“I don’t think I want to be sweet,” she said, turning away and looking back at the penguins. She rested her hands against the glass to anchor herself.
“Oh look, what’s that one doing?” Minnie said, pointing to a penguin shuffling something between his feet.
“He’s bringing a stone to his mate as a gift,” said a deep, gravelly voice beside her. Minnie turned to see an elderly man with white hair and a large nose speckled with liver spots. He had a hunched back and a cane in his hand. He pointed a wavering finger at the penguin. “They give gifts to each other like humans do. That one there is trying to win her affections. She’s a tough cookie, though, she is.” The old man laughed. “There aren’t enough rocks in the enclosure to please her.”
“You know a lot about penguins,” Minnie said to the man.
“Come here most days. My wife and I used to come together,” said the man, tapping his cane twice against the floor. They stood quietly beside each other, watching the penguins until the old man spoke again. “They mate for life, you know.”
“Maybe our lives would be easier if we were more penguin-y,” said Minnie.
“Not easy for all of them,” said the old man, shaking his head. “There was a Humboldt penguin like this in Tobu Zoo; Grape-kun was his name. They put a cardboard cutout of a little anime girl in his enclosure—advert for something, I think. Anyway, Grape-kun fell in love with that cardboard girl. Stood staring at her every day, wouldn’t move to get food, just stared mournfully. Unrequited love.”
“What happened to him?” Quinn asked from behind Minnie.
“He died,” sighed the man, “some say of a broken heart. He’d spent years of his life staring at that cardboard girl, willing her to love him, but she could not love him back. I always think of that story when I see penguins. I think it was cruel for the zoo to keep the cardboard girl there. Brought in the tourists, though, didn’t it? Everyone wanted to see the love-struck penguin.”
“That’s a sad story,” said Minnie with a sigh, turning her attention back to the enclosure. “Quinn, I think you should adopt that one,” she said, pointing at the penguin shuffling around with the pebble between his flippers.
“He’s called Coco,” said the old man.
“Maybe he’ll get an extra ration of fish or something—might make his poor little love-struck day.”
Quinn and Minnie spent hours strolling around the rest of the zoo. Minnie was intent on reading all the information about every animal. She bought them ice creams as they walked. Quinn bought a headband with giraffe ears on for her and a hat with elephant ears on for himself. They chatted so easily about everything and nothing, veering effortlessly between silly and serious in the space of a sentence. Minnie liked this version of Quinn; she liked his manner, his humor, the ease he had with his own body. Minnie liked this version of herself too; she liked the person she was around him. Now she didn’t have her defenses up, she felt fun, optimistic, interesting. She hardly recognized herself and yet, somehow, this person felt like the truest reflection of who she really was.
When they’d finally seen all the animals, they stood near the exit and turned to face each other.
“Well, thank you for that,” Minnie said, biting her lip. “I’ve had a lovely time. Plus, now I finally know what a giraffe looks like.”
“You’re welcome,” said Quinn with a little bow. “Thank you for helping me choose a penguin.”
“I can’t take you seriously with those elephant ears on.” Minnie laughed.
Quinn pulled the hat from his head and looked back at her.
“That’s better,” said Minnie, reaching up to tap his nose with a forefinger. “You don’t have a big enough nose to pull off the elephant look.”
Quinn reached up to intercept her hand, to stop her from tapping his nose, but he held on a beat too long before letting her go.
“I don’t know if you really get to adopt a specific penguin,” Quinn said, his gaze following the hand he had let go.
“That’s why I smuggled Coco out under my coat,” Minnie whispered as she leaned in toward him.
He reached out for her coat collar, gently pulling her toward him, pretending to look beneath her coat for the stowaway.
“You’re full of surprises, Minnie Cooper,” he said in a deep, soft drawl.
She looked up into his eyes, her face so close to his. He was going to kiss her; Minnie felt her heart in her throat, every part of her alive with anticipation. Then something flashed across his face. Doubt? Fear? He pinched his lips shut and turned their physical proximity into an awkward hug. He patted her back then extracted himself and turned briskly toward the exit.
What the hell was that? Minnie blanched. She hugged her arms around herself, wounded by the indignity of being patted like a dog. She’d been sure he was about to kiss her. Was she so deluded that she’d entirely misread this chemistry between them?
“OK, well, this is where I . . .” he said as they stood next to each other in Regent’s Park. “I really should get to the office.” He nodded his head to the right.
“And I’m getting the bus up there,” Minnie said, nodding to the left. “See you, I guess.”
She couldn’t conceal the hurt in her voice. She felt as though she’d just had the most perfect date of her life, and then had a door slammed in her face.
She dared to look up at him again, trying to see what that look had been a few moments ago, where the hesitation had come from. As soon as their eyes met again, he closed his.
“Don’t look at me like that, Minnie.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want me to kiss you,” he said, unable to look at her.
“Why not?” Minnie felt her voice catch in her throat.
“I thought we could just hang out. I didn’t plan . . .” Quinn squeezed his forehead between finger and thumb. Finally, he looked at her, then dropped his gaze again. “I’m kind of seeing someone. I don’t want to be a dick here.”
Minnie felt the words like a punch in the stomach. “Oh right,” she said quietly. “Amanda?”
“No.” Quinn shook his head. “Someone else. It’s not like, a relationship but . . .”
“I see. Busy man.”
Quinn took a step toward her. He blinked slowly. “I wouldn’t be good for you, Minnie, not like that, trust me.”
Quinn’s phone started to ring. He took it out of his pocket, looking at the display, momentarily distracted. Minnie set her jaw firm, trying to stop herself from crumbling where she stood. She watched him torn between saying more and taking the call—no doubt from her, whomever she was.
“You can take it; I need to go anyway. And for the record, I wasn’t looking at you like I wanted to be kissed. I was just looking at you, Quinn.”
Minnie marched past him and kept walking. Hot tears instantly sprang from her eyes. She started to run. He called after her but she didn’t turn around, determined he should not see he had made her cry. What was wrong with her? She’d been so stupid to get caught up in today, feeling as though she was on some kind of magical first date when clearly he thought it was nothing of the sort. How could she read people so badly?
As she blinked away the blur of tears, there was only one person she wanted to speak to right now, one person she needed to see. She pulled out her phone.
It rang twice.
“Leila?”
“Yes.” It was a civil yes, a polite yes—the new tone of their friendship.
“Can I come over?”
Leila heard the tears and her tone instantly changed.
“Where are you, Min? I’ll come and get you.”
May 17, 2020
Despite Leila’s offer to fetch her, Minnie said she would rather come to hers. By the time she arrived on Leila’s doorstep she had stopped crying. She now felt nervous about being here. Though they’d met for a
few coffees in town, she hadn’t been to Leila’s flat since their fight. She also hadn’t seen Ian in three months but, as far as Minnie knew, he hadn’t proposed yet. Surely she would still be the first person to hear if he’d popped the question?
Ian had sent her a text after the fight, saying he felt responsible for her and Leila falling out. He said he’d told Leila about their conversation, tried to broker a peace. Yet strangely their argument had felt like it was about more than just the business. Years of being so close, rubbing against each other’s hard edges, finally caused a friction fire that needed to burn itself out. Perhaps, like in the aftermath of a wildfire, there would now be room for new shoots.
As Leila opened the door, Minnie’s eye went instantly to her hand just to check there wasn’t something there she hadn’t been told about. No ring. She felt her chest decompress. If there had been a ring, if Ian had proposed and Leila hadn’t told her—it might have felt like the death knell for their friendship.
“Min, what’s happened?”
Leila wrapped her arms around her and Minnie sank into her with a heaving sob. It wasn’t even about Quinn bloody Hamilton anymore, it was about her friend hugging her in a way she hadn’t been hugged for months and only now, this second, realizing how deeply she had missed her.
“Quinn Hamilton.” Minnie sniffed.
“Whaaat?” Leila clenched her hands around Minnie’s shoulders and dragged her into the flat. “I knew it, I knew that was on the cards! How, when, where? Tell me everything.”
“Nothing happened. I ran into him this morning at Hampstead ponds.”
“Since when do you go to Hampstead ponds?” Leila drew her head back into a do-I-know-you-at-all? expression.
“I always used to swim, remember, before life got busy. I thought I’d finally listen to Jean and try outside. Anyway, I ran into Quinn and we went for breakfast and . . .” Minnie let out a loud exhale, blinking her eyes closed. “Leila, we got on so well. I don’t know, he was just being so normal and funny and strangely vulnerable, not arrogant and obnoxious like before. We ended up going to the zoo and—”
“The zoo?”
“He wanted to adopt a penguin.”
“Classic day date.”
“What do you mean ‘day date’?”
“Zoo is a classic day date. Looking at all those animals humping each other—starts you thinking about sex. He suggested it? You only take someone to the zoo if you want to hump them too.”
“I don’t think it’s romantic watching animals hump each other, but yes, he suggested it.”
“Then what? You snogged by the snow leopards, locked lips by the lemurs, canoodled by the canoe frogs?”
“What are canoe frogs?”
“I couldn’t think of anything that went with canoodle. There might be canoe frogs.”
Minnie shook her head, distracted from her story.
“Anyway, Quinn and I had this amazing morning just hanging out, and it felt . . . I felt there was this amazing connection between us. We were about to leave and we had this moment . . .”
“A moment?”
“Yeah, like we were looking into each other’s eyes and he was about to kiss me, and . . .”
“And?”
“And then he said, ‘Don’t look at me like you want me to kiss you—I’m seeing someone and it would never work between us.’”
“Ugh.”
“Ugh, I know.”
“I was expecting a little more steam in this story, though, Min. This is barely G-rated. I was guessing he’d have at least shagged you and then ghosted you.”
“I know, I’m overreacting. I just felt this real connection, and then to think I’d imagined the whole thing. It made me feel so stupid.”
Minnie shrugged. She felt a strange layering of emotions. On one level she still felt rejected and embarrassed; on another she felt so pleased to be back with Leila, talking like they used to, that the rejection and the embarrassment didn’t seem so bad. She reached out to hug her friend again.
“I’ve missed you, Leils. I’m sorry if you think I’m not a butterfly, and I’m sorry I berated you for being a butterfly. I love your butterflyiness, I can’t handle being a boring wingless caterpillar on my own.”
Leila laughed. “You’re not a boring wingless caterpillar, I shouldn’t have said that. You’re wonderful just as you are. I don’t think I realized how stressed I was back then. I took it out on you and I’m sorry.”
Minnie still held tight to the hug.
“Clearly Quinn thinks I’m a wingless caterpillar too.”
“Don’t take it so personally. You don’t know what’s going on with him.” Leila paused, blinking owlishly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Minnie, but you let other people screw with your sense of self-worth too much.”
Minnie tapped a fist to her lips and swallowed. She would usually respond defensively to this kind of comment, but she was so glad to be back on good terms with Leila that she bit her tongue and simply said, “What do you mean?”
Leila took a deep breath, appraising Minnie’s reaction as she spoke.
“Well, if a guy rejected me, I might be disappointed short-term, but then I’d figure he wasn’t cut out to be the beneficiary of my excellent Leila energy.” Minnie gave a reluctant lopsided smile. “Whereas you, Minnie Cooper, would take it to mean you’re worthless and hideous and doing something wrong.”
Minnie’s phone started ringing from her bag. She picked it up and showed Leila the screen—Quinn was calling her.
“Do you want to answer it?” Leila asked.
“No.” Minnie shook her head. “I’m going to try to be more Leila,” she said, hanging up the call.
They chatted all afternoon, catching up on all they had missed in each other’s lives. Leila loved her new job at the fashion start-up, but had a new nemesis—a colleague who kept trying to outdo her in the fashion stakes. Minnie told Leila all about working at the catering firm, about living back at home with the endless soundtrack of clocks, and how Lucky kept trying to murder her in her sleep.
The afternoon evaporated and when Ian came home, they were still on the sofa eating Pringles with salsa, cradling large glasses of pinot grigio.
“Ah,” he said in a deep drawling voice, “the prodigal player one returns. How you getting on out there, Han Solo?”
“It’s lonely”—Minnie sighed, getting up to give Ian a hug—“but I’m learning all sorts of things about myself.” She turned to Leila with bulging eyes and a taut grin.
“Right, I have to pee, bladder the size of a harvest mouse,” said Leila, jumping up and walking in a comedy cross-legged waddle toward the bathroom.
Minnie took the opportunity to quiz Ian.
“You haven’t asked her yet?” she hissed.
“I was waiting for you. I need you to sort out all the weird shit you said she wanted,” Ian mumbled, hands plunged into his tracksuit bottom pockets.
“I’m on it, I promise. I’m sorry, things have been—”
“I get it, you were off doing a bonus level.”
June 13, 2020
“Is she going to know it’s me?” said Ian from beneath a heavy domed metal helmet. Fleur’s prop contact had come up trumps.
“Who else would it be, you goon,” said Minnie, as she made the final adjustments to his body armor. The plates were specially layered so the wearer could ride a horse. The prop guy said it had been used in Game of Thrones by the Lannister army.
The sky over Hyde Park was cornflower blue. Buttercups and daisies peppered the lawn and regal swans preened themselves around the edge of the reservoir. It looked like an idyllic children’s book illustration—the perfect place for a proposal. The whole No Hard Fillings gang had come back together to put Minnie’s plan into action. Minnie was dressed as a mermaid with a long sparkling green tail and a huge wig of tumblin
g red curls weaved through with glittery silver seaweed. She wore a sheer bodysuit on her top half with a coconut bra that clonked when she moved. She hadn’t planned on being a mermaid, but when she’d seen the choice of costumes, she’d decided this was her best bet. At least Leila would recognize her in this outfit.
Surprisingly, Fleur had come good on all her contacts. An animatronics specialist had brought them an array of singing animals from the last movie he had worked on, The Singing Sheep of Pontyre Creek. It was a bit sheep heavy for Minnie’s liking; Leila had not specifically mentioned sheep in her fantasy. She’d imagined singing woodland animals like they had in Disney cartoons, but no doubt Disney had sheep in there somewhere and Minnie wasn’t going to complain, especially when she saw the generator that had been brought down especially to power the singing sheep.
The costume contact of Fleur’s at the RSC had roped in half a dozen actors who loved the sound of the plan and the promise of a free picnic. A further thirty people had been rounded up through a crowd-sourcing campaign Fleur had set up online. Minnie wasn’t sure Fleur had been specific enough with the crowd-sourcing brief, because people were dressed as leprechauns, a pineapple, and there was even a Tinky Winky and a Po lurking somewhere near the back.
Bev and Minnie had spent all of yesterday preparing the picnic to end all picnics. It had taken longer than Minnie planned because Bev wouldn’t let them buy any food that came in plastic packaging. She’d finally gone along to some rallies and was now evangelical in her quest for a plastic-free world.
Today, Bev was dressed in a fancy-dress costume she had made herself. The outfit was comprised of a strange, short green dress that had been ripped around the bottom, some kind of pillow tied around her shoulders, a very unflattering wig that looked to be made from the fur of an old teddy bear (there was a suspiciously bear-like nose above one ear) and makeup that had been done in the dark with too much eyebrow pencil. Minnie couldn’t bring herself to ask which Disney character Bev was supposed to be, but she was assuming it was some kind of Hungry Caterpillar.
This Time Next Year Page 22
