Nice one, Cooper. Smooth…
If possible, her grin grew even wider. ‘Hello.’
They stood there for a few more seconds. She wobbled on her heels. Bridget lived in Converse – she’d probably borrowed these spiky silver things from one of her sisters.
‘So, in answer to my questions…?’
‘Right! I’m looking for a job.’
Her forehead furrowed in sympathy. ‘I heard you left IPD.’
‘You heard I left or was pushed?’ What was it about this woman that made Patrick Cooper tell her everything? Well, he’d started so he might as well finish…
‘I wasn’t pushed, I chose to resign. I was co-lead author on the whole Walberg study. The Cooper Walberg study, then. But Walberg’s data stopped adding up. So I poked around a bit, and found out that a load more of IPD’s studies were even worse. When I confronted them, it was either show my loyalty to the business, with a nice pay rise and a promotion in return. Or leave, with a destroyed reputation to cover their backs if I spoke up.’
‘Wow. That’s horrible.’
Cooper shrugged. ‘Yeah. And now no one in neuroscience wants anything to do with me. I came here this evening hoping one or two far corners in academia might hate IPD enough to give me a chance, but, given that you and a retired lecturer are the only people to acknowledge me so far, I think it’s been a waste of time.’
‘Excuse me? A waste of time? The first time you’ve seen me, your once closest friend, in four years, and it’s awaste?’
He wiped his mouth, trying to hide the sheepish grin. ‘Not that bit, obviously.’
‘And, more importantly, you were in Nottingham and you didn’t get in touch? I can understand you not having time for your long-lost best friend when IPD are working you into the ground day and night, but given that you’re now a man of leisure, in my home city, what possible reason do you have for not calling?’ Even when she was telling him off, her cheeks dimpled with joy.
Because I’m in love with you, and seeing you with someone else kills me?
‘Give me a break, I only arrived a couple of hours ago.’
‘Hmph.’
‘And I’m here now.’
Bridget pursed her lips, as if deciding whether or not to forgive him.
‘Come on, Widget, you know I’m crap at all that stuff.’
‘What, friendship?’
‘Friendship, human interaction, basic communication, any kind of meaningful relationship…’
‘Come on, then, let’s get a drink and catch up on as much as we can before the awards start.’ She linked her arm through his, and turned back towards the ballroom, but as she did someone stumbled out of the men’s room.
‘Ugh, quick, it’s the professor.’ Bridget started to pull him along, but it was too late.
‘I know you,’ the man called, as if that were a reasonable accusation. ‘Stop!’
‘Professor Cole.’ Cooper stopped, turning with a sigh to address his old tutor.
‘How do I know you?’
‘Professor, this is Patrick Cooper,’ Bridget started, the use of his first name making Cooper’s innards shrivel.
‘I know whoyouare! You’re my assistant. Can you please assist me and this gentleman by running along and fetching two brandies? None of that cheap tosh. This fellow rings a bell and I want to know why.’
‘I was your research student for two years, up until 2015,’ Cooper said, preventing Bridget from ‘running along’ by squeezing her linked arm tightly against his body.
Suddenly the professor’s face cleared, as far as possible when utterly intoxicated. ‘Cooper! You turned down my postgrad post and sold your soul to IPD, leaving me Dr Donovan instead.’
