Chapter Thirteen
Tyler fucking Adams. Now I remember why I hate the arrogant bastard. How dare he dismiss me like that? The cheek of him! I’m still ranting when I get to the bar to meet Cesca and Helen.
But as soon as I see my sister I instantly forget about his broad shoulders and stiff smile.
‘Cesca!’ I say, throwing my arms around her and almost lifting her off the ground with the force of my hug.
‘Uh, hi,’ she says, her body stiff and rigid. I feel her pull away from me, so I drop her and take a step back. She’s looking at me with wide open eyes and horror on her face as if I’ve sullied her in some way.
‘You okay?’ I ask, reaching out a hand to move a strand of hair from her face.
She moves away from my touch. ‘Fine.’ Her tone is prim.
She evidently isn’t fine. But is it me who is the problem here? Do this Bethany and this Cesca not interact like this, with an easy physicality forced by years of sisterly intimacy? Or did something happen to break it?
‘You remember Helen?’ she asks, motioning to the woman next to her.
‘Of course,’ I lie and move to hug her. ‘Happy birthday,’ I say. She too is stiff in my embrace.
The next half hour is one of the most excruciatingly awkward periods of my life.
I want to giggle with my sister, share stories and anecdotes, all the funny things that happen in our days that we never fail to dress up into something absurd we can laugh about.
But instead we discuss the weather here in London.
And Rachel and Dad’s impending anniversary.
And then the weather again, albeit this time it’s the weather in Spain.
‘I’ll get another round,’ I say motioning to our empty glasses.
‘Cesca?’ Helen says pointedly, looking at my sister with a schoolmistress expression.
‘Just a water for me,’ Cesca says, a hint of disappointment in her voice.
‘No more wine?’ I ask, failing to hide my surprise.
‘Cesca is watching her alcohol intake,’ Helen tells me in a way that makes it clear that in fact she is the one watching Cesca’s alcohol intake. What the hell is that all about?
It doesn’t take long for me to realize I can’t talk to Helen because I have no idea who she is or what she does. And so all I can do is judge her and the way she treats Cesca. I do not like it one bit.
I down the dregs of my wine and announce that I need to pee. A slight grimace flashes across Helen’s pretty mouth at my unladylike behaviour. Jeez, I really am starting to dislike her very, very much.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Cesca says, not looking at Helen. But I see the disapproval on her face.
We weave through the other patrons towards the toilets at the back of the bar. She waits until we’re in the two cubicles, side by side but with a gulf between us far bigger than the plywood wall of the stalls. ‘What’s up with you, Bethany?’ she asks.
‘With me?’ I say as if there is absolutely nothing wrong and I’m not a completely different Bethany to the one she knows and I have no idea what I’m doing or what I’m meant to say or do.
‘You seem distracted.’
Oh, do I? ‘Just busy, you know,’ I say. Because that’s what you say, isn’t it, when someone thinks you’re acting out of sorts. Not that you’re in a parallel universe that is growing increasingly like the Twilight Zone. ‘Are you okay, Cesca?’ I ask gently.
‘Of course,’ she replies, too brightly.
‘Sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘You can talk to me, you know. I’m here for you,’ I say, but I’m not actually sure this Bethany really is here for her sister.
‘Everything’s fine.’
‘Even with Helen,’ I prompt, desperate for her to open up, to tell me the truth.
‘Of course! Everything’s perfect with Helen.’ It’s a complete lie and we both know it.
When did my sister become the kind of woman who would let someone treat her like that? And why hasn’t this world’s Bethany rescued her?
We leave the bathroom, all the unspoken words hanging like a mist between us, threatening to smother us as we head back to Helen.
I stop in my tracks and Cesca bumps into me. ‘Woah—’ she says, then stops herself.
‘What is he doing here?’ I ask.
‘Who? Helen’s brother.’
Because of course he is.
Of course Tyler fucking Adams is my sister’s girlfriend’s brother.
‘Just don’t mention that the others couldn’t make it; it’s a touchy subject,’ Cesca hisses in my ear.
‘Others?’
She gives me a funny look and I realize I’m probably meant to know exactly who she’s talking about.
Tyler scooches along the sofa to give me enough room to sit down.
‘Wasn’t expecting to see you here,’ he says with a grin that seems genuine but I can see the smug edge like he’s still laughing at me for making a fool of myself in the biscuit aisle of Tesco.
‘Likewise,’ I say curtly.
We make small talk. And I mean the smallest of the small. If I thought the first part of this evening was excruciating, this is far, far worse.
I feel fingers spider into mine and I look down to see that Cesca has taken my hand under the table. I squeeze gently and she responds in kind. Perhaps there is still some affection here, perhaps this Cesca and her Bethany aren’t so far apart they can’t find each other again.
She leans in as if to whisper in my ear and I close the rest of the space between us. ‘He’s single, you know,’ she says, a hint of the salacious in her tone.
‘And?’ I whisper back, my eyes trained on Tyler to check he isn’t listening, but he’s too engrossed in telling Helen some boring story about his alma mater.
‘You like him. It’s pretty clear.’
‘I do not like him.’
‘The lady doth protest too much,’ she says.
Later that night I find myself at the bar getting more wine for me and yet another water for Cesca.
‘Are you sure you didn’t want like an Appletiser or something?
’ I’d asked her. Cesca always loved Appletiser; Dad used to serve it to us in champagne flutes at Christmas and on special occasions and we thought we were ever so sophisticated.
She’d glanced at Helen for a split second, just long enough for me to see that it wasn’t just her alcohol level Helen was interested in.
‘Err … no. Just water, thank you.’ She’d given me a smile, one that broke my heart but also filled me with hope that perhaps she realized this wasn’t right, perhaps she was already thinking of the ways she could escape from whatever the fuck their relationship really was.
I order the drinks, pulling out my phone to pay.
But when I tap the phone against the back of the payment unit the woman behind the bar looks at me quizzically.
‘The contactless limit is twenty-five pounds,’ she tells me like I’m a five-year-old who doesn’t understand basic facts that even babies know.
Since when was the limit only twenty-five pounds? It was one of my colleagues who wrote a groundbreaking paper about the economics of removing contactless limits; I remember we all went to the pub to celebrate after it was published. I stare at the bartender for a moment.
‘Can you pay by card, please.’ She’s clearly bored and wanting to move on to the next person.
I sense him behind me. ‘I take it back in your world things work differently.’ There is a hint of sarcasm I don’t appreciate.
I slide my card into the machine. The action allows me to count to ten in my head, helping control my anger just enough that I don’t make some super snarky remark I’ll probably only regret later.
Instead I turn to him, his pint in my hand. ‘Here’s your drink,’ I say, ever so sweetly.
He has the grace to blush; it’s basic courtesy not to take the piss too much out of someone who just bought you a drink. ‘Thanks.’ His fingers graze mine as he takes it. ‘I was just kidding,’ he adds.
‘Yeah.’ I’m dismissive, like I genuinely don’t care what he says. I mean, obviously I do care, but I really don’t want him to know that.
‘I mean, it would be kind of cool if you were from another universe.’ There’s a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
‘It’s not cool,’ I say, my tone heavy. ‘I’m tired and confused and I just want to go home.’
‘Do you need me to help you get home?’ he asks, tilting his head to one side as if he’s appraising me. Appraising me and finding me rather unappealing if he’s honest with himself.
‘Ha!’ I take a large gulp of my wine.
‘Look, are you sure you’re all right?’ This time the concern is real. He steps towards me and I sway a little. Too much wine? Too much stress? Too much of everything all crowding in at once and leaving me shattered into a thousand pieces?
He catches me, somehow managing to stop me from falling and rescuing my glass of wine at the same time. ‘Woah, there,’ he says. ‘I definitely think it’s time to call it a night.’
‘All I want is to get home,’ I whisper under my breath and feel the prick of a tear in the corner of my eye.
Oh that is just perfect. I’m about to cry on him now.