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She went that Sunday. Of course she did. Her curiosity got the better of her. At seven thirty she was on Hampstead Heath, skulking in the bushes near the entrance to the mixed ponds. It was a cold, crisp morning and this pond was now closed for the winter. No one was around. Eight o’clock came and went. Minnie sat down on a bench nearby and kicked a pile of autumn leaves at her feet. The letter must have been sent over a week ago. She could unblock him, call him, but she didn’t want to. She’d already spent too many hours fixated on this particular cardboard girl.
She strolled up to Parliament Hill, wrapping her scarf tighter around her neck and tucking her hands deep into the pockets of her new woollen coat. She hadn’t been back here since that day in August; she’d taken to swimming at the indoor pool instead. The heath looked so different with its autumnal clothes on. An orange carpet of leaves covered the footpaths and a crisp, low light shone through the tangle of tree boughs above her head. She picked up a perfect red leaf from the ground, examining the intricate pattern of vessels mapping its thin surface. So beautiful, yet only created to last such a short time before its role on this planet was over, and it would decay into mulch. An unremarkable existence, and yet to look at it – how remarkable.
‘Minnie?’
Minnie jumped, dropping the leaf. She looked up to see Quinn standing in front of her.
‘Oh, you scared me,’ she said, clutching a hand to her chest.
Quinn wore a thick green woollen jumper, a camel coat and dark navy jeans. She hadn’t seen him for months. When you see someone often, you can forget to take in what they look like – they just become a configuration of features and foibles. Then, after an absence, you see them again as though for the very first time. With Quinn, this was like a sledgehammer hitting you with how handsome he was.
‘Sorry, you were looking very intently at that leaf,’ said Quinn, with a cautious smile.
Minnie looked for the leaf she had dropped. She picked it up and put it in her pocket.
‘It’s a great leaf,’ she said, then berated herself for saying something so stupid.
‘I didn’t think you’d come,’ said Quinn.
‘I got your letter,’ said Minnie, ‘but I didn’t know when you’d sent it. It got a bit … damaged.’
‘Oh,’ Quinn looked relieved. ‘I sent it three weeks ago, but I still come here every week, on the off-chance I might run into you.’
He fell into step next to Minnie as they walked down the tree-lined avenue.
‘I tried to call you, then I couldn’t get through. I didn’t want to turn up on your doorstep but I … I needed to explain … ’ Quinn paused; he was nervous.
Minnie scuffed up a pile of leaves with her feet and it gave a satisfying crunch. She stayed quiet, letting him talk.
‘I guess I’m a bit of a screw-up, Minnie. I have issues with feeling needed,’ Quinn blinked and thrust his hands into his pockets. They both walked with their eyes on the path ahead. It was sometimes easier to speak when you weren’t looking at someone. ‘I think I’ve grown up with a messed-up view of what love is. I thought it was love that destroyed my mother, but I realise now, it wasn’t that.’ Quinn shook his head.
‘Sounds like you’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching, Quinn,’ Minnie said.
‘I have,’ he frowned. ‘I started seeing a therapist at the beginning of the year, started talking through some stuff I’ve never talked about before. I quit after a few months, though; thought I could handle it myself. Then, running out on you like that, I knew I had to go back. I don’t want to be that person, Minnie, not any more. I’ve finally come to a few important decisions.’
‘Like what?’
‘I need to move away from Primrose Hill. I need to apologise to you for the way I behaved. I need to start being open to letting people in.’
In her peripheral vision, Minnie could see him looking sideways at her with hopeful eyes. She kept her eyes on the path ahead.
‘Is this some therapy thing where you go around apologising to all the girls you’ve ghosted?’ Quinn made a short ‘huh’ exhaling sound. ‘I understand if you need to get on. It must be a very long list.’ Minnie elbowed him gently.
‘That’s not what this is. I meant every word I wrote in that letter. I knew I’d done the wrong thing the second I left yourflat, but I couldn’t start something with you, Minnie, not until I knew I could do it properly.’ He stopped in his tracks and she turned to face him. He tapped a fist against his chest. ‘From the minute I met you, you’ve burrowed your way in here like a song stuck in my head. I can’t get you out.’
‘That must be very annoying,’ said Minnie with a little shake of her head.
‘It’s not annoying.’
‘Well, that’s not a good analogy then, because getting a song stuck in your head is incredibly annoying.’
‘Not if you like the song.’
‘Especially if you like the song. Best way to ruin a good song, having it go round and round in your head all day. It ruined Pharrell’s “Happy” for me.’
Quinn reached out to take Minnie’s hands. ‘OK, it’s a bad analogy. Look, I’m clearly no good at this.’ Quinn let out a sharp exhale of frustration, then took a breath and tried again. ‘Minnie, you were like this light coming into my life – you dazzle me. But your light also made me see all these shadows in my own life, shadows I finally realised I had to deal with.’ He frowned. ‘You see how I’ve moved from song to light analogies?’
‘Better,’ Minnie nodded, her mouth twitching into a smile.
