Minnie’s body protested as she sank back into the water behind him. She watched Quinn set off at a pace across the pond. Had he genuinely hoped to see her here? She hadn’t been in touch with him since last weekend. She’d wanted to send a text asking how his mother was, but then she didn’t want to be the instigator, didn’t want to look too keen.

As she swam half-heartedly across the pond in his wake, she wondered what it was about Quinn that she liked. She had now admitted to herself that she did like him, even if it was not reciprocated. Maybe the very fact that he didn’t want to be with her was part of the appeal. She’d always gone for men who kept her at arm’s length. Greg had been far more interested in his job than her. Her previous boyfriend Tarek had been selfish at best, verbally abusive at worst. Leila used to say that you got the relationship you thought you were worth. If you thought you were only worth part of someone’s attention, perhaps that was all you looked for.

And yet.

She had ended things with Greg because she wanted more; because she knew she was worth more. So why was she now swimming around like an idiot just to go for a coffee with a guy who wasn’t interested in her? Did she actually want to be friends with him? Was that the consolation prize?

Minnie’s skin was wrinkled and white by the time Quinn finished swimming. They dried off next to each other on the bank; retreated to the changing rooms to get dressed and then met up again outside the iron-gated entrance to the pond. They walked across the heath, down the hill towards Hampstead Heath train station. Quinn said he wanted to go back to the same breakfast van Minnie had taken him to before.

‘So how’s your mum doing after last week?’ Minnie asked, swinging her wet towel as she walked.

‘Talking to your mother a great deal,’ said Quinn.

Yesterday, Minnie’s mother had told her she was popping down to Primrose Hill with a homemade quiche. A quiche? Minnie couldn’t remember the last time her mother had baked a quiche from scratch.

‘I know, it’s strange,’ Minnie said, ruffling her wet hair so that it looked less flat against her head. ‘She’s never really had female friends, my mum. None that I’ve known of in any case. She’s always too busy working to socialise.’

‘Nor mine,’ said Quinn. ‘What do they talk about?’

‘What it’s like to give birth on the first of January in 1990?’ said Minnie with a laugh. ‘That’s literally all I can think of that they have in common.’

‘Maybe they’re both lost souls,’ said Quinn thoughtfully, ‘they see themselves reflected in the other.’