Nick noted some of the teams had five and even six
members.
‘We’ve only got four, does that matter?’ He looked
at Eric.
‘We don’t need six; we’re the cleverest here.’ Eric
tapped his temple.
‘Clever or lucky?’ he asked.
‘Both, mate.’ Eric raised his pint to him. ‘Both.’
Ellie tutted and Alex chuckled. Big Brian, however,
looked up sharply. ‘There will be no talking between
questions and during tie breaks.’ Nick felt his cheeks
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flame as if the man addressed him directly. Big Brian
wasn’t done. ‘There will be no conferring outside of the
team, and anyone caught using a mobile phone or any
Internet device to gain an advantage will be banned not
only from this quiz but all future quizzes. Phones can be
collected after the results.’ Brian cast his beady eye over
the assembled. Nick looked over towards Jen’s table and
Beverly pulled a face at him; she too apparently found
Brian’s manner most amusing.
‘The winning pot for tonight is’ – Big Brian paused –
‘seventy-two pounds in cash, plus a voucher from Orient
Rendezvous to the value of twenty pounds.’
Several people whooped out loud. It made Nick
smile – the seventy-two pound prize didn’t garner much
of a reaction, but the prospect of twenty quid’s worth
of free noodles or chips from the local takeaway was
quite a different matter.
‘Pens ready, and we will begin.’ Big Brian took a deep
breath and Nick looked at Eric, who sat with the answer
sheet flat on the table and his pen poised.
‘Question One; what is the capital of Switzerland?’
‘Geneva,’ Alex whispered from behind his cupped
palm.
‘Isn’t it Zurich?’ Nick piped up, trying to picture the
open page of a map.
‘It’s Bern, isn’t it?’ Eric threw the question out there.
As soon as he said it Nick knew this was the answer.
‘Yes, mate, Bern – that’s the one.’
Nick looked around at the other teams all beaming,
nodding and sitting tall in their chairs, seemingly confi-
dent that they knew the answer. He was surprised by the
competitive streak that fired through him, catching Jen’s
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eye, who gave him a superior look and a slight shake of
her head as she mouthed the word dweeb. He ignored her.
‘Question Two.’ Big Brian coughed. ‘According to the
Society of Motor Manufacturers and Traders, UK, as of
October 2018, what was the best-selling car in the UK?’
‘Golf,’ Eric opened with confidence.
‘Yep, Golf,’ Ellie agreed. ‘I have a Golf and my sister
does too and Nicola, a girl at work. So I’d say Golf.’
Eric bit his cheek; no doubt to stifle the many sarcastic
retorts he wanted to fire at her logic.
‘What about a Ford?’ Alex piped up.
‘Yes, good shout, Alex, Focus? Fiesta?’ Nick agreed
with his friend.
‘Fiesta.’ Alex held his gaze.
‘I still think Golf.’ Eric overrode him and encouraged
by Ellie’s vigorous nodding in between sips of her vodka
and tonic, he wrote VW Golf as their answer.
This was how the evening continued. The questions
were sometimes tough, sometimes not so much, but always
fuelled fierce debate. Much to his surprise, Nick actually
enjoyed himself, getting lost in the process of dredging his
thoughts, trying to dig for facts in the murky silt of grief, searching for answers that included: ‘Rocky Marciano’,
‘Mahogany’, ‘ Toy Story 2’ and ‘Beluga Caviar’. He felt an unfamiliar flickering of pride when he knew an answer, a
nice and rare moment when he felt smart, a sharp almost
painful reminder of how he had felt at school, like he got
it while others foundered … a kid who was going places.
He remembered his conversation with Oliver.
‘Would you have liked to have gone to university? ’ and the response he buried;
‘You bet your bottom dollar I would!’
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A recess was called while Big Brian and his team of
two solemnly gathered the answer papers from the tables
and went to the back room, home of the skittle alley, to
‘You can leave now if you want, Nick, save the em-
barrassment of having your butt whipped!’
‘I’ll stay put, thanks.’
‘What did you put for the car one? It’s Fiesta, right?’
Jen probed.
‘That’s what I thought,’ Alex said loudly, splaying his
upward palms as if used to being overridden; his expression
screaming what can you do? Ellie gave him a sharp stare.
Nick sipped the last of his pint and stood to go and
get his round in.
‘Same again, everyone?’
‘Please.’
‘Cheers.’
‘Just half.’
‘Oh, I’ll have white wine please.’ Jen smiled sweetly.
‘You can whistle!’ He pushed past her and made his
way to the bar. Beverly was waiting with a tenner in her
hand, trying to get the attention of Ruby behind the bar.
‘Your sister is quite possibly the most competitive
person I’ve ever met.’ She grimaced.
‘Tell me about it. When we were kids we used to play
Monopoly as a family, at Christmas and the like, and she
would never let us finish the game early if we got bored.
We’d have to slog it out, sometimes for hours, because
she couldn’t stand to lose and couldn’t stand it if things
weren’t done by the rules. If she needed to go the toilet,
she’d take the dice so we couldn’t carry on or cheat with-
out her there. I remember my mum looking close to tears
and my dad yawning, but that was apparently better than
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having to sit through one of Jen’s tantrums. Sometimes
I’d steal money and put it in her bank, just so she could
win and I could go outside and play football!’
‘You’re the only person I’ve ever heard of nicking from
the Monopoly bank to let someone else win!’ She pushed
her short blonde hair behind her ears and Nick noticed
the shape of her cheek and chin: small, elfin, pretty. He
felt the punch of disloyalty in his gut and coughed as if
this might expel the taste of guilt that sat on his tongue
and in his throat.
‘I had to; we might still be there now!’
Beverly let out a loud laugh and Nick looked over
her shoulder to see if anyone was watching, relieved to
see they weren’t.
‘What you having, Nick?’ She waved her tenner to-
wards the bar.
‘Oh, no, nothing. I’m … I’m getting a round in, so,
but no, thank you…’ He took a step backwards, pulled
back his shoulders and looked towards Eric, who was
chatting to Jen, willing him to come over and provide
a much needed barrier. He fe
lt awkward, embarrassed,
and glanced at the front door, wondering if it would be
terrible to make a run for it. As he considered this he felt
Eric, as if having heard his plea, place his hand on his
shoulder, and Nick felt instant and sweet relief.
‘We’re dying of thirst over there!’ he laughed, before
the smile fell from his face. ‘Oh, mate, I just meant—’
‘It’s okay.’ Nick ran his palm over his face, wondering
if this was how it was going to be: him embarrassed to
talk to a female and his best mate turning puce over us-
ing the word dying … He hoped not, because it took the
fun out of the evening. It took the fun out of everything.
He looked over at Alex and Ellie, who both stared into
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space with miserable faces, and wondered why, about to
spend money on drinks he didn’t really want and couldn’t
really afford, he had bothered coming at all.
‘You all right?’ He watched Eric scanning his face,
looking for clues that his mouth might deny.
‘I think I might—’ He gestured his thumb towards
the exit and had been about to say ‘call it a night’ when
Big Brian boomed into his microphone, interrupting him.
‘Ladies and gentlemen! We have a tie! This mean we
go to a tie break! And it’s between the Vixens and the
Four Amigos!’
‘That’s us!’ Eric darted to the table and Nick followed,
laughing at the team name. They had always been the
ated Ellie, doing his bit to keep the peace, no doubt. Jen,
Beverly and their two friends looked daggers across the
room at them.
Perfect.
‘And for those of you who don’t know, this is how it
works.’ Brian paused. ‘I read out the questions one at a
time to each team in turn and we keep going until one
team gets a question wrong and it’s the other team that
wins. Here we go, Vixens.’
Nick noted the thin set line of determination on his
sister’s mouth, reminding him of her tenacity during the
great Monopoly weekend of 1994.
‘Vixens: who was President Trump’s running mate
in the 2016 US Presidential Elections?’
Jen rose in her chair and shouted without conferring,
‘Mike Pence!’ Her conviction was such that he doubted
even Big Brian would have had the courage to tell her
she was wrong. He saw Beverly pull a face and laugh with
her teammates. Jen was in a league of her own.
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Big Brian nodded. ‘Correct!’ Jen did a fist pump. ‘Next
question for the Four Amigos: what chemical element is
diamond made of?’
‘Carbon!’ Alex shouted, and Eric thumped the tabletop.
‘Correct!’ Things were heating up, the atmosphere
charged. ‘Vixens, question two: what is the official lan-
guage of Brazil?’
Jen stared at Beverly and the girls. ‘I know it’s not
Brazilian.’ She sucked air through her teeth and tapped her
chin as if this might help her concentrate. ‘Portuguese!’
she suddenly shrieked.
‘Correct!’ Big Brian cracked a rare smile. Nick could
feel the tension in the air and it was exciting. He wanted
to beat Jen just for the fun of it and he wanted a slice of
that seventy-two quid!
‘Four Amigos, question two: the inhabitants of Albania,
Lebanon and Malta can all paddle in the same sea, but
which sea is it?’
Nick pictured the map and knew the answer. ‘The
Middleterrainean!’ The moment it left his mouth he knew
he’d messed up.
‘He meant Mediterranean!’ Eric yelled, standing and
trying to clarify.
‘Obviously I did,’ Nick offered, feeling his face co-
lour, embarrassed and aware of Jen’s look of glee in his
peripheral vision.
‘I am sorry,’ Big Brian said slowly, his smug smile
suggesting he was anything but. ‘As the rules state I can
only accept the team’s first answer and the correct answer
is the Mediterranean. Which means tonight’s victors and
the winners of the pot and the twenty-pound voucher
for the Orient Rendezvous is’ – he paused, irritatingly
building up his part – ‘the Vixens!’
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‘Yes! Yes!’ Jen leapt from her chair and ran around the
room like she’d won the bloody Super Bowl and not a
free noodle. Nick wasn’t sure what was worse, his sister’s
gloating or the look of disappointment on the look on
the faces of the other amigos.
‘Middleterrainean?’ Ellie asked with her arms folded
across her chest, looking at him like he was an idiot, and
for a second he knew what it felt like to be Alex. ‘What
were you thinking?’
‘He wasn’t.’ Alex sided with his wife.
‘Middleterrainean?’ Beverly stood at the end of the
table, shaking her head, as she put her arms into her coat.
Nick tried again to explain. ‘It came out wrong.’
She laughed. ‘You lot coming for chips?’
‘Is Jen going?’
‘Yes, Eric.’ She held his eye line.
Nick liked the soft tut and crinkle-eyed smile of
sympathy she gave his mate.
The two teams made their way along the pavements
where fog loitered and the cast-iron street lamps, the same
ones they had swung around as kids, lit the way.
‘You did good, Nick.’ Jen punched his arm. ‘I’m proud
of you.’
‘Thanks, Sis.’ He rubbed the spot where her knuckles
had landed.
The frontage of the Orient Rendezvous was lit up
like a Christmas tree with red paper lanterns adorned
with gold tassels hanging in the window.
‘Right’ – Jen smacked the voucher onto the counter-
top – ‘can we have eight packets of chips, please, all with
salt and vinegar.’
‘No vinegar for me,’ Ellie called from the back.
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‘And no salt for me.’ Nick only said it to irritate his
sister who sighed. Beverly again laughed loudly and Nick
had to admit he liked the way it felt, being able to make
someone laugh in this way. He noticed Eric staring at
him with a smile on his face.
‘What?’ Nick asked, a little more aggressively than
he had intended.
‘Nothing, mate. Nothing.’ Eric squeezed next to Jen
at the counter. ‘I thought you were brilliant tonight.
You’re so smart.’
Jen smiled broadly at him and Nick was pleased that
she didn’t shoot him down.
‘Here you go, Human Dustbin.’ Jen handed him the
first bag of chips.
‘Cheers, I’m bloody starving!’
1992
His mum pulled the bed-in-a-bag from the bottom of
the airing cupboard and dragged it across the hallway to
Nick’s bedroom floor.
‘So how long is Eric staying?’ he asked w
ith
excitement.
‘A couple of days. And it’ll be a couple of days every
week.’ She unfurled the base and duvet and smoothed the
creases from the duvet top. ‘His dad is on a late shift some
nights and it wouldn’t do to have Eric home alone so late
and so he’s coming here. Like a sleepover.’ She kissed her
fingertips and touched them to his cheek.
‘Where’s his mum?’ He knew she wasn’t home but
beyond that had very little to go on.
‘She’s gone away for a bit.’ Her tone was clipped.
‘With Dave The Milk?’
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‘Goodness, Master Bairstow, have you been listening
at keyholes?’ She coughed and he noticed her cheeks had
gone a little bit pink.
‘Is it because of her secret job?’
‘What secret job, darling?’ She stopped fluffing the
pillows and gave him her full attention.
‘Eric told us she had a secret job and she was work-
ing with Dave The Milk when his dad was at billiards.’
His mum sat back on her haunches and looked out
the window, as if considering this.
‘You know, Nicky, sometimes grown-ups tell lies.
And I think that was a lie. I don’t think she had a secret
job. But you don’t need to say that to Eric; he has enough
on his plate right now.’
‘Do you think she would tell Eric a lie even though
she is his mum?’ He was aghast at the possibility. Nick
knew his sister lied to him all the time: I have rigged it so that if you look at my diary it will explode with green dye that never ever, ever washes off and you will spend the rest of your life looking like The Grinch!
His mates too: I saw it with my own eyes, a robber! And
Batman just came swooping down and kicked him in the face!
Kapow! Bam!
Even his teacher: We are going to have fun! Maths can
be fun!
And the worst culprit of all was Doctor Hughes: This
isn’t going to hurt a bit.
But the idea of his mum or dad, the people he trusted
most in the whole wide world, telling him a proper lie –
the thought left him feeling a little winded.
‘Yes.’ His mum nodded. ‘Sometimes even the people
who love you the most might tell you a lie and it might
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be for a million different reasons and those reasons are
not always easy to understand.’
‘So…’ Nicky considered this. ‘If she wasn’t doing a
job, why did she lock herself in the front room with the