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He looked up and caught her blinking away the concerned look in her eyes.
‘My favourite topic,’ she said. ‘No, I lie, my favourite topic is cheese, as you know.’
‘Look Pol, I know it’s not been easy to see each other, but everything in my life changed when I met you. I meant what I said the other night – I love you. You’re the first girl I’ve ever said it to and I’ve never felt so sure about anything.’
‘I love you too, Q,’ Polly said, holding his gaze.
Quinn felt a warm pulse of energy pump through his whole body. To be loved by the one you love – was there any greater feeling?
After dessert, an extra course arrived from the kitchen.
‘The chef has prepared a miniature Christmas pudding, filled with brandy-infused crème patissière, compliments of the season,’ said the waiter with a bow.
‘This is such a treat! Thank you so much – the food has been superb!’ Polly gave the waiter a beaming smile. Her effusive energy caught him off guard and he gave her an awkward nod.
Just as Quinn picked up a spoon, just as the evening felt it was back on track, he felt the phone vibrate in his pocket again. As the same moment, Polly started making a gagging sound and he turned to see her spit out the pudding, which she’d popped whole into her mouth. Quinn reached into his jacket pocket as he asked, ‘Are you OK?’
Polly’s whole face creased in a grimace. Quinn glanced at his phone. He didn’t need to look, he knew who was calling.
‘There’s something in it,’ Polly said, ‘something grisly.’ Polly started poking the tiny pudding with her fork. ‘I think it’s plastic.’
Quinn shifted uncomfortably in his chair, moving the pulsing phone to his lap, every muscle in his body tensed, the air in the room suddenly feeling dense and suffocating. Polly shook her head and cleared her throat again.
‘Quinn, I just choked and you’re looking at your phone.’
‘You didn’t choke,’ he said weakly. ‘You spat it out.’
‘Just answer it,’ she said, closing her eyes.
Quinn hung up the call, switching his phone from vibrate to silent. He topped up Polly’s water glass with a shaking hand.
Polly called a waiter over and told him about the plastic in her dessert. She said she didn’t like to complain, but she was worried someone else’s pudding might be affected. He was profusely apologetic and brought over acomplimentary bottle of champagne. Quinn tried to relax, but he couldn’t stop thinking about what might be going on at home. This feeling, of being made to be a bad boyfriend or a bad son, he hated it; it made him feel physically nauseous.
There was no crass countdown at Le Lieu de Rencontre. New Year was announced by the sound of glasses clinking and murmurs of ‘Happy New Year’ echoing around the room. Outside, the dark horizon erupted into shards of light tearing through the darkness. The distant boom and crackle of explosions audible even through the thick glass. Directly across the park, the fireworks appeared to converge in a fountain of light, and stardust rained from the sky.
They both sat in silence watching the spectacle outside. Then Polly slowly raised her glass to his, a pensive look in her eyes.
‘To us, to the next chapter,’ Quinn said with forced jollity. He could feel his forehead beading with sweat.
‘Just call her back,’ Polly said quietly, ‘I know you won’t relax until you do.’
Quinn walked out to the landing by the toilets. It would be rude to take a call at the table in a restaurant like this. He slumped to the floor at the top of the stairs and stared at his phone, his portable prison. To his left were double doors through to the kitchen, where he could hear clanking pans and curt voices. It was a room full of fiercely paddling feet that made the restaurant on the other side of the wall appear like an effortless gliding swan.
As he was about to call, a girl in chef’s whites with curly brown hair, came running through the doors. She was crying, and their eyes met for a second. She looked how Quinn felt – consumed by misery. He wanted to ask if she was OK, but she carried on down the stairs before he had a chance to speak. As she disappeared around the corner, he saw that the girl had dropped her chef’s hat on the stairs. A thought of Cinderella and a glass slipper flashed into his mind. In an alternate universe, he might run after that girl and return her hat. In this one he did not have the headspace for gallantry. He would hand her hat in to the kitchen.
His mother didn’t answer his call. He would have to go home. He walked slowly back into the restaurant to see a spectacle of fireworks still lighting up the horizon over the park. As he took his seat, Polly didn’t turn her head away from the window.
‘I’m sorry, Polly. I have to go,’ he said.
‘She’ll always come first, won’t she?’ Polly said.
‘No, not always. It’s New Year, it’s a bad time for her, Polly … ’
‘I don’t think I’m an especially needy person, Quinn, but you make me feel so needy and I hate it.’
‘You’re not needy, Polly. You are the only good thing in my life — ’
She cut him off.
