Page 20 of Mirrors of the Past

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?