She was fine. She was fine on her own. She didn’t need a man to make her life complete. She didn’t want the cliché ‘you complete me’ ending. She was finally on an even keel and someone like Quinn would definitely rock the boat. She smiled, imagining what Quinn would say about her matching boat metaphors.

No, it wasn’t worth the risk. Sure, they’d have amazing sex for a few months – Minnie cleared a frog from her throat as she imagined it. Right here where she was sitting, this is where they had almost … she bit her lip thinking about it. Yes, of course it would be mind-blowing, life-affirming, house-screaming-down-to-the-point-of-the-neighbours-complaining sex, but then what? Her mind went to Lucy’s article in the paper. All his old commitment issues would creep back to the surface; he’d feel awkward about ending things; she’d have her heart broken and this safe new life she had built for herself would crumble like crops after a nuclear catastrophe. No, it was safer to leave things as they were. In any case, she had no reason to believe he was still even an option. Just because she still thought about him, didn’t mean he felt the same as he had a few months ago.

And yet.

Leila’s words banged against the inside of her skull, ‘If he’s still in your head, it’s worth taking the risk.’ Clearly Minnie still thought about him. She noticed things she knew he’d find funny. With all the new ideas for the business, it was his opinion she craved. Whenever her mother talked about her trips to see Tara, she found herself angling for news of him.

The time she had spent with Quinn had changed something. It was as though in all her previous relationships she’d been wearing a suit of armour, this barrier skin. With Quinn she felt laid bare, he saw who she really was. Yet she also remembered how low she’d felt when he’d bailed on her, how fragile and vulnerable. When she felt emotions like that, she was transported right back to those hellish years at school.

Minnie wondered what Quinn was doing now. Maybe she could call him. She could just be friendly; he’d said they could be friends. She could just call him, perhaps invite him over, just see. It was nine o’clock on New Year’s Eve; he would be out at a party. Before she could talk herself out of it, she scrolled down to his name in her phone and dialled his number. He’d get a missed call and then he’d know she’d tried to—

‘Hello?’

‘Oh, hi,’ she said, surprised he had picked up.

‘Minnie?’

It sounded loud where he was, windy or aeroplanes overhead. Music was playing.