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‘Well, we closed,’ said Minnie. Quinn frowned.
‘That’s a shame.’
‘It got too hard walking a financial tightrope all the time. Let’s not talk about work, you’ll probably start trying to charge me by the hour for your insights again.’
Quinn laughed.
‘How was your date at the art gallery?’ Minnie asked. ‘What was her name? Amanda?’ She said it as though struggling to remember.
‘I’m embarrassed you had to witness that,’ Quinn said, holding a hand to his forehead.
‘Which part, the office drinking or the dial-a-date?’
‘Both.’
He gave her an embarrassed grimace. She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t, he just took a large bite of his bacon roll.
‘How’s your mother doing?’ Minnie asked.
Quinn paused as he finished his mouthful. ‘OK.’
‘You don’t like talking about her.’
‘It’s been a while since anyone asked me about my mother.’
‘I’d like to hear more about her,’ said Minnie softly, looking over the rim of her coffee cup at him. ‘You mentioned she struggles with some things.’
Quinn puffed out his cheeks, exhaling. He put his cup down on the grass and started massaging one wrist with his palm.
‘OK, well, the potted version – she suffers from anxiety; sometimes she struggles with leaving the house. She wasn’t so bad when I was a child, but when my father left it got ten times worse.’ Quinn stared down at his hands.
‘I’m sorry, that sounds tough. Does she see someone? Do you have anyone to help look after her?’ Minnie asked gently.
‘She sees a therapist, a doctor. I’ve paid for carers in the past but she takes against them all in the end. She’s up and down. And when she’s down she’ll only see me.’
‘That must be hard,’ said Minnie, ‘to be that relied upon.’
Quinn brushed a hand through his hair; he sat up and pulled his knees to his chest.
‘Enough about me.’ He picked up his coffee again. ‘I’m sure it’s very boring. People have bigger problems.’
Minnie watched him, waiting for him to look over at her again.
‘I don’t think the scale of other people’s problems make your own any easier to live with.’
Quinn paused, dropping his gaze to the grass between them.
‘I think what I find hardest is that I often feel I’m enabling her to be a prisoner. I do errands for her, order her shopping, I come running when she needs something. She has this ongoing anxiety about house security, the locks not working, or paranoia that someone’s in the garden. Every time I’ll come over to check, just to ease her mind.’ Quinn’s brow puckered as he stared down at his empty cup. ‘Once I didn’t go when she called. I just said, “No, walk out of the front door and go to the pharmacy yourself, it’s a three-minute walk.”’ Quinn paused. ‘I’d had enough.’
‘That’s understandable,’ said Minnie.
‘She had this terrible anxiety attack, fell down the stairs, twisted her ankle. The cleaning lady found her the next morning, still lying there. God, why am I telling you all this?’
‘Because I asked.’ Minnie put an arm on his shoulder.
‘What kind of monster leaves an agoraphobic alone in the house without her medication?’ he said, turning to look at her, his eyes burning with emotion.
‘Someone who tried everything else and didn’t know what else to try.’
