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‘They’re supposed to be flamingos, in military camo gear,’ said Leila, as if she was explaining the most obvious thing in the world. ‘’Cause we’re all fighting for survival, right, it’s just a different kind of war.’
Minnie nodded. She didn’t understand fashion but everyone else in the front row was looking immensely impressed.
‘I’m not in love with him, we just get on really well,’ she said.
Leila turned to look at her friend – a piercing, interrogatory look.
‘OK, I know that face,’ Leila frowned. ‘I’m being serious now. If you love your love twin and if he’s not interested in you in that way, then it’s only going to mean heartache for you, Min.’
Minnie made a ‘tsk’ sound and crossed her legs, bobbing her top foot rapidly up and down.
‘The other weird thing is that our mothers are spending all this time together. It’s like my mum’s taken on Tara as this project. She wants to fix her like my dad fixes his clocks. Every time I call home, Dad says she’s over there helping with the gardening or the shopping or something. It’s kind of sweet, I guess; I don’t think my mum’s ever had many friends.’
‘Right, answer these questions truthfully,’ said Leila, looking down at her programme as though she was finding the questions on the page. ‘Do you think about him when you go to bed at night?’
All the time – he was the first person she thought of when she woke up.
‘No, not every night. Occasionally,’ said Minnie.
Leila frowned. ‘Has anyone else asked you out in the last few months and you’ve said no because they’re not Quinn?’
‘No … well.’ Had she told Leila about that guy Tino from the catering firm? Shit, it was a trick question. ‘There was that one guy, but I said no because he had weird sideburns, not because of Quinn.’
‘Um, weird sideburns have not put you off before. OK, question three, would you be fine with it if he brought his girlfriend along to your little swim club?’
‘How do you know he has a girlfriend?’ Minnie bolted forward in her chair, leaning into her friend, ‘Have you seen him with someone?’ her voice sounded strangled and urgent.
Leila turned to her and moved her hands apart like a performer preparing to take a bow.
‘I rest my case.’ Then she quickly pointed a hand back at the catwalk. ‘Oh look, this is one of the most exciting designers – what do you think?’
On the catwalk were seven models each dressed in a different colour of the rainbow; they wore strange ballgowns that looked both rigid and graceful at the same time. ‘It’s all made out of plastic reclaimed from the sea,’ Leila explained.
‘Wow, incredible, Bev would approve,’ said Minnie. The dresses were genuinely spectacular, but she pulled her attention back to the conversation in hand. ‘Seriously, though, have you seen him with someone? I don’t care if you have.’
Leila turned to look closely at her friend.
‘Listen to what you’re saying. Look, you said yourself he’s a self-confessed commitment-phobe. For whatever reason helikes disposable relationships that don’t require him to give too much. Maybe he’s never been friends with a cool, interesting woman before, he doesn’t want to ruin things. Fuck me, this cape is hot,’ Leila pulled off the candyfloss cape and stowed it under her chair. ‘Does my look work without it?’
Leila might as well have been asking a camel what he thought of the political situation in Mozambique.
‘Totally works,’ Minnie said. ‘So you think Quinn might be biding his time?’
‘No, I think he’s having the best of both worlds. He gets to have these lovely soul-searching chats with you – no commitment or expectation; then he gets to shag Little Miss Tinder when he likes – no commitment or expectation. Win-win situation for him, lose-lose for you.’ Leila paused, reaching out to squeeze Minnie’s knee. ‘You’re a hot, fun, incredibly awesome woman. Don’t sell yourself short, Minnie, that’s all I’m saying.’
Leila stood up and started clapping as the designers came out for a turn of acknowledgement on the catwalk with their models. Minnie slumped down in her chair and clapped despondently. Maybe Leila was right. She’d never thought about it that way. Was she his platonic weekend girlfriend? A companion with no expectations, no dates or obligation. He could simply not turn up one week and she would have no recourse to be cross with him for standing her up. What would happen if she didn’t go tomorrow? They’d been meeting for about seven weeks now. If she didn’t go, would he call her? Would he be disappointed?Would it make him seek her out and commit to more than a post-swim bap chat?
The next morning she woke up at six, hungover from the fashion show and restless with indecision. She’d resolved the night before that she wasn’t going to go to the ponds. She had too much to do here anyway. She’d finally saved up enough deposit and found a flat to rent in Willesden – she’d picked up the keys yesterday. She needed to move her things out and get the flat set up before work tomorrow.
Six fifteen. But she desperately wanted to go to the ponds. She couldn’t deny herself the short-term enjoyment of seeing him. Six thirty. She had to leave now if she was going to be there on time. She got dressed. She’d head that way and then decide what to do. She could always go for coffee alone in Highgate. She didn’t need to go as far as the ponds if she decided against it.
Seven thirty. Who was she kidding? Clearly she was going to go and meet him. She walked up the path to the ponds with a sinking feeling. Testing herself like that made her realise how dependent she’d become on this weekly dose of happiness. She looked around for him; he was usually here by seven thirty. What if he didn’t come this week? What if he hadn’t come, and she hadn’t come, and he wouldn’t even have known she hadn’t come, so her stupid test would have been pointless.
‘Hey.’ She felt a hand on her elbow, a bolt of electricity.
She turned to see him looking down at her with a dimpled smile. Her blood pumped faster through her veins – an addict getting her fix.
‘I thought maybe you weren’t coming,’ she said, locking eyes with him.
