This Time Next Year

“‘Yes, Quinn Hamilton.’ ‘Quinn Hamilton, born at Hampstead Hospital in 1990?’ ‘Yes,’ said Quinn, his brow furrowing in confusion. ‘You,’ Minnie said, clenching her teeth. ‘You stole my name.’”

The repetition here underlines that it is Quinn’s name that Minnie cares about more than anything else, revealing her family’s obsession with Tara and Quinn. Quinn, in contrast, is baffled by her interest in him, seeing himself as merely another individual, not a villain in a family drama. Minnie clenches her teeth, emphasizing her anger and betrayal—she calls Quinn a thief, impugning his morality, though he, of course, did not choose his own name at birth.

“And then the pain came and she curled instinctively into a ball. Connie felt her own starting. She took hold of Tara’s wrist and gently drew Tara’s face up toward hers. Tara started mewing, pained little mews like a cat being strangled. ‘That’s a cat; what did I say? Did I say cat, did I say sheep, or did I say hippo? You got to go lower, come on, copy me.’”

This scene emphasizes Tara’s vulnerability in contrast to Connie’s calm pragmatism. Tara hides from her contractions and is compared to a dying animal, unprepared for the task ahead of her. Connie urges her to embrace the pain and enter her body more fully. The animal metaphors take on new relevance later as a recurring motif: The reader learns that Tara adopts animals for Quinn’s birthday, and a visit to the zoo with Minnie is formative to their growing bond.

“The name felt spoiled now for Connie, the newspapers taunting her with the money she might have won. Besides, Bill had already started calling the baby Minnie. Connie sat on the sofa feeding her child, watching Tara being interviewed by the television presenter.”

Connie’s dejection is a strong contrast to her earlier confidence and joy in her baby, demonstrating her attachment to the name she had chosen. She feels personally attacked by the newspaper, as though the world around her has crushed her dreams. Connie emphasizes the new distance between herself and Tara, as she is alone with an infant while Tara has become a minor celebrity. This quote demonstrates the persistence of Connie’s anger and the depth of her pain.

“Yet beneath the surface there remained some ingrained mistrust, some Pavlovian conditioning that bristled at the name Quinn Hamilton and everything he stood for. When she saw him being kind and funny with her customers, her resolve to dislike him would melt. Then they’d get back to his Bentley and she’d remember—it’s easy to be charming when you’ve led a charmed life.”

Minnie portrays her hesitations around Quinn as fundamental to her being, a kind of training she has no desire to shake off. This helps cement the enemies-to-lovers trope. Minnie focuses on Quinn’s car, using class differences to shore up her resentment and avoid changing her view of Quinn before she is ready.

“Was this the pattern she was condemned to: Move out, try and make a go of a new job, fail, move home, and start all over again? The Brent Cross house toying with her as if she were a yo-yo, spitting her out into the real world only to reel her in as soon as she overstretched herself.”

Minnie’s word choice here emphasizes her sense of powerlessness in her own life: She is “condemned” to return to live with her parents, as though fate has conspired to thwart her every goal. She even compares herself to a children’s toy in the hand of some unseen puppet master, not a person who experiences setbacks like anyone else. She sees life outside her family home as a “real world” for which she is singularly unequipped.

“In reality, there was no soundtrack, no spraying of crème pât, Minnie would not dare. She simply picked up her apron and left with her hat in her hand. No one watched her go and the sea of the kitchen closed around her, like water filling the space where a small fish used to swim.”

Minnie briefly imagines herself as the heroine of a dramatic workplace drama taking revenge on her cruel boss, only to be reminded of her vulnerability. Minnie is isolated, a “small fish” in a world unconcerned with her pain and loss. This moment of despair offers insight into Minnie’s character, especially her pessimism about career risks and employment as well as her justified memories of dread around her birthday.

“‘Well, maybe I don’t need life advice or handouts from some rich-kid mummy’s boy who has no idea what the real world looks like.’ Minnie felt a falling sensation in her stomach as soon as she’d said it. She didn’t know why she’d gone that far; it was too harsh. She felt like a cat being cornered, darting out a sharp claw in a preemptive strike.”

Minnie’s sharp words here underline that she has internalized her mother’s resentment of the Coopers and their class position. However, Cousens soon emphasizes that this level of anger and bitterness feels unnatural to Minnie, who regrets it immediately. Minnie compares herself to a cornered animal, emphasizing her instincts and vulnerability.

“Minnie hung her head; she felt a heady mix of emotions hit her all at once: fondness for Ian and how much he loved her friend, and sorrow for the fact that he might be right. If he was right, that meant the end of No Hard Fillings, the end of seeing Leila most days and four years of hard work wasted. Ian reached out to put both hands on her shoulders. ‘Minnie—I think it’s time for you to play one-player mode.’”

In this moment, Ian, as a friend, can offer criticism that Minnie refuses to take from Quinn or her parents because Minnie understands his devotion to his partner. Her grief here is foregrounded in Ian’s compassion, and his suggestion that she “play one-player mode” is kind advice to focus on herself, not a personal attack. The scene foregrounds the importance of friendship as a driver for Minnie’s personal growth.

“The last few weeks felt like an unraveling to Minnie, wool being pulled from her body, stripping her of comfort and leaving her naked. All the ways in which she defined her current life had been removed. Minnie was a chef, she ran a pie company, she lived off the Essex Road, and she dated Greg. Breaking up with Greg felt like stripping off that last piece of identifying clothing.”

The figurative language here emphasizes Minnie’s vulnerability—she is bare to the world, newly vulnerable, with all her assumptions taken apart. Her catalog of identifiers (chef, partner, business owner) is in the past tense now. Cousens emphasizes the vulnerability inherent in transformation. At this point, Minnie is the one driving her own life, as she has chosen to end her relationship even if her career shifts are less than voluntary.

“It was the owls egging her on to text him. The predictable, undiscerning fluttery owls, which would have her embarrass herself in front of a totally unsuitable City boy like Quinn. Minnie pulled the duvet over her head and made a noise like a dying animal. What did she think he was going to say if she sent him a text asking about his date?”

The animal metaphor here emphasizes that Minnie sees emotions as spontaneous and frivolous in ways she cannot afford to be. Minnie, like Tara in labor, sounds like a dying animal, underlining the depth of her self-doubt. Minnie sees Quinn as “unsuitable,” as though they are bound by rigid class structures and a relationship with him can only lead to shame.

“‘Maybe I was wrong; you’re not scared, there’s just no butterfly in there.’ Minnie flinched. Leila had never said anything so cruel in the fifteen years they’d known each other. ‘Well, nice to know all this time I was just your pity project! I don’t need you to butterfly me, Leila, you’re enough bloody butterfly for the both of us—it’s exhausting.’”

Leila’s turn to animal metaphors underscores the depth of her resentment as she implies Minnie is incapable of change. Minnie rejects the metaphor, saying that transformation was Leila’s goal, not hers. Minnie’s emphasis on their shared history and this moment as a departure from it offers hope that both will learn to value each other once more, though this moment of rupture establishes the depth of Minnie’s loss and self-doubt.

“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.”

This flashback scene establishes that Minnie and Quinn have been encountering each other on their birthdays for years. Cousens emphasizes that their emotional states mirror each other: Minnie has lost her job and her sense of self as a chef just as Quinn is processing his first romantic breakup. Quinn’s fairytale analogy foreshadows that while Quinn and Minnie’s happy ending is delayed for now, it will occur in the future.

“She couldn’t conceal the hurt in her voice. She felt as though she’d just had the most perfect date of her life, and then had a door slammed in her face. She dared to look up at him again, trying to see what that look had been a few moments ago, where the hesitation had come from. As soon as their eyes met again, he closed his.”

Minnie compares her emotional pain to a slammed door, the opposite of romance and connection. Minnie is brave in this moment, forcing herself to understand what has happened. Quinn’s refusal to face her underlines that he is far from being ready to accept and address his commitment issues.

“Then there were whoops of delight from the crowd as Leila jumped into Ian’s arms and they both collapsed into a heap on the picnic blanket. As they started rolling around kissing, everyone cheered. Minnie smiled—even if Leila didn’t remember, she looked happy. Her friend was engaged to the man she loved, and now even Fleur had a tear in her eye.”

This quote highlights both The Power of Family and Community Bonds and Transformation and Change. Surrounded by loved ones and joyful celebration, Minnie can move past the day’s setback (the fact that Leila doesn’t remember describing her dream proposal to Minnie) and embrace the moment’s imperfect success. Minnie’s ability to encounter a setback without seeing it as a reflection of her bad luck illustrates the extent of her character growth.

“Minnie was about to protest, to say it had been a silly idea and she could easily do it herself in an Uber, but then she stopped herself. The conversation with Leila had made her realize the extent of her feelings for Quinn. She couldn’t go on like this, just living for Sunday. She wanted to open the bell jar, take this beyond the heath, whatever that meant.”

Minnie makes an effort here to see herself as worth caring about and worthy of consideration, establishing the extent of her character growth thus far. She realizes that she deserves a more open life and is ready to take a risk for love. Minnie’s willingness to be vulnerable turns out to contrast sharply with Quinn’s ongoing emphasis on protecting himself.

“Her mum was softer somehow when she cooked, too busy in her own head to criticize. Sometimes, she even sang as she baked; she sounded happy. Today, while they were baking all those pies together, Minnie hadn’t thought about Hannah Albright once. Baking was like a holiday for her head from all the bad stuff.”

This flashback sequence helps explain Minnie’s choice of career. Food connects her with the best parts of Connie. It also offers her an escape from her own social struggles. For Minnie, the kitchen is where she can be her best self, which offers clues that her hiatus from pie making is likely temporary.

“‘Well, I’m the cardboard girl. I don’t have the capacity to be a living, breathing penguin. I think Lucy was right—in what she wrote about me.’ Minnie felt tears welling in her eyes and she wiped them away furiously; she didn’t want the others to see her crying. ‘Maybe we’ll see each other at the ponds?’ he said softly. ‘I don’t think so, Quinn.’”

In this scene, Quinn is both vulnerable and deeply pessimistic, reminiscent of Minnie at the beginning of the novel. He suggests that he is less than human, incapable of joining Minnie in the world. Though his revelation upsets her, Minnie maintains her self-respect, refusing to accept weekly casual meetups as a substitute for a more lasting relationship.

“Something about this girl didn’t fit here; she stood out like a swan in a pond full of geese. Quinn turned his head to see Lucy letting out one of her overblown, mirthless laughs, and he knew then—whether it was to do with his past, their present, or something else entirely—he did not love Lucy. He was going to choose Carol. He wanted to get out of this rabbit hole.”

On the last New Year’s Eve before he meets Minnie, Quinn still sees her as a romantic ideal: a beautiful bird standing out from the crowd. The choice of a swan evokes the fairytale of the Ugly Duckling, emphasizing that Quinn values Minnie where others might not. Cousens reveals a moment where Quinn chooses himself and his well-being, offering hope for a lasting bond with Minnie at a time when the present looks bleak for the couple.

“‘You can’t sell your clocks, Dad, not for me.’ Minnie shook her head slowly. ‘You spent so much time on them.’ Her dad nodded solemnly. ‘Maybe I spent too much time on them, didn’t spend enough time on what’s important.’”

This moment of emotional intimacy between Minnie and her father reinforces the themes of family bonds and transformation. Minnie’s father now understands her dreams and suggests that his hobby is a source of regret that delayed his seeing her more clearly. Like his wife, Bill Cooper became preoccupied with time following Minnie’s birth but is now eager to focus on quality rather than quantity.

“They’d walked right to the bottom of the hill now. Barney’s van had been moved for the winter. A large square of dead grass was all that remained, like the chalk outline showing where a body had been. ‘We’ll still be friends?’ Minnie asked, her voice breaking slightly. ‘I would like you in my life, Quinn, and with our mothers hanging out so much now…’”

In this moment, Cousens reverses the dynamic between Minnie and Quinn, making him the rejected pursuer. The winter landscape mirrors their mood. The absence of the sandwich van, compared to a dead body, underlines the grief within their interaction. Minnie emphasizes the bond between their families but denies the potential for further repair.

“‘And I hope you’ll take this the right way’—Leila looked pensive for a moment, gazing slightly off focus into her champagne glass—‘if I steal a Cooper family adage to say—all this, these wonderful people here today, this amazing new business, this would never have happened to a Quinn Cooper. Some things are all Minnie, and I wouldn’t have you any other way.’”

Leila’s toast here is not only a loving testimony to friendship but also a revelation of how much Minnie has changed. Leila thanks her for rescuing her wedding, portraying Minnie as capable, resourceful, and skilled, nothing like the woman plagued with doubt the reader once knew. Leila’s speech reverses the “family curse” and celebrates Minnie’s individuality, not her bad luck.

“Look, Shaylene, I’m sure you’ve seen Sleepless in Seattle? You know that bit where Meg Ryan is supposed to meet Tom Hanks at the top of the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day? Well, I’m in a situation a bit like that, except instead of the Empire State Building, it’s a party boat, and instead of Tom Hanks, it’s this guy I like, but I have to get there before it leaves at ten. That’s why I’d really appreciate it if, on this one occasion, you didn’t try to regulate the service. It is New Year’s Eve after all.”

The contrasts here add humor to Minnie’s already absurd situation as Minnie admits that she is not meeting Quinn at a famous landmark but a boat on the Thames and that Quinn is an ordinary man, not a famous actor. Minnie evokes a classic romantic comedy, foreshadowing that a happy reunion with Quinn is imminent. Minnie evokes her upcoming birthday as a reason to bend rules and embrace spontaneity, rather than a reason to avoid the world, underlining how much her relationship with Quinn has changed her.

“He put his hands gently on her face, and Minnie had that funny feeling she’d had so often before, that Quinn Hamilton might be about to kiss her. This time she was right. He leaned over and gently pressed his lips to hers. His mouth was tender but firm; his hand stroked her hair down around her cheek. Her skin fizzed with electricity and Minnie had to reach backward for a wall to support herself.”

Minnie’s instincts about the romantic bond she feels with Quinn are finally proven correct. His gentleness emphasizes his care and regard for her, but Minnie still feels nearly swept off her feet. The moment of passion assures the reader that their lifelong chemistry is unaltered.