white bottle into Minnie’s hands. It had coconuts and pink flowers on the label.

  “You can use my good shower gel,” Leila said in a whisper. “I hide it from Ian or his balls smell of coconuts for weeks.”

  Minnie stepped into the shower and let the warm water stream down her face. She scrubbed at her skin, trying to wash the day-old makeup and smell of the club from her pores. Her neck still felt stiff from sleeping on the toilet floor, and she rubbed it from side to side between her palms. Leila’s hand reached around the bathroom door.

  “Just leaving you some clothes for when you’re ready,” she said.

  Minnie looked over at the door, where Leila had hung a red and white polka-dot dress. Leila was not a conservative dresser; most of her outfits were even more colorful than her kaleidoscopic hair. She was like the child who insisted on using every color in the Crayola box.

  Twenty minutes later, Minnie presented herself in the living room.

  “I cannot wear this,” she said.

  Ian burst out laughing. “It’s Minnie Mouse!”

  “Don’t be rude. You look lovely,” said Leila, scowling at Ian.

  “You’re not taking me to Disneyland, are you?” Minnie asked, hands on her hips.

  “Nothing that exciting,” sa
id Leila. “I’m taking you to lunch. I’m tired of you saying you never want to do anything for your birthday. It’s your thirtieth, it’s a big deal—we have to mark the occasion somehow.”

  “Oh man, you’re old,” said Ian, taking his eyes from the screen to make a face at Minnie. His eyes grew wide in mock horror.

  “Ha-ha,” said Minnie, pointing at the TV screen where game over was flashing in aggressive capital letters. Ian made a “fahhh” noise and threw the controller down onto the sofa next to him. He pulled off his cap and briskly ran his hands back and forth over his head.

  “I’m not sure we should let Minnie in the flat if she’s got this curse hanging over her. I don’t need the ceiling falling in when I’m sitting in my underwear.”

  Minnie gave an exaggerated eye roll. Ian had been Leila’s boyfriend for three years, and he and Minnie had quickly fallen into the roles of bickering siblings. They liked to play-fight for Leila’s attention.

  “If the ceiling started falling in, would you move from that sofa?” Leila asked, waving a finger at the scene in front of her. “I bet Greg doesn’t sit around all day playing video games in his underwear, does he, Minnie?”

  “Don’t knock the underpants,” said Ian. “Me and these underpants have been through some good times. You and these underpants have been through some good times.”

  Ian raised his eyebrows. Leila tried to stifle a smile.

  “Shit, I must call Greg. Can I plug in my phone?” said Minnie.

  Minnie moved an array of multicolored nail varnishes from Leila’s dressing table and plugged her phone into the bedside charger. She sat on the bed while Leila riffled through her wardrobe for something to wear.

  “So, you’ll never guess who I met last night,” Minnie said, tapping her toes on the floor.

  “The Pope?”

  “No.”

  “Jon Bon Jovi?”

  “No.”

  “Hot Priest from Fleabag?”

  “You’re just saying random people?”

  “Yes.”

  “OK, I’ll tell you.” Minnie paused until she had Leila’s full attention. “Quinn Hamilton.”

  Leila paused. “Who?”

  “Quinn, Quinn Hamilton.” Minnie stared at her friend in disbelief. “Name Stealer Quinn.”

  “Quinn! The Quinn?” Leila took a quick step toward Minnie, her eyes wide, one hand clutching a hanger to her chest. “Childhood nemesis Quinn?”

  “Yes, that Quinn,” Minnie said, nodding slowly.

  Leila abandoned her quest to get dressed and bounced her bottom onto the bed next to Minnie.

  “What, how, w—?” She shook her head in disbelief. “How did you know it was him?”

  “It was his birthday party. Greg’s friend from the paper, Lucy Donohue, goes out with him. I was only introduced when he let me out of the bathroom at seven o’clock this morning. I knew who he was straightaway. How many Quinns born on the first of January can there be?”

  “Why are you saying Lucy Donohue like that?” asked Leila, squinting her eyes at Minnie.

  “Like what?”

  “In a funny nasally voice with your nose all scrunched up?”

  “Was I? I didn’t mean to. She was kind of annoying, though. Anyway, back to Quinn. Quinn! Can you believe it?”

  The screen on Minnie’s phone lit up and pinged into life. Greg’s name flashed up on the phone as a stream of messages came through. Minnie groaned.

  “All OK?” asked Leila.

  “Greg abandoned me in the club last night and now he’s sending me arsy texts because he thinks I left without him.”

  “I would never, ever leave without you,” Leila said solemnly.

  “I know you wouldn’t. I would never leave without you either.” Minnie reached out to squeeze her friend’s hand. “He does sound pretty pissed off, though. I should probably call him.”

  “Tell me the story first; Bathroom Abandoner can wait.”

  “OK, give me one minute, I’m just going to text my landlord to see if he can let me into my flat today. I’ve got to get in somehow to feed poor Lucky.”

  Minnie tapped away on her phone and Leila made a ticktock clicking sound with her tongue, nodding her head from side to side like a metronome.

  “So, did you tell Quinn he stole your name?” Leila asked once Minnie had finished typing. “What’s he like? Is he hot? Quinn Hamilton sounds like a hot name to me.”

  “Yes, I told him he stole my name—he laughed like it was a joke. And I don’t know where you get the idea that there are hot names and not-hot names,” Minnie said irritably. She started fiddling with the dress she was wearing, swishing the skirt back and forth in her lap. She was so unused to wearing skirts that she felt as though she were looking down at someone else’s body. “You’re not seriously going to make me go out in public like this, are you?”

  “So he is hot?” said Leila, narrowing her eyes even further.

  “I guess, but only in that textbook, arrogant, rich-boy way. He was probably born with a silver spoon in every orifice,” said Minnie, grimacing.

  “Don’t stop there. I need to hear every single detail. I have to get my love-life kicks through you now I’m so bloody normcore. And yes, you need to wear the dress, it will be fun, I promise.” Leila went back to her wardrobe and held up a bright yellow 1950s-style tea dress. “Too much?”

  “You can pull this look off, I can’t,” said Minnie, shaking her head. Leila dropped her pajama bottoms on the floor and stepped into the yellow skirt. “Hang on, what do you mean ‘love life’? This isn’t anything to do with my love life, this is just me meeting the man my mum’s been comparing me to my whole life. Right, I’m going to call Greg now.”

  Minnie dialed his number. Greg didn’t like speaking on the phone, he preferred text, but this didn’t feel like a text conversation. It went straight to voicemail. “Hi, Greg, it’s Minnie. Just ringing to say I didn’t go home without you last night, you were the one who went home without me, and anyway . . . wait, someone else is calling me . . . maybe it’s you, no, it’s an unknown number. Hang on, I’ll call you back, I was just calling to say I’m alive—bye.”

  Minnie quickly switched callers to take the incoming call. It was her landlord, Mr. Buchanan, saying he could meet her at the flat to give her a spare key.

  “You’re going now?” Leila asked once Minnie put the phone down. “What about lunch?”

  “I have to go and feed Lucky. I’ll go now then come and meet you out.” Minnie stood up and pulled her friend in for a hug. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

  Leila’s lips twitched as she watched her friend leave. “This better not just be a ploy to change out of that dress,” she called after her.

  * * *

  —

  Mr. Buchanan was waiting for Minnie on the street. He was busy inspecting her wheelie bin when she arrived. He was in his mid-sixties with bright white hair and he spoke with a lisp. When he saw Minnie in her polka-dot dress he did a double take.

  “Thank you so much for meeting me,” Minnie said breathlessly, running up the street to meet him. “I couldn’t afford to call a locksmith, especially on New Year’s Day.”

  Mr. Buchanan started inspecting some of the peeling paintwork on the front door frame, picking at it with a fingernail to see how easily it came away.

  “Yes, about your finances, Miss Cooper,” he said, flaring his huge hairy nostrils at her. “I see you’re behind on your utility bills again.”

  “I know, cash flow, but I’m on it, don’t worry,” said Minnie, making two firm hand gestures with her fists to hammer home how on it she was.

  “They tell me when a tenant falls into bad credit you know,” he said, turning back to face her with a squint. “And we spoke about this before, I believe?”

  “Oh yes, I know, but . . .”

  Mi
nnie looked up and saw Lucky pawing the glass at her. She gave him a little wave.

  “What are you waving at?” Mr. Buchanan asked.

  “My cat . . . my catalog.” Minnie suddenly remembered she wasn’t allowed pets under the terms of her lease. “My catalog will have arrived. I’m just excited—do you ever get like that about catalogs? January sales, whoop-whoop . . .”

  Mr. Buchanan turned and looked up at the window. She didn’t know if he’d seen the swish of gray tail before Lucky ducked out of view.

  “I see,” said Mr. Buchanan, cutting her off. “It doesn’t sound like you are in a position to be shopping, Miss Cooper.” He blinked his small eyes at her. “You’re due to renew your lease on the first, that’s today.” He paused. “I don’t feel—”

  Minnie could see where this was going and held up a finger to stop him.

  “Wait! Mr. Buchanan, please wait, whatever you might be about to say, please can we not have this conversation now? I know this sounds crazy, but bad things happen to me on the first of January, so if there are any major decisions to be made about my continuing to live here, I wonder if I could call you tomorrow when it’s not the first and, um, well, just don’t make your mind up today. I know I’ve been a bit of a crap tenant, but just give me one more day.”

  Mr. Buchanan’s head was making very small movements from side to side. His lips were moving as though Minnie were a book he was trying to read and she was scrolling through the pages too fast for him.

  “You want me to ask you to move out tomorrow?” he asked, peering at her in bemusement.

  “No, no, I don’t want you to ask me to move out at all. Just sleep on it, Mr. Buchanan, decide tomorrow. I might not look like such a bad tenant tomorrow.” Minnie gave him the most charming smile she could muster.

  “You have a month’s notice, Miss Cooper,” he said, handing her the spare key. “But since you asked nicely, I’ll wait until tomorrow to formalize it in writing.”

  Inside her apartment, Minnie dropped her bag on the floor and pulled Lucky into her arms.