‘Long as you don’t tell Dave I gave you my jacket. He’d take the piss for a year.’
‘Thanks, Sonny. You’re a good boy.’ She gave his knee a pat.
He jerked his head towards the hotel. ‘So do you need to go back in, apologise to your ex?’
‘No… no, I’ll only make it worse. I’ll send a gift basket and a grovelly note tomorrow. Let’s go home.’
‘All right, come on then.’ He stood up and offered a hand to pull her to her feet.
‘Oh yeah, and I want a word with you on the way back,’ she said, tucking her arm through his.
‘Me? Why?’
‘Did you or did you not tell everyone in the sixth form common room I’d shagged you?’
‘Ah…’
9
14th Annual Denworth Quiz League: Leaderboard
The Empress, Match 2 of 8
1st place – Les Quizerables (68)
2nd place – The Pink Ladies (65)
3rd place – The Murgatroyd Family (63)
4th place – The Mighty Morphin’ Flower Arrangers (62)
The Empress had to be Clarrie’s least favourite venue on the League circuit.
Until a few years ago it’d been a proper old man’s pub: an eighteenth-century coaching inn with the lingering smell of pre-smoking-ban tobacco emanating from the tatty carpets and God, so many horse brasses. Then it had been bought by a chain. These days it was all gastro-food and craft ales, with vomit-worthy calligraphy saying things like ‘The best friends are friends with wine’. Yuck.
When she arrived, two of her team were already there: Si at the bar getting a round in and Sonny near the door talking to Maserati Tim. The way Sonny was waving his arms and scowling suggested they were having a pretty heated debate.
‘Oh God, what now?’ Clarrie muttered as she went to find out what they were arguing about.
‘Sorry, Chuckles, nothing I can do about it,’ Tim was saying in his gruff voice.
‘But it must be against the rules, it must be,’ Sonny said. ‘He’s a ringer, Tim! They’ve bloody brought in a bloody ringer, the cheating bastards.’
‘Nothing that says they can’t recruit anyone they want, long as all their members live locally. You Flower Arrangers’ll just have to up your game, won’t you?’
‘I don’t believe this!’ Sonny pushed his fingers into his hair. ‘Right. Who can I appeal to?’
‘Me. And the answer’ll still be tough titty, so you might as well go sit down before I disqualify you for disrespecting the quizmaster.’
‘What’s up, Sonny?’ Clarrie asked.
Sonny turned to face her. ‘That speccy bloke, the new Les Quiz guy. He’s a bloody Brainiac, Clar.’
‘Well yeah, all their lot are, aren’t they? I don’t think you can get him kicked out of the League for it. That’s kind of the point.’
‘No, I mean he’s a Brainiac off Brainiacs – you know, that quiz show where the smartarses take on the ordinary people? I was watching telly with my mum last night and suddenly there he was. Jim Welsby, his name is, I Googled him. He’s won a load of TV quizzes – Blockbusters, Countdown, Fifteen to One, the lot. Even University Challenge back in the day.’
‘Seriously?’ She turned to Tim. ‘How the hell is that allowed then?’
Tim shrugged. ‘He’s a mate of Daz’s old man. I can’t tell them who they can and can’t have on their team.’
‘But he’s off the telly! It’s not a level playing field if teams start recruiting professional quizzers.’
‘Sorry, love. Nothing I can do,’ Tim said, turning away to start setting up his microphone. ‘It’s all within the rules, and no one else has complained. Try to see it as a challenge, eh? If you win you’ll be able to tell people you beat a Brainiac.’
Sonny looked like he had more to say on the subject, but Clarrie grabbed his elbow to lead him away. ‘Come on,’ she whispered. ‘We’re wasting our time, he’s obviously not going to do anything.’
‘But Clar, they’re cheating!’ Sonny’s voice vibrated with the impotent rage of every child who’s ever had to learn that life isn’t fair.
‘I know, but what can we do? If there’s nothing in the rules we just have to suck it up, don’t we?’
Sonny wasn’t listening. ‘I mean, Barb Murgatroyd looking up answers in the loo was bad enough, but this…’ He shook his head darkly. ‘How much did Daz have to bribe Tim to let him get away with it? That’s what I’d like to know.’
‘Oh, what does it matter?’ They found themselves a table and Clarrie pulled the picture round sheet towards her. She looked down at the photos of Golden Age Hollywood stars they were supposed to identify. ‘We won’t win, Sonny. We never win.’
‘Not with that sort of defeatist attitude we won’t.’ He glared at Darren’s team as they arrived for the quiz, Jim Welsby marching at their head radiating smugness. ‘Look at him, you’d think they’d won the thing already. This isn’t over.’
‘So I see you ditched the goatee,’ Clarrie said, deciding a change of subject was in order. If Sonny had a blazing row with Darren now, Tim might finally follow through on his repeated threats to disqualify them. They were already in his bad books.
Sonny stroked his smooth chin. ‘Oh. Yeah. Decided I’d had enough of it.’
‘Because Gem said you looked like a magician?’
‘No. Fuck off.’
‘Ha! You did though.’
‘How do I look now then? Doable?’
‘Twelve. Hope you brought your driving licence.’
‘Cheeky mare.’ Sonny frowned over her shoulder. ‘Who’s his lordship brought?’
Clarrie turned and followed his gaze to Dave, who’d just come in hand in hand with a short, blonde girl in grungy clothes.
‘Oh, that’s the lass he pulled at the beer festival last week. Lyndsey. Bloody hell, that’s keen, bringing her to meet his mates already.’
‘What?’ Sonny watched Dave and Lyndsey as they navigated their way through the tables. ‘Since when does Dave pull?’
‘Since now, apparently.’ She shrugged. ‘Well, good for him, eh?’
Sonny was silent.
Clarrie grinned. ‘Jealous?’
‘You what?’
‘Miss having him all to yourself, don’t you? You two are like an old married couple at the quizzes.’
‘Shut up, Clar,’ he hissed. ‘They can hear you.’
‘All right?’ Dave said when he reached them, grinning nervously. ‘Clarrie, you remember Lyndsey?’
Clarrie nodded. ‘Hi again.’
‘Um, Lyns, this is my best friend Sonny.’
Lyndsey smiled at him. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘All right?’ Sonny muttered. He turned to Dave. ‘Where’s your dad?’
‘Not coming.’
‘Oh, what? Why not?’
‘Mum’s grounded him. Says he can play out with his friends when he learns to lift a finger round the house.’
Clarrie shook her head. ‘Honestly, your parents.’
‘I know,’ he said with a sigh. He took a seat by Sonny and pulled Lyndsey down onto his lap.
‘Can I fill in?’ she asked. ‘I’m quite good at music rounds.’
‘Sorry, love. Registered team members only, League rules,’ Sonny said. ‘We’ll have to kick you off the table once we get going.’
She shrugged. ‘That’s okay. I can be a quiz groupie.’
‘Yeah?’ Dave nibbled her ear. ‘I like a good groupie.’
‘Oh God.’ Sonny rolled his eyes at Clarrie in a disgusted appeal for sympathy. ‘Is this what he’s going to be like now? It’s like the bloody Playboy mansion round here.’
Si joined them and dumped a tray of drinks on the table.
‘Nearly had to remortgage the house for that round. Tell you what, I hate this place.’ He glanced round the table. ‘Oh. Hi Lyndsey. Are we still missing Jeff?’
‘Not coming,’ Clarrie said, helping herself to a lager. ‘Polly won’t let him out.’
‘God, not again.’ He sent Lyndsey an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry, didn’t get you a drink. Er… don’t suppose you like Bombardier?’
She shook her head. ‘Sorry.’
‘You drink lager?’ Dave asked.
‘Yeah, lager’s okay.’
‘I’ll swap with you then. I can handle the old man stuff this once.’
‘You took your time, didn’t you?’ Sonny said to Si. ‘Where’d you go for the drinks, the bloody brewery?’
‘Thought I’d pop round your mum’s while you were out, give her a good seeing-to.’
‘Funny. Barmaid not fancy you today?’
‘Fiona’s not on, it’s a bloke. Just my luck.’
‘What’s that you’re drinking?’ Clarrie asked, pointing to his glass.
‘Coke.’
‘Why, you driving?’
‘No, pacing myself. Got to stay fresh if we’re going to win.’
‘I wouldn’t get too ambitious. Sonny’s got some bad news.’
‘What is it?’ Si asked him.
‘That speccy bloke of Les Quiz’s, the one we all thought we’d seen before somewhere,’ Sonny said. ‘He’s off bloody Brainiacs.’
‘What?’ Dave nearly choked on his pint.
‘Shit,’ Si muttered, glancing over at Darren’s team. ‘Yeah, I know him now, Jim something. He’s the worst one as well.’
‘That can’t be allowed,’ Dave said. ‘Does Tim know?’
‘He’s refusing to do anything. Says it’s within the rules,’ Clarrie said. ‘No one’s complained apart from us, apparently.’
‘It’s so blatantly unfair though.’ Sonny scowled at Maserati Tim. ‘We can’t let them get away with it.’
‘You guys really take this seriously, don’t you?’ Lyndsey said.
Dave shrugged. ‘Course. Otherwise what’s the point?’
She squinted at Jim on the Les Quiz table. ‘Hey, I know that guy.’
‘We all know him. He’s off the telly.’
‘No, I mean I know him in real life, he’s friends with my mum.’
‘If you’re hoping to impress us with a name drop, you picked the wrong name, love,’ Sonny muttered. ‘Jim Welsby’s got no friends on this team, cheating ringer bastard.’
She shrugged. ‘Just making conversation.’
Si’s worried gaze was still fixed on Les Quiz.
‘I know,’ Clarrie said, giving his shoulder a sympathetic pat. ‘Our odds just plummeted again, right?’
‘No.’ He shook his head and turned his attention back to his own team. ‘No. We can still win this, Brainiac or not. I’ve got a plan.’
Sonny frowned at him. ‘Eh? What plan?’
‘Si’s victory plan. I’ve done a rundown of our main challengers’ strengths and weaknesses for everyone, for a start.’ He produced a plastic wallet and handed round printouts to the other Flower Arrangers. ‘Didn’t take Jim Welsby into account when I wrote it, unfortunately, but it still holds.’
‘Bloody hell, when did you start taking it so seriously?’ Dave said, blinking at the A4 sheet in his hand. ‘You’re worse than Sonny.’
Si nodded to Clarrie. ‘Ask her.’
‘Well, Clar?’ Dave said.
She swallowed back a mouthful of lager. ‘Si bet me a date we’re going to win.’
‘What, and you agreed?’
‘Yep.’ Si grinned at Dave and Sonny. ‘Which means that this year, lads, we’re going up the League.’
‘Right. Just going to pop to the Ladies, give you lot a chance to talk about me,’ Lyndsey said. ‘Back in a minute, sexy.’ She kissed Dave’s ear before dislodging herself from his lap and heading to the toilets.
Sonny glared at him. ‘You better not have a hard-on under that table.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself, sunshine.’ Dave took a gulp of his dad’s real ale and grimaced. ‘Ick. Hope she appreciates me swapping drinks with her.’
‘What did you bring her for anyway?’ Sonny demanded. ‘So proud you finally managed to pull that you wanted the whole pub to know about it?’
Dave shrugged. ‘Wanted her to meet you all, didn’t I? She’s a nice lass. Going to be seeing more of her.’
‘That’s great, Davy,’ Clarrie said, smiling. ‘Glad you caught a good one.’
‘Cheers, Clar. Mind you, she might just kill me with a few more nights like last night.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Three times.’
‘Bloody hell!’ She gave him an approving nod. ‘I’m impressed. Never knew you had it in you.’
‘Well, I’ve got a bit saved up. It’s been a while.’ He threw Si a dirty look. ‘All very well for some people, isn’t it?’
‘Not my fault I was blessed with all this visceral sexual magnetism,’ Si said with a shrug.
‘What’s visceral mean?’
‘Dunno. Sounds sexy though, doesn’t it?’
Sonny cleared his throat. ‘I would like to state for the record that I’m not impressed, Davy.’
Dave grinned. ‘Yeah you are.’ He put an arm round his friend’s shoulders. ‘Don’t worry, mate. Still love you best.’
‘You better.’
‘Right, you lot, shut it,’ Dave said, glancing at Lyndsey as she headed back from the loo. ‘Everyone stop flirting with me and pretend we were talking about something else.’
‘Yes, so I believe it was Baudelaire who said… oh, hi,’ Clarrie said as Lyndsey plonked herself down on Dave again. ‘Didn’t see you there.’
Lyndsey grinned. ‘Seriously? You guys do the pretentious fake conversation thing?’
‘Only on special occasions,’ Clarrie said, grinning back.
‘Saying anything nice about me?’ Lyndsey asked Dave.
‘Just that you wear me out.’
‘Really? That’s a shame.’ Lyndsey lowered her voice to a seductive whisper. ‘Because I was hoping for another round later.’
‘Bloody hell, lass!’ Dave paused, then shrugged. ‘Yeah, all right. Think I’ve got my second wind.’
‘I might just be sick,’ Sonny muttered to no one in particular.
‘I’m going to stock us up at the bar before they kick off, looks like there’s a queue,’ Dave said. ‘Come on, Lyns, you can give me a hand before you have to get off.’ He guided her off his lap and stood up. ‘Same again, everyone? Except Si, obviously. He’s getting a beer.’
‘Yeah, ta,’ Clarrie said. Sonny managed a sulky nod as well, and Dave and Lyndsey headed off to the bar.
‘All right, fellers?’ said a deep voice at Clarrie’s shoulder a few minutes later. A well-built man with jet-black hair, good-looking in a well-groomed sort of way, had sauntered over from his table.
Sonny glared at Darren Constantin, the Les Quizerables captain, and flipped their picture-round answers face down.
‘You’ve got a nerve showing your face over here, Constantin.’
‘Oh, don’t be like that. We’re all friends in the League, aren’t we?’
‘Some of us are friends. Some of us are cheating bastards,’ Sonny said. ‘Come on, what did you do? Slip Tim a backhander when you registered your team?’
‘Don’t be daft. Jim’s an old family friend and he asked me if he could join. His wife died last year, he wanted to get out of the house and start meeting people again.’
‘Mmm. And the fact he’s got three Gold Runs in the trophy cabinet, picks his nose with a Wipeout umbrella and uses his Countdown teapot as a paperweight didn’t influence you a shred, did it?’
‘All right, so we want to win, so what? We aren’t breaking any rules,’ Darren said, shrugging. ‘You do, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, we want to win. We want to win fair and square. Otherwise it’s hardly an achievement, is it?’
‘Don’t pretend you wouldn’t have done the same.’
Sonny half rose from his chair. ‘Of all the colossal—’
‘Sonny, leave it,’ Clarrie muttered, putting a calming hand on his arm. ‘There’s no point falling out. Let’s just keep it civil.’
‘What do you want anyway, Daz?’ Sonny demanded, reluctantly settling back into his seat.
‘Just came to say hi.’
‘Hi. Now fuck off.’
Si nudged Clarrie. ‘So much for keeping it civil.’
‘Come on, Sonny. Let’s be sportsmen about it, eh?’ Darren said, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘All the other teams have shaken hands with me. You lot aren’t just going to sit here sulking, are you?’
‘Go on, Daz, I’ll shake your hand,’ Si said, rising from his seat. ‘How you doing, mate?’
‘Not bad,’ Darren said as Simon shook hands with him. ‘Still playing rugby?’
‘I’m more of a squash man these days. Don’t fancy the bruises.’
Darren laughed. ‘God forbid they spoil that perfect face, eh? You always were a vain git.’ He looked round the table. ‘Where’s Dave?’
‘Bar.’
‘Is he captain this year?’
‘No, it’s my turn,’ Clarrie said. ‘How’s it going, Darren?’
‘Hiya, Clarrie. Wondered when you’d talk to me.’
Sonny fixed Darren with a bitter glare. ‘Don’t even think about it, sunshine. No interbreeding between teams.’
Other than Si, Darren Constantin was the only person they knew who did, on occasion, ask Clarrie out. And unlike Si, she knew he really meant it too. She was never sure why she kept turning him down. She’d always had a soft spot for him – in fact he’d been her big teenage crush, back in sixth form. Perhaps it just felt a bit too much like fraternising with the enemy.
He never took her repeated refusals to heart though, and every now and then he’d have another crack at it. She suspected he asked her to annoy Sonny and Dave as much as anything.
‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ Darren winked at Clarrie. ‘Well, maybe after the League.’
She smiled. ‘Go on, Darren, stop winking at me and bugger off. You look like you’ve got a facial spasm.’
Si shook his head. ‘How many times does she need to say no to you, Daz? Time to drop it now, don’t you think?’
Darren snorted. ‘Oh right, says you.’
‘Hey. When I do it, it’s charming. Tell him, Clar.’
‘You tell him,’ she said. ‘You’ve always been the leading expert on how charming you think you are.’
A Question of Us Page 8