Chapter Seven

Present

Tegan was horrified. There was no other word for it. Utterly horrified.

‘Ryan and I know one another,’ she said rather stiffly. Coren and Sybill were standing looking at each of them, confusion written all over their faces.

‘May I ask — how?’ asked Sybill carefully.

Ryan pointed to Tegan, then ran his hand through his hair. He shook his head. ‘From Glasgow.’ He glowered at Tegan. ‘We were at the same gallery. She was awful.’

It had been six years ago, Tegan realised — but the memories haunted her to this day.

‘Disagree!’ She could recall it all in vivid Technicolor. ‘Ryan was there on a summer job. And he wasn’t very good at it. He was the single most unhelpful person I’ve ever had the misfortune to work with.’

‘Hey! Just wait a moment! You were the one that made things difficult up there! You never carried anything through that you said you’d do. I just got fed up of starting stuff you kept changing your mind over!’

‘You have to flex when you need it! Change things up, make things better —’

‘Get one thing out of the way before you mix it all up again—’

‘Woah!’ Coren flapped his hands at the pair of them and Tegan clamped her lips together and folded her arms.

Strike Three! seemed to be flashing in neon lights behind Coren’s head. Bloody hell. Would she ever learn to shut up ?

Although — hold on. She stood a little straighter. Hadn’t she defended herself from Ryan’s accusations?

Oh, no.

You hollered at him first , a little voice said in her head. At least she hoped it was in her head — the voice was American, and quite loud, and if it wasn’t in her head, she’d swear an invisible American woman was standing right beside her ear telling her she’d been rather stupid.

Just for once, could she be less impulsive? And work on that filter other people claimed to have?

Not a great first impression. Tegan felt herself flush hotly, to the very roots of her hair. Sybill was staring at the pair of them, at her and that dreadful Ryan, and that old adage came back to her: you never get a second chance to give a first impression , or whatever it was.

‘Okay.’ Coren spoke calmly. ‘I guess Glasgow was a long time ago, yes?’

‘Yes,’ Tegan said. ‘Six years ago. But I remember it very well.’

‘Yes. It was a while ago.’ Ryan’s arms were also folded and he was glaring at her. He apparently remembered it well too.

‘Then — do we think we can kind of — move past Glasgow? And work together? Because if not . . .’ Coren shrugged as he let that sentence hang there ominously.

Ryan scowled at Tegan, and Tegan scowled at him. But deep down, she knew this was an amazing opportunity and if she walked out now, she’d not only be letting Merryn down, but she’d be letting Coren down, and letting Sybill down. Letting Pencradoc down. And, most of all, letting herself down.

And also giving him the satisfaction that she’d scuttled away like a coward.

She took a deep breath. ‘Yes. I can move past it,’ she said. ‘It was a long time ago, like you say.’ Part of her wanted to scream, but regardless, I can’t stand this person ! Wisely, she clamped her lips shut and said nothing.

‘Ryan?’ Sybill spoke to the Enemy.

‘What? Me? Yes — of course.’

Tegan chanced a glance at him. His mouth was set in the same way hers was and she could tell he was fighting a comment down as well. But he said nothing else.

There was a beat.

‘Good,’ Coren said simply. ‘Okay. Let’s reacquaint ourselves after so long, and see what we can do to move things forwards, yes? Sit down. Please.’ He indicated some chairs around a small circular table and Tegan made sure she sat as far away from Ryan as possible. Which, yes, happened to be dead opposite him.

But she couldn’t do much about that. She’d just have to bear with it and be professional. But, dear God, why did it have to be Ryan Jackson she was supposed to be working with?

* * *

Ryan took his seat opposite Tegan and the tension was palpable across the table between them. Honestly, she had been the worst person to team up with at the gallery. She planned gallery events, and he, being a temporary member of summer staff, and of an age with her, had been paired up with her.

She was pretty, for certain, but back then, she was definitely not his type. Ryan hadn’t found smart, sassy blondes who flicked their shiny ponytails over their shoulders about a million times a day attractive at all. When she walked, her ponytail bounced and swung from side to side, something that annoyed him intensely. Ryan felt more of an affinity with the goth girls and the emo girls who dyed their hair black or crimson, and glowered out of dark eyes hidden under long fringes. Tegan had always played bouncy pop music in the office, and once or twice he’d come in and found her dancing around the room singing along with the tunes. He, on the other hand, loved the old eighties goth music from bands like the Cure, the Mission and the Damned.

Yes, even now, he still loved wearing black, and still loved his goth music; but he was less moody and miserable, and had softened somewhat towards blonde girls. He had even dated a few.

But Tegan, he felt, was still not a person who he would want to spend a lot of time with; not based on their previous relationship, anyway.

For some reason, they just hadn’t clicked at all.

With the distance of years, he just couldn’t put his finger on it — perhaps it was because at the time they were polar opposites? She was outgoing and cheerful, and he was mired in his own company, still trying to find his way, still unsure of what he wanted to do.

But, also, sometimes, she’d just been nasty. Pointlessly nasty, to his mind.

He remembered how one day she’d come bursting into the office when he’d managed to put his own playlist on the computer, as he’d thought she was away for a few hours. “Butterfly on a Wheel”, his current favourite Mission track, had been playing. He’d been enjoying wallowing in some post-break-up tunes — one of the emo girls he’d met from the Glasgow School of Art had dumped him for someone studying geology, no less — and Tegan’s infernal peppiness that day had irritated him beyond measure.

‘I can’t bear that noise!’ she’d said.

‘I can’t bear your noise either!’ he replied, and thus ensued a good ten minutes of argument when they were meant to be finalising an exhibition-catalogue layout together; how she didn’t believe in wallowing, and the only good thing to do after a break-up was to move on, go out with your friends and play upbeat music. He disagreed. He felt a break-up deserved a good couple of days in mourning and a damn good wallow and the most angst-ridden playlist you could find . . .

Also, he didn’t really have any friends to go out with, but he wasn’t going to admit that to her.

They sniped at each other all day after that and the catalogue went to print with several errors in it, which made neither of them very popular with the gallery owner.

They were both taken into the owner’s office individually. Ryan listened silently and made sure his face remained impassive and expressionless. Tegan came out with red eyes and locked herself in the loos for fifteen minutes afterwards. Then she was vile to him all afternoon and refused even to look at him.

Thinking about that time, Ryan shuddered. Actually — what a stupid argument to have, now he thought about it. It didn’t excuse her appalling taste in music, but they’d both been at fault. She’d powered off onto some other project after that, apparently managing to brush the gallery owner’s comments off, her butterfly mind probably already moving on to the next big thing. He’d read and re-read the typo-ridden catalogue and churned it over and over in his mind, berating himself for the mistakes he should have spotted, and becoming gloomier and gloomier over it all.

“Butterfly on a wheel” indeed.

Today, Ryan took a deep breath and studied the woman Tegan had become, sitting across from him now. Her hair was lighter, but still irritatingly bouncy. Her face was tanned and her cheekbones were more pronounced, but that might have been the result of clever make-up or because she had her lips compressed tightly. Her clothes were still casual but somehow professional. And her eyes were narrowed, as she appeared to be studying him just as much as he was studying her.

He wasn’t going to risk a smile.

it would be a bit embarrassing if she didn’t smile back, so he remained stony faced and stared right back at her.

One of them would have to give in eventually.

Wouldn’t they?