‘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 muchof 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.’
