“Kind of.” She winced.
“You know there have been studies, right? That bad luck happens to those who believe in it. If you still believe, what hope do I have of . . .”
Then the line went dead.
“Hello? Quinn?”
She jumped off the sofa. She tried calling back—it went straight to voicemail. What hope did he have of what? Had he changed his mind? Would he say he couldn’t be with someone who couldn’t leave the house like his mother?
Then Minnie knew what she had to do. She had to take off her owl pajamas and get herself to Westminster Pier in less than fifty-nine minutes. She had to find Quinn Hamilton and prove that he did have a hope, that she knew the jinx wasn’t real. She had to tell him that she didn’t want to live in a suit of armor anymore, whatever the risks might be. She might not say those exact words—they wouldn’t make much sense to anyone, but she could finesse the wording en route.
Minnie buzzed with excitement as she pulled open her wardrobe to find something to wear. Anything, anything, she didn’t have time to plan an outfit, any clothes would do. She picked up some jeans. Not those, they were too baggy for her now—in fact, not jeans at all—what if it was a dressy boat party? She’d stick out if she went too casual. She only had a few smart tops and none of them went with the flowing blue trousers she liked that made her bum look good—gah! She did not have time for this. Anything, just put on anything, Minnie.
Four minutes later she was out the door wearing three-quarter-length green Capri pants and a crocheted top she’d bought from a beach vendor in India. It was supposed to have another layer underneath it, so she threw on a neon exercise bra. Only when she got to the main road did she realize she’d have looked less ridiculous leaving the house in her pajamas. She’d also failed to grab a coat and it was freezing outside.
The Underground would be the quickest route to Westminster. She ran along the pavement, her limbs flailing like a baby giraffe’s. Outside Willesden tube station was a large white sign: transport for london regrets to inform you that due to an incredibly pungent sewage leak, the jubilee line is not in operation tonight. happy new year, folks!
Great. She carried on running to the bus stop; there was a bus in eleven minutes, but she didn’t have eleven minutes to lose. She’d get a cab and blow the expense, but on New Year’s Eve she wouldn’t have a hope. Her Uber app said twelve minutes. Suddenly out of nowhere, like a mirage on wheels, a black cab with its light on drove around the corner. She sprinted up the street toward it, only to have a man ahead of her on the pavement flag it down moments before she got there.
“Oh no! Oh please! I really need that cab,” she said, breathless, catching up to the man as he opened the car door.
He turned to look at her and scowled. This was not how London worked—black cabs were first-come, first-served; they didn’t work on a who-needs-it-most basis. His look informed her that she wasn’t abiding by the rules.
“If I don’t get to Westminster Pier in forty minutes, I’m going to miss proving to the man I love that I’ve changed. He’ll set sail and it will be too late!”
The man looked her up and down, taking in her outfit. He glanced at his watch then sighed. “I’m headed as far as Charing Cross—we can share and split the fare?”
“Oh, thank you!” Minnie clasped her hands together and jumped up and down on the spot before ducking into the cab after him.
The man was in his twenties, with dark curly hair that tumbled down from the top of his head but was cut short at both sides. He wore jewelry—rings of silver and gold on every finger.
“So your fella’s in the navy, is he?” asked her cab mate as the car pulled away from the curb. “Funny time to set sail.”
Minnie looked confused for a minute, rewinding their conversation in her head.
“Oh no, he’s not in the navy, he’s going on a boat party,” she explained.
The man frowned. “You made it sound like he’d be at sea for months, like it had to be tonight?”
“It does have to be tonight,” said Minnie. “If I don’t show him I can go out on New Year’s Eve, he’ll think I still believe in the jinx, and then maybe he won’t be able to love someone like that, someone scared and superstitious—”
“The jinx?” asked the man.
Minnie shrugged and gave a little shake of her head. “Bad things seem to happen to me on New Year’s Eve, so I usually try not to go out.”
“What kind of bad things?” The man narrowed his eyes at her from the other side of the cab.
“Nothing particular, it just feels like I’m unlucky this time of year. Logically, it must be coincidence or—”
Before she could finish her sentence, the cab jerked into the air, throwing her into the man’s lap. The car screeched to a halt with an alarming crunching sound.
“Gah! Sorry, are you OK?” Minnie asked, as she found herself sprawled against him.
“Tire’s blown,” the cab driver shouted back to them. “Are you all right?”
They both made noises that they were. Minnie felt her skin getting warmer and warmer as she realized the man’s rings were attached to her, an insect caught in her weird webbing top. They climbed out of the cab in conjoined crab-like unison and Minnie tried to untangle herself with as much dignity as possible.
The cab driver stood on the curb inspecting the blown tire. He gave a weary groan. “Looks like you’d best find another way of getting where you’re going.”
“What were you saying about bad luck?” groaned the man.
“Coincidence,” said Minnie.
They both stood awkwardly together on the pavement, and a few minutes later the man managed to hail another taxi.
“Maybe we could—” Minnie edged toward him hopefully.
“No,” he said, “I don’t need your bad luck following me round tonight, lady.”
Minnie ran south. She could see the number eighteen bus pulling in ahead, if she could just get on that bus, if there could be no traffic on the roads, she might just make it. She had to try.
“Wait, wait!” she cried, willing the bus to pause a moment longer. Thankfully the driver waited and waved her on. He was a broad-shouldered man in his thirties, with a heavy beard and tattoos down both arms.
“Oh, thank you, thank you,” she said, out of breath as she paid her fare.
“Always room for one more,” said the driver in a broad Scottish accent.
Minnie took a seat in the middle of the bus. She was definitely testing the limits of London’s transport network tonight.
The bus contained the usual smorgasbord of London nightlife: an elderly man in a battered duffel coat with a tinsel-collared Jack Russell on his lap; a group of teenage girls all in short skirts, long boots, and fake eyelashes, laughing over their phones; and a middle-aged couple having a disagreement about the best route to Covent Garden.
“Your lucky day,” said the man with the dog, giving her a wink. He had kind, creased eyes and a pointy face that reminded Minnie of a leprechaun.
“Sorry?” Minnie said.
“Making the bus,” he said.
“Oh yes, well I won’t count myself lucky yet, I’m trying to get to Westminster Pier by ten o’clock.” Perhaps it was the man’s bright, curious eyes, or perhaps it was the adrenaline of making the bus, but she found herself saying more. “There’s a man I’m in love with who’s leaving on a boat in thirty minutes.”
What was it about tonight, and oversharing with complete strangers?
The man ruffled his dog’s head. “Well, that’s a reason to run for a bus if ever I heard one,” he said. “Boris here thinks so too.”
The bus pulled in at the next stop, and the engine went dead.
“Sorry, folks, just pausing for a change of driver,” came a voice over the speaker.
Everyone groaned. Minnie jumped up and ran
to the front.
“Sorry, sir, but can you tell me how long that will take, please? It’s just I’m in a real rush.”
“Aren’t we all, luv,” said a blond woman in a high-visibility jacket, white shirt, and bus driver’s hat. She was holding a clipboard in her hand, and she looked Minnie up and down as she got onto the bus.
“Oh great, are you the new driver?” Minnie asked.
“She needs to get to Westminster Pier to tell a guy she loves him,” shouted the human leprechaun from farther down the bus.
“Well, we’ll get there when we get there. Move yourself, Hamish,” said the woman, moving to one side so that the large, bearded Scot could get out of the driver’s seat. Then she called out to the whole bus. “The bus will be waiting here for ten minutes to regulate the service on this route. If you are in a hurry, you should get off and catch the bus behind, which will be arriving in seven and a half minutes.”
She gave Minnie a tight grin, flashing a gold tooth, and took her seat in the driver’s cabin. People on the bus groaned and started to disembark.
“Oh no, can’t we just have an unregulated service tonight?” Minnie pleaded.
“Shaylene’s a stickler for the rules,” said the burly male driver, who was filling in some kind of log on the clipboard.
Minnie decided she would need to appeal to Shaylene’s romantic sensibilities.
“Look, Shaylene, I’m sure you’ve seen Sleepless in Seattle? You know that bit where Meg Ryan is supposed to meet Tom Hanks at the top of the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day? Well, I’m in a situation a bit like that, except instead of the Empire State Building, it’s a party boat, and instead of Tom Hanks, it’s this guy I like, but I have to get there before it leaves at ten. That’s why I’d really appreciate it if, on this one occasion, you didn’t try to regulate the service. It is New Year’s Eve after all.” She gave Shaylene her most pleading face, clasping her hands together in prayer.
“You know that saying about how you wait ages for a bus and then two come along at once? You know why that happens?” Shaylene said, pulling a Snickers bar out of her bag and opening it noisily. “Because someone didn’t regulate the service.” Then through a mouthful of Snickers she added, “And I don’t like romcoms.”
“I love Sleepless in Seattle,” said Hamish, shaking his head and grinning to himself as he handed the clipboard back to Shaylene.
“Oh, you’ve seen it?” Minnie squealed. “Then you know what I’m talking about. Oh, Hamish, have you ever just had that feeling about someone—that sudden realization that whatever the risks of getting hurt, whatever the odds of failure, you just have to give it a go? Before I met this guy my expectation of what love could be was like a five. A five! And then with him, when we’re together, it’s like a ten—a ten! And maybe I’m scared about having a ten and then losing it and never being happy with a five again, but if there’s a chance for a ten, I’ve got to go for it, right?”
Hamish looked up at her with a serious expression, his eyes welling up.
“I had a ten once,” he sniffed. “His name was Roger and he moved to Amsterdam. He said I should move with him, give up my job on the buses, learn Dutch. I can’t even roll my r’s.”
“You never told him how you felt?” Minnie asked.
“No, I let him go. I never met a ten since.” The man looked up at Minnie, he scratched his stubble with a knuckle, a new resolve filled his eyes. “Out of the way, Shaylene, I’m pulling a double shift tonight.” He waved her out of the way, and she and her half-eaten Snickers bar clambered out of the driver’s seat.
“You want to do my shift, be my guest,” she said, waving a hand in his face.
Hamish pressed the speaker button. “This is now a nonstop, unregulated service to Westminster Pier. Anyone not going that way, I suggest they disembark immediately.”
Minnie turned around. Everyone else had long since disembarked. It was just her and the human leprechaun who was now clapping his dog’s paws together in excitement.
“Let’s get the lady where she needs to go!” he yelled.
Hamish pulled the bus away from the curb and the bus bumped along at a rollicking pace.
“Buckle your seat belts!” he cried. “Make way for the number ten love bus!” yelled Hamish, as he sped out, overtaking the car in front.
“I don’t think we have seat belts on these buses,” said Minnie, clinging onto the pole for dear life, while she tried to get herself into a seat, “and isn’t this the eighteen?”
“Now it’s the ten. We’re going to get you your ten, hen, if it’s the last shift I do!”
As the bus screeched up the curb at Westminster Pier, Minnie could see the boat was still there; she had made it with a minute to spare.
“Thank you, thank you so much,” she yelled to Hamish and the human leprechaun as she leaped through the double doors.
“Go get him, kiddo!” shouted Hamish.
“Call Roger in Amsterdam—tell him how you feel! It’s never too late,” Minnie yelled back as she ran across the road to the pier.
It was one minute to ten. She jumped over the turnstile and ran up the ramp onto the boat. It was surprisingly quiet on board—no music, no people for that matter; maybe the party was belowdeck? She ran around to the front, trying to find a way down, where she found a solitary woman quietly sweeping the deck.
“Is this the party boat?” Minnie asked, trying to catch her breath.
“No,” said the lady sweeping. “This boat’s not in service. You shouldn’t be on here. Party boat left five minutes ago.”
She pointed to a boat out in the middle of the Thames. It was four times the size of this boat. Lights flashed from the interior and music boomed out over the water. Women wearing sparkling dresses and men in black tie were out on deck laughing and dancing with drinks in their hands.
She had missed the boat. She was too late.
New Year’s Eve 2020
Minnie took the night bus home. She sat dejected, staring out of the window, watching Londoners preparing to celebrate. A group of girls wearing hairbands with glittery pom-poms tottered down the street, and a couple wearing matching red and green jumpers stumbled out of a pub kissing, as a swaying man urinated against a letterbox.
She could call Quinn tomorrow, of course she could. Logically she knew this, but she still felt that she had missed something important tonight. She’d missed the chance to prove she wasn’t the superstitious, fatalistic girl from a year ago. She’d missed the chance to prove to herself that the jinx wasn’t real.
As she got off the bus near her house, a car driving past opened a window and threw out a polystyrene container. It bounced off the curb and spattered her green Capri trousers with a warm yellow gunk, something that smelled like curry sauce.
As she turned the corner of her street and got closer to her front door, she saw that it was hanging open. Oh great, she’d been robbed. The perfect end to the perfect evening. She walked cautiously toward the doorway and heard a noise inside; whoever had broken in was still there. Oh god, where was Lucky? Would he have escaped through the open door? She should call the police; she shouldn’t try to confront the intruder alone. She paused, conflicted. Her warm, hooded parka was just there on the peg, visible through the open door. She was freezing; she could grab it and then run and call the police. She reached out to take it just as a figure emerged from the kitchen. Minnie screamed and threw the coat she was holding over the figure’s head.
“I’ve called the police!” she yelled, running back out into the road.
“Minnie?” she heard a muffled voice calling after her.
How did the burglar know her name? She slowed down and turned to see Quinn, in black tie, holding her parka in his arms.
“It’s you? Oh god, I thought someone was robbing my flat,” she said, holding her chest, breathless with the adrenaline.
Minnie looked at him and blinked, she couldn’t believe he was here.
“You’re shivering,” he said, wrapping her coat around her shoulders and guiding her inside.
Minnie quickly checked the flat but nothing looked to be missing. Lucky was sitting contentedly on the sofa licking his paws, and she rushed over to pick him up, nuzzling her face into his fur.
“I guess maybe I didn’t shut the door properly when I left,” she said with a frown. “My dad warned me the door had a dodgy lock.”
Quinn stood in the hall, as though waiting to be invited in.
“Where did you go?” he asked.
Minnie came to stand opposite him and he reached out to take her hands in his.
“Westminster Pier—I missed the boat.”
“I wasn’t on it.” The dimple on Quinn’s cheek creased into life.
“I can see that,” she said, biting her lip. “You came all the way up here, you missed your party.”
“If you want to stay in and hide from the jinx, I will stay and hide with you.”
“I thought I might have missed the boat with you too . . .” She paused awkwardly. “I didn’t know if you’d still feel the same.”
“Minnie Cooper, I think it’s time I showed you exactly how I feel.”
He put his hands gently on her face, and Minnie had that funny feeling she’d had so often before, that Quinn Hamilton might be about to kiss her. This time she was right. He leaned over and gently pressed his lips to hers. His mouth was tender but firm; his hand stroked her hair down around her cheek. Her skin fizzed with electricity and Minnie had to reach backward for a wall to support herself.
After a blissful few minutes, Quinn pulled away, sniffing the air, his nose wrinkly.
“Do you smell curry sauce?”
“It’s me. It’s all over my trousers—it’s been an eventful evening.”
Minnie shivered. She’d got so cold her body was finding it hard to warm up. Quinn rubbed his hands up and down her arms.
This Time Next Year Page 32
