You know I said I was sure I wouldn’t skip again? This is how I know. Because it was this Bethany; this sad, broken Bethany with the shitty husband and a life of charity work and brunches built a machine to explore the multiverse.
In my world, I solved the problem of how we could,theoretically, find a way to talk to another universe. You’llnotice I use theoretically, i.e. there is no reason for it not to work, if I had the technological capability to build it. Which I don’t.
But this Bethany, this brilliant Bethany, didn’t just find a way to talk to another universe. She found a way to visit. And not just theoretically. Just over six weeks ago, this Bethany took a seat and strapped herself in. I try to imagine what she must have been thinking. Was she scared? Excited? Relieved that perhaps she would get to see a better world? And then she pulled the lever and sent herself into another universe. Or at least, she sent her consciousness, her soul. Her body remained here, locked in a coma. Hardly surprising given the current she shot through herself and the heart condition she was totally unaware of.
I turn in a slow circle around the space. Everything is tidy, carefully put away and straightened up. Which doesn’t make any sense at all. How did this Bethany get from here, in this small storage unit, to the hospital? And who tidied up after her and locked up and replaced the keys into the small, locked box in her office down the road?
‘You found it then?’ a quiet voice says from the doorway. I spin to find Amina standing there, a small smile playing across her lips.
‘You knew?’
‘I have a degree in physics, a masters in quantum tech and I almost completed my doctorate,’ Amina says without even a trace of pride.
‘You helped her?’
Amina nods. And then her whole face breaks into a smile, her body brimming with energy. ‘Holy shit! You’re a different Bethany.’ The words come out in a breathless rush, her eyes shining.
A crashing noise from outside the corridor breaks the mood and Amina jumps inside the unit and quickly rollsdown the door, plunging us into darkness. But then she snaps on an overhead light and her eyes meet mine. It feels like a staring contest; she doesn’t blink as she evaluates me and I find myself frozen under the intensity of her gaze. ‘Shit,’ she says on an exhale.
She crosses the space to the far corner and digs around inside a cupboard, finally emerging victorious with a bottle of scotch and two tiny glasses decorated in an intricate gold and green pattern. She pours a large measure into each and then hands one to me. ‘To Bethany.’
‘Which one?’ I ask as I raise my glass to her and then down the contents, the fire in the back of my throat making me feel more alive than I have since I woke up in this world.
Amina laughs, a high-pitched laugh like a young girl. ‘This toast is formyBethany.’ But the second she swallows she pours another measure and motions for me to hand back my glass. Drinks refilled, she raises hers once more. ‘This toast is foryou, Bethany.’ We both drink. ‘And now you can tell me everything.’ She pulls me into the other corner where there are two large cushions on the floor.
I tell her the bare bones of it. The skipping through world after world. The different versions of myself I found along the way. Her eyes grow wider the longer I talk. My story complete, I turn the tables and start to ask the questions I’m dying to find answers for. ‘How did you meet Bethany?’ I ask Amina.
‘At a lecture. I was visiting the University of Surrey, trying to decide if I should start up my PhD studies again. But it’s so expensive and my father …’ She lowers her eyes to the floor. ‘He didn’t want me to continue. He said it was too dangerous. My mother …’ Her voice cracks. ‘She was … Anyway, I met Bethany in the queue to grab a coffee. She was there researching ways to offer courses and classes to some of the women the Aster Trust helps. We hit it off immediately.’
‘Kindred spirits,’ I say softly.
‘Women with dreams greater than we felt we could achieve,’ Amina whispers back.
‘And so you joined Aster?’
‘Bethany said that people with experience would have the most empathy. She said I could make a difference.’ She says it so simply, like it was so obvious for her to take on a charitable role, even as her own ambitions lay tattered in the gutter. I’m slightly in awe of her and more than a little humbled.
I don’t tell Amina that I think Bethany probably asked her to work for the charity because she wanted her help with all this.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Amina says and catches me off guard. ‘You think she was using me.’
She’s so on the nose I don’t even try to deny it.
Amina just shrugs. ‘I think I was the one using her.’ Then she gives me a wicked smile and for a moment she looks exactly like Nessie. I can see why this Bethany liked her so much.
‘But something went wrong, didn’t it?’ I ask, motioning towards the machine.
Amina’s face falls.
‘Tell me,’ I demand.
Amina pours us both another drink, but the atmosphere is no longer celebratory. ‘Okay, here goes,’ she says, knocking back the whisky before taking a deep breath.
Chapter Fifty-Two
‘She was so psyched up, running on no sleep and too much caffeine. She was terrified; we’ve been friends for long enough for me to see it as clear as day, but she kept saying she wasn’t.’
‘She thought it wouldn’t work?’ I ask, even though that’s the most logical explanation.
