He nods slowly, a look of quiet contemplation on his handsome features. ‘What are they like. Those other Tylers?’
I pause for a moment. He is remarkably constant. Every version of him basically a cookie cutter of the last. Is he so sure of himself, his sense of who he is so defined it transcends space and time? ‘They are just like you,’ I say eventually.
How is it that I am so different, that each time I slip I move further and further away from the original me, but he is still the same?
He nods and I expect him to ask for more details but he doesn’t. ‘I’m glad you trust me enough to ask for my help,’ he says with a smile.
‘I’m glad you trust me enough to believe me without question,’ I tell him, tapping my plastic glass against his.
We fall into a companionable silence, both of us sipping our wine as the sun begins to set on the horizon.
Later that night, he offers me a hand to help me stand. The wine has gone to my head a little and I feel warm and fuzzy round the edges. He catches me as I stumble, arms around me to hold me up.
I look up into his face, his features softened by alcohol and moonlight.
‘Bethany.’ He whispers my name quietly into the night air, his hand tucking my hair behind my ear.
I see a flash of motion to my left and whip my head round in time to jump out of the way of a black and brown mass of fur as a dog races between us, destroying the moment forever.
Chapter Sixteen
Tyler arrives at the door of my flat at eight a.m. the next morning. I haven’t skipped again, but I am still in my PJs.
‘Umm … I thought we had work to do?’ he says, his tone tinged with irritation. But then he reads the slogan on my top and cracks a smile. Cesca bought me these years ago and I was thrilled to find them tucked away at the bottom of this Bethany’s wardrobe. I feel safe, comforted, and a bit more like me while I’m wrapped in the soft cotton featuring a picture of an angry cat plotting her revenge against Schrödinger.
‘Come in. I’ll go and get changed,’ I tell him. I want to tell him that I’m late because of Cesca. But I don’t know if he’ll understand.
I tried to call her this morning. She answered but I could tell she was distracted, unsure what I wanted. ‘Has something happened?’ she asked.
‘I just wanted to say hi.’
‘Right,’ she said, in a way that suggested it wasn’t right at all. ‘I thought you were calling to say something had …’ She trailed off. ‘You only call when there’s a disaster.’ She made it sound like the real disaster was me.
‘Sorry, I just … Oh. Never mind. I’ll leave you to your morning.’
‘Great.’ And then she hung up. No goodbye. No see you soon. No I love you millions.
I emerge from the bedroom in jeans and a sweatshirt, my hair swept into a messy bun.
Tyler grins at me.
‘What?’ I ask, my hand flying to my face as if perhaps it has somehow become smeared with jam on my walk from the other room.
‘You look adorable,’ he says. ‘Sorry.’ He looks away. ‘That probably isn’t what a top scientist wants to hear. But you always look so severe when I see you at conferences and then yesterday you looked like you were wearing someone else’s clothes. Which I get you were, in a way. But now you look like …’ He motions towards me as if trying to find the right word.
‘Now I look like me. My me. Not this me,’ I say with a smile, even as I’m aware that the words make no sense.
‘It suits you,’ he tells me. There’s that same look in his eye as last night when he stopped me falling, when he held me close under the starlight.
I want to crawl inside his brain and understand what he’s thinking. Is it the same as my own thoughts? That perhaps we were wrong about each other, that being rivals was a waste, that there is far more to our story to come.
We spend the morning going through some more of the theory; digging into the array of textbooks stuffing the bottom half of this Bethany’s bookcase, trawling the archives of theses, even a few meanders into the more scientific areas of Reddit. Nothing we find promises an easy answer to my predicament.
At midday I make us some cheese on toast for lunch. It’s always been one of my favourites and over the years it’sevolved into something more elaborate and I’m relieved to find that this version of Bethany has all the right ingredients. Toasted farmhouse loaf and then a mix of grated Cheddar, finely chopped tomatoes and shredded ham, all grilled to a golden perfection. I wait for Tyler’s response.
‘Best cheese on toast ever,’ he tells me when he sees me watching him. I’m not sure if he’s humouring me, but I’ll take it as a win.
The food helps us to get a second wind, but by three p.m. we’re flagging again and so we decide to take a break and head to the bar down the road from my flat. In my world it’s a dive pub, somewhere I rarely go as it’s full of old men and pimply teenagers drinking illicit beer like they’re finally adults. The landlord doesn’t care about IDs; he knows they’re only seventeen and pretending to be grown up, but he takes their money because it’s the only way to keep the lights on. But here in this world, the outside has been painted a rather gorgeous teal, hanging baskets sway in the wind, and the rotting benches have been replaced with high-end rattan furniture. The place is heaving, every seat outside occupied as people enjoy the summer afternoon.
