It certainly looks likethisBethany didn’t flick through the pages ofMonochrome For a Peaceful Mindin vague amusement before putting it back on the ‘oddities’ shelf she’d found it on. No,thisBethany appears to have purchased said book and treated it like some kind of interior design bible. A shiver runs up the back of my neck at the realization of just how prone us Bethanys are to taking something kind of niche and making it our entire personality.
The notebook is white faux leather with a pale grey elastic to hold it closed and a sleek black Parker jotter in the pen holder. I write down the theorem; small and neat, as if all this monochrome really has helped to make me less messy and less prone to scribbling down my ideas as they flash into my brain.
I can’t stay in this weird white shrine and so I pull on a pair of jeans (grey) and a T-shirt (white) and then slide my feet into a pair of matte black Havaianas. Twenty minutes later I’m outside his flat. Or at least the building he has lived in in every other universe.
Ten seconds after I ring the bell, he opens the door, looking cool and casual in pale jeans and a bright blue T-shirt that is just a teeny bit too small, just short enough to show me a flash of that V muscle. I look away, but not before something in my stomach flip-flops. He raises an eyebrow when he sees me and then furrows his brow. ‘Bethany Raven?’
I take a deep breath. I’ve rehearsed what I might say on my walk over here, but all the words fail me now as I stand like a fool on his doorstep. I should have sent theemail. I clear my throat, once, twice, but still the words don’t come.
He leans against the door frame and studies me, arms crossed as he rakes his eyes slowly across my face. The silence yawns between us.
But once I start speaking I can’t stop. ‘I know I look like Bethany Raven, and I am Bethany Raven, kind of. Well … I mean, yes, I am Bethany Raven. But I’m not the one who’s meant to live in this world. The one you know, here. I’m skipping. Jumping through the many worlds of different Bethanys and in each one I have to come to find you to ask you for your help. And you have. Or at least you’ve tried to help, but I keep skipping; at least every few days, sometimes every night. Nothing is working. And so, in the last world, you told me to just come and find you and that this time we wouldn’t try to stop whatever it is that’s happening to me and instead we would just …’ I look up to find a gentle smile is tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘This isn’t funny.’ I sound like a petulant school child.
He puts both hands up. ‘I didn’t say it was funny.’
‘You smirked. And I’ve seen that look before. Too many times. It’s the one you use when you’re trying to stop yourself from laughing because you know you shouldn’t laugh, because what is happening is actually really fucking bad for the person involved but you still can’t help yourself.’
The smile slides off his face. Because he does do that. But in this world I doubt he and Bethany are close enough for her to know that.
‘And you like custard creams. And fruity cider. And you always get lychee pearls in your bubble tea. And you wear those days of the week socks but …’ I pause to crouch on his doorstep and lift his jeans. ‘Ha! You’re wearing Tuesday even though it’s Thursday. And tomorrow you’ll wear Mondayeven though it’ll be Friday. And you hate giant rabbits. Well, actually you don’t hate them. They terrify you.’
He doesn’t say another word until I run out of steam and finally come to a stop on my own.
‘Okay,’ he says eventually.
‘Okay? Okay?’ The anger burns through me, hot and fast. ‘What the fuck does okay mean?’
‘It means okay. Okay, I believe you. Okay, I’m here to help. Okay, whatever you need from me, I’m yours.’
‘Oh.’ Well it’s kind of hard to stay angry when someone says that.
‘You told me … as in last you … other universe you …’ I’m making a complete screw-up of this.
He takes a step towards me, eyes on mine. ‘What did I tell you?’
‘That we should run away to New York.’
‘Okay.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Heathrow is busy, the airport bustling with people jetting off on their holidays, excitement palpable in the air around us. My overly analytical brain has now dissected this plan and decided it’s stupid and reckless and we absolutely shouldn’t be heading off to New York on a whim.
‘We have to listen to other Tyler,’ this world’s Tyler tells me with a shrug. ‘Perhaps he knew something you didn’t, maybe he thought this would help?’
‘How exactly is going to New York going to help?’ I demand, the beginnings of a headache starting to pulse behind my right cheekbone. I poke my tongue into the top corner of my mouth and feel for the smooth crown capping the root canal I finally plucked up the courage to have just over a year ago. But instead my tongue finds a jagged edge of tooth. This Bethany hasn’t been to the dentist. She needs to.
Tyler turns back to face me and does that thing that all Tylers do where they tilt their heads a little. It shouldn’t thaw my frosty heart. It should make me irritated and give me the ick. But there we are. ‘You know what I think?’ he asks.
I sigh under my breath. This isn’t his fault. Tyler isn’t the one – in this universe or in any of them – who’s doing this to me. He’s just a guy who objectively disliked me in each world until we realized it was a misunderstanding and has sincethen been an absolute gentleman. And if anyone can help, then it’s him. I feel my face soften and lift my eyes to his. ‘Go on then,’ I say, keeping my tone playful as I desperately will all the bad feelings and anger and stress to dissipate into the airport crowds.
‘I think we should go and check out that nice champagne bar. Other me – which is a weird thing to say, FYI, but it has a kind of ring to it – obviously thought you needed a break.’
I allow myself to be steered towards the bar, which turns out not to sell champagne but an array of English sparkling wines, which is far better in my humble opinion. We have access to the airline lounge but Tyler prefers to stay in the main waiting area and who am I to argue. We sit at the curved wooden bar, the finish shining in the artificial lights of the departure lounge. A triple-stacked shelf of brightly coloured bottles containing every conceivable flavour of gin winks at me. I sip the delicious gooseberry undertones of a glass of chilled Nyetimber. ‘So this is just a holiday?’ I ask eventually.
Tyler puts his glass down and swivels on his stool to look at me. ‘Yep. Just a holiday. A distraction. A chance for you to rest and recharge.’
I think back to Spain. That was barely a week ago and those four days of rest did absolutely nothing to help. Although I do have to admit all I did for that time was think about my predicament and wallow in self-pity and self-loathing. It was hardly relaxing. I swivel my own chair round so Tyler and I are face to face, our knees touching, and pick up my flute. ‘Well, if that’s what the doctor is ordering …’ I say with a grin and raise my glass.
