Chapter Three
I don’t tell Cesca about the theorem. Not because I don’t think she’d understand; she has a background in theoretical physics too, even if she now spends most of her time teaching spotty overly privileged man-boys at that stupidly expensive public school.
But because … well, I just want to keep it to myself.
At least for a short while. It could change everything.
The way we think about who we are and the position we play in the universe.
There’s something melancholic – maybe even nihilistic – about the theorem too.
If it’s true then we are mere specks of dust and nothing really matters.
Cesca has spent swathes of her life convincing herself that things do matter and I’m not about to undo over a decade of therapy for a pat on the back about how clever I am for figuring it all out.
Instead I order us pancakes – huge stacks of the things dripping in maple syrup and with a side of crispy American-style bacon, despite Cesca’s protestation she should have fruit with hers to at least pretend to be healthy – and frothy cappuccinos with powdered chocolate in the shape of a house.
‘Why is it a pancake house?’ Cesca asks staring at the chocolate pattern.
I cock my head to one side so she elaborates.
‘Well, pancake places are always houses. The Pancake House. International House of Pancakes. But why house?’
‘No idea.’
‘Crab shack. Burger joint. Pizza parlour. Who thought of all these? Who decided them?’
Cesca has one of the most brilliantly enquiring minds I have ever met, although she burns an inordinate amount of that brain power on questions so inconsequential I have to fake my enthusiasm.
Well, I am a good big sister after all. Even though technically there are only eleven months between us.
Irish twins, my dad used to say. More efficient than actual twins, no need for duplication, items simply passing from me to Cesca as soon as I outgrew them.
‘Anyway,’ she exclaims, snapping her attention back to me. She clears her throat, something she always does before she asks for a favour – or rather demands one. ‘It’s about Tyler Adams.’ She makes a face.
It’s always about Tyler fucking Adams. Yesterday Alesha sent me a link to an article she’d found about the people who were shaping the future of the world.
And yes, of course Tyler Adams had been named.
He’s already making a name for himself. Which never happens – getting noticed outside of the scientific community is so rare he may as well be a unicorn.
A unicorn with a self-righteous sneer, and far too perfect hair.
Oh, and my future colleague if Dean gets his way with those books.
‘Earth to Bethany!’ My sister is waving her hand in front of my face.
‘What about Tyler Adams?’ I say his name through gritted teeth, although the ‘fucking’ in the middle remains silent for now. I don’t want Cesca to ask too many questions about why I hate him quite so much.
‘He’s launching a new STEM scheme and I want to get involved.’ She sounds so innocent, but I can see the gleam in her eye.
‘No.’ I’m adamant. I will not let my baby sister go anywhere near Tyler fucking Adams.
‘He has funding. A proper budget. I could do something useful.’
I know she hates that her job is to get the offspring of rich bastards through their A levels with a high enough grade to justify their places at Oxbridge or the Russell Group universities.
She hates that she’s helping to perpetuate a status quo that equates privilege with intelligence, that rewards mediocrity for those who win the class lottery.
‘With his name on the scheme it has a chance to make a difference.’
‘No.’
She breathes out that slow and disapproving breath only a sibling can do. ‘For fuck’s sake, Bethany. Either you tell me exactly what Tyler Adams did for you to hate him so much or I’m applying for this scheme.’
‘It’s nothing.’
‘Oh yeah, of course it’s nothing.’ She stares at me.
‘You’d think the other night would be enough,’ I say, wincing at the memory of rolling around on the floor covered in wine, black lace on display through my top.
She stares back at me. ‘Just tell me what really happened, okay?’
Cesca and I don’t keep secrets from each other. Or at least, not really. But I never told her what happened between Tyler and me.
‘Bethany.’ She uses our father’s disappointed voice. But then she softens. ‘What did he do?’ The words are brimming with concern and she leans closer towards me.
‘All right!’ I capitulate. I have to tell her or she’s going to think he did something heinous rather than just humiliating. ‘You remember Nick?’
She reaches out a hand. Nick is my ex-boyfriend.
Would have been my fiancée. My husband. Jesus, we might even have had kids by now.
If he hadn’t shown just how much of a narcissist he was on the most important day of my professional life.
Oh, and then screwed some stranger when I called him out for it.
Cesca squeezes my fingers. We don’t speak of Nick out loud.
Losing his infamy is the greatest punishment I can give him.
‘Well,’ I continue my story, ‘I was in the bar of the hotel, afterwards.’ I flap my hand a few times to show that I mean after the ceremony.
The one where I was awarded my second master’s – an MPhil in physics from actual Cambridge no less – and my arse of a then-boyfriend decided to highjack it with a ham-fisted proposal.
I turned him down and then I caught him otherwise engaged with some girl he’d lured to bed with his pity-party bullshit.
‘I was sitting there with a large Scotch in front of me, the very picture of pathetic. And guess who should come in?’
‘Tyler Adams.’ She doesn’t bother to make it sound like a question.
‘Bingo. And he was … charming. And sweet. And kind. And he sat with me and listened to the whole story. Offered me a tissue when I started crying. Bought me some crisps to mop up some of that Scotch.’
‘So, he was … nice?’ Her beautiful face is creased in confusion.
‘Yeah.’ I spread my fingers out on the table in front of me, enjoying the complete absence of a ring on my left hand.
Even after six years I’m still glad of my lucky escape.
‘He was nice. And a gentleman …’ I remember the way he had tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear as he bid me goodnight.
His eyes on mine. The air heavy with anticipation around us.
The softest touch of his lips and then he pulled away, slipping his business card into my handbag sitting open on the bar.
‘Oh. My. God!’ There is scandal in her voice. ‘Did you sleep with him?’ Her eyes shine at the sheer potential for gossip in it all.
‘No! Of course not. He gave me his card and told me to call him when I was feeling a bit more like myself.’
‘And?’
‘And then the next morning I bumped into him while I was checking out. It was early, I’d wanted to slip out before Nick and the woman woke up and he paraded her through the breakfast buffet.
Tyler was carrying a tray of coffees back to the lifts up to the rooms, his name written in fat capitals on the cup he was already sipping from.
He looked straight through me. As if we’d never met. As if I was no one. Nothing.’
‘Bastard! Did you call him?’
‘What and ask him why he blanked me? Of course I didn’t. I ripped that card into a thousand tiny pieces, turning his name and his promises to a pile of snow on the table.’
‘And then?’
‘Then what? We haven’t spoken since.’
‘But you see each other at events and conferences and stuff.’ She’s aghast.
‘We ignore each other.’
‘Hmmm.’ She pauses for a few moments. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this story before?’ she asks eventually.
I shrug. ‘To be honest, at the time I was thinking more about Nick than Tyler and then … well, it’s kind of embarrassing. Getting blanked like that.’
‘And so instead you decided to keep it a secret and spend six years nursing that hurt into a ball of hatred?’ She makes it sound ridiculous.
‘Yes, that is exactly what I did.’
After our pancakes, Cesca suggests we go to the nail salon down the road so – and I quote – ‘someone can sort out my trotters’, which I think is a little rude and my feet aren’t that bad.
‘Really?’
I look down at them. I mean, I will admit they could do with a bit of attention.
And I think the white of the Havaianas makes them look even worse, if I’m honest. A slight chill runs up my spine.
I’m sure that’s what I was thinking last weekend, why I was relieved the coin had landed on heads for the beige.
Cesca takes my silence for acquiescence and physically drags me to the snappily entitled NAILZ – yes all in caps. And with a Z. We choose varnish colours – bright pink for her and a more muted burgundy for me – and settle back into the oversized chairs.
‘If you really don’t want me to, I won’t look at this STEM thing,’ she says, her words measured.
I know she’s manipulating me. I know she’s brought me here so we’re facing the same direction and I can’t look her in the eye.
I know she’s waiting for me to tell her that it’s okay, that she has my blessing.
And here’s the rub. I can never deny her.
‘Just promise me you’ll stay away from him. He might seem charming but he’s a snake.’
‘Brownie’s honour,’ she replies.
I take a sly look over to her to check she isn’t crossing her fingers.
Tyler Adams is not getting anywhere near my baby sister.