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‘Or that these are some seriously classy pies,’ said Leila, opening the passenger door for Minnie. As she shut the door she bent down and silently mouthed ‘love twins’ through the window, and made a little heart shape between her thumbs and forefingers.
Quinn tapped the first delivery address into his satnav. Minnie sat awkwardly on her hands, trying not to touch any of the beautiful cream leather.
‘How come you drive a Bentley then?’ she asked. ‘Compensating for something?’ Quinn burst out laughing. Minnie felt herself blush.
‘Sorry, I don’t know why I said that.’
Minnie glanced up to look at Quinn as he started the ignition and pulled away from the kerb. When he smiled, a fan of lines radiated out from his eyes. When he stopped smiling, some lines stubbornly remained, as though they knew they’d be used again soon, so there was no point in going away. There was something so warm and familiar about his face, though she couldn’t explain what.
‘It was my mother’s. It’s not something I would have chosen, but she doesn’t like to drive any more so she gave it to me,’ Quinn said.
He tilted his head to one side and briskly scratched his neck.
‘My mum gave me a meat thermometer for my birthday,’ said Minnie.
‘My dad got me a card saying “Happy thirty-third”,’ said Quinn.
‘I’d take the car and the card with the wrong age any day.’
Minnie gently bounced up and down on her hands; she felt fizzy with an unexplained energy, as though she’d downed eight coffees.
‘So what do you do when you’re not driving Miss Daisy around?’ she asked.
‘M’lady,’ Quinn doffed an imaginary cap, ‘nothing as interesting as owning my own pie business.’
‘Are you sure you’re not a drug dealer? This feels like a drug dealer’s car.’
Quinn laughed. ‘Bit conspicuous for a drug dealer. No, I’m a management consultant.’
‘I feel like that’s what a drug dealer would say.’
Minnie gave him a slow wink. He let out a deep rusty sort of laugh that caught in his throat. It was the kind of laugh that lulled people into an unearned familiarity. Hearing it made Minnie feel as though she was drinking hot wine by a log fire wrapped in Nordic furs. Not that she’d ever done this, but she imagined it would be a very enjoyable thing to do.
*
Their first delivery was to a social centre for the elderly near London Fields. Minnie said she would run in, Quinn could wait in the car, but he wanted to come too. Mrs Mentis, one of the regular volunteers at the centre, opened the door forthem. She was a sweet lady in her late sixties. She wore purple varifocals and a chunky green cardigan trimmed with large buttons shaped like hedgehogs.
‘Oh, hello Minnie, we haven’t seen you for a while,’ she said in a soft Yorkshire accent. ‘It’s usually your man Alan who comes. He’s not poorly, I hope?’
Mrs Mentis looked up at Quinn and then moved her glasses down her nose to inspect him more closely. She pulled a grey handkerchief out of her pocket to wipe her nose.
‘Oh he’s fine,’ Minnie said, ‘just a mix-up with his van. This is Quinn, he’s helping me out today.’
Minnie nodded a head towards Quinn and then made a ‘these pies are quite heavy, can we just get to the kitchen please’ face. Mrs Mentis took the hint and moved aside.
‘Just down to your left, Quint,’ she said, pointing the way with a wavering arm. Minnie and Quinn walked past her and Mrs Mentis hobbled after them. She was plagued by bunion trouble; Minnie had heard about it at great length over the last few years. She had named her bunions Billy and Boo and talked about them as though they were her grandchildren.
‘How are the feet, Mrs Mentis?’ Minnie asked.
‘Oh Billy’s not so bad, Minnie, but Boo’s playing up no end she is – doesn’t like this weather.’
The kitchen was small and beige. It smelt of cleaning fluid and marmalade. There were a few old coffee cups and an abandoned game of checkers on the beige Formica table.
‘Everyone loves pie day,’ said Mrs Mentis, opening one of the lids to see inside. ‘I hope steak and Guinness is on the menu?’
‘Always,’ said Minnie. ‘Do you have someone to help you warm them up? They’re fresh this morning but could do with thirty minutes in the oven.’
‘Yes, everyone likes to volunteer on pie day,’ said Mrs Mentis, licking her lips. Then she turned her attention back to Quinn, who was stacking boxes straight into the fridge. ‘Oh isn’t he helpful? Is this the boyfriend Alan mentioned?’
