A Question of Us

by Mary Jayne Baker

  ‘Look at them though,’ Dave said, nodding to the Les Quiz table. ‘That bloke Graham looks like he’s just caught someone knobbing his wife.’

  Clarrie followed his gaze to Graham, who was directing a black look at the returned Les Quiz paper. She felt her spirits lift a little.

  ‘Daz doesn’t look right happy either, does he?’ Sonny grinned. ‘That’ll teach him.’

  ‘Shush. Tim’s calling it.’ Clarrie reached for Dave’s hand, the nearest friend within grasping distance. ‘Hold on tight, Davy, here it comes.’

  ‘All right, this hasn’t happened in a few years,’ Tim boomed, staring down at a piece of paper in his hand. ‘Looks like we’ve got a tie, folks: two final scores of 534. Well, we all know what that means.’ He looked up. ‘Sudden Death.’

  34

  A whispered ‘oooooh’ echoed across the pub. Clarrie gripped Dave’s hand so hard the poor lad probably started losing circulation.

  ‘Would the captains of our two tiebreaking teams, Les Quizerables and the Mighty Morphin’ Flower Arrangers, join me at the front please?’ Tim said.

  Clarrie became aware of Dave shouldering her. ‘Go on, Clar.’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘You have to go do the tiebreak. It’s down to you now.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Down to me.’

  She stood up dreamily, barely aware of the words of support coming from the rest of her team, or of Darren hot on her heels as she floated over to Maserati Tim. All she could see was Si, standing alert at the bar, watching her.

  At the front of the pub, Clarrie turned to face Darren. She felt suddenly guilty, thinking of their date and the two missed calls she’d had from him since. When this was over, whatever happened, she definitely owed the poor lad an apology for mucking him about.

  ‘Good luck, Daz,’ she said, offering her hand. He smiled as he squeezed it in his. The man always did seem to be more of a handsqueezer than a handshaker when it came to her.

  ‘You too, Clarrie. Still, hope I win.’ He shot her a significant look, not letting go of her hand.

  Of course. Daz knew about the bet, didn’t he? He probably still thought a Flower Arrangers win meant she’d have to go out with Si. Or did he? He must’ve noticed Si had abandoned his team for the final. Still, there was a twinkle of assumed victory in Darren’s eyes that seemed to have ‘second date’ written all over it.

  ‘Right, you two. You both know how Sudden Death works but for the benefit of Gaz’s punters I’m going to tell you anyway,’ Tim said into his mike.

  ‘Yeah, we know you love the sound of your own voice, mate,’ Darren said.

  ‘Shut it, sunshine, or I’ll disqualify you for cheeking the quizmaster. Right. In the event of an equal points draw we go to Sudden Death tiebreak, best of three. The first of you to get two right answers wins the League. One attempt each per question. First to shout out the correct answer gets the point, at my discretion. Clear?’

  ‘Yep,’ Clarrie said. ‘Come on, Tim, get on with it.’

  ‘All right. First up. Which Old Testament figure’s name became associated with exceptional old age?’

  Clarrie swore under her breath. Religion, probably her weakest area. And it hardly ever came up, even in the pot luck rounds, so she hadn’t bothered to revise it. Typical it’d make an appearance tonight, and in the tiebreak too, when she was fighting it out alone.

  ‘Methuselah,’ Darren said, jumping in like a shot before she’d had a chance to try and puzzle it out.

  ‘Correct,’ Tim said.

  Clarrie glared at Darren. ‘All right, smartarse, how’d you know that then?’

  ‘You’re looking at eight years of Sunday School here,’ he said, shrugging. ‘Glad all that stuff came in handy for something.’

  ‘Right, second question,’ Tim said. ‘If Daz gets this, Les Quiz win. Clarissa, if it’s you we move to a final tiebreaker.’ He paused to let the stakes sink in. ‘So. Which Irish-born writer penned the play Waiting for Godot?’

  ‘Beckett,’ she shot out before Darren had a chance to say anything.

  ‘Going to need a full name, pet.’

  ‘Er… Samuel. Samuel Beckett.’

  ‘Correct,’ Tim said. ‘Okay, one all, so unless neither of you can give me a correct answer then this’ll be the final question and whoever gets it gets the League. No pressure, eh? So… drum roll please, everyone.’

  The pub’s patrons gamely started slapping the tables until Tim silenced them with a hand in the air. Clarrie met Darren’s determined gaze with one of her own and dug her nails into her palms, her heart flapping against her ribs.

  ‘Right, kids.’ Tim glanced at the card in his hand. ‘The six-million-dollar question. What was the name of the fifth Marx Brother, who never appeared in any of their feature films?’

  Clarrie couldn’t help resting her eyes on Si over Darren’s shoulder, fixing her in an anxious, expectant gaze. Of course she knew this one. All the Flower Arrangers knew this one: the one that had lost them what would’ve been their only win eight years ago, when they were still sixth-formers and Sonny had got it wrong in the tiebreak. Marxgate.

  With a sudden realisation, she knew what she had to do. It wouldn’t work for any other question, but this one – Si knew the answer. And he knew she knew the answer.

  Because it wasn’t about winning, was it? It wasn’t about being Top Gun. It was about showing Si she was ready to be with him, be his wingman…

  She crossed her fingers, hoping he’d understand.

  ‘Zeppo,’ she said quickly, before Daz had chance to speak.

  Darren gave her an appraising look. He’d been in the League that year too. He’d ripped it out of Sonny just as much as any of them about it ever since. He knew… that she was deliberately throwing the question.

  ‘Final answer, Clarissa?’ Tim asked.

  She glanced towards the rest of the quiz team. Sonny and Gem looked puzzled, but Dave gave her an understanding nod. He leaned over to whisper to Sonny, and she saw realisation dawn on his face before he passed it on to Gemma.

  ‘Final answer, Tim.’

  ‘Sorry…’ he said, stopping for a dramatic pause like the showboating quiz show host that in his own mind he clearly was. ‘… but I’m afraid that’s not correct. You got an answer, Daz?’

  Darren stared at her for what seemed like an age, finally turning his attention back to Tim. ‘Er, yeah. It’s Gummo.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘One hundred per cent.’

  ‘Is—’ he paused for effect, ‘the correct answer. Well done, lad.’

  Tim held up Darren’s hand, to loud cheers from the Les Quiz table. ‘The winners of the fourteenth Annual Denworth Pub Quiz League and their second consecutive win… Les Quizerables!’

  Darren shook his hand free impatiently. His eyes sought Clarrie’s and he reached over to take her fingers in his.

  ‘Clarrie…’

  Over Darren’s shoulder she could see Si, his face crumpled and confused. Gently she slid her hand away.

  ‘Sorry, Daz. God, I’m so sorry. I like you, I really like you, but… it’s not you.’

  35

  Clarrie barged past Darren towards Si, who’d turned and was striding to the exit.

  ‘Simon, wait!’

  She followed him through the door and out to the covered smoking area. Catching him up, she grabbed his elbow and spun him to face her. He was managing to look confused, sad and angry all at once, like a puzzled, upset, seriously pissed-off… baby otter.

  ‘It’s okay, Clar, message received loud and clear,’ he said in a choked voice. ‘You changed your mind. You got scared and changed your mind again, just like that morning after we – look, no need to say anything. Just let me go, eh?’

  ‘That’s not it, not at all. Don’t you get it?’

  ‘Get what?’

  ‘You really don’t know? I lost for you, Si. I was standing there, looking at you, and that question came up and I knew how I could show you I’m ready now. Wh
at you’ve been asking me to do since we made that daft bet in the first place.’ She slid her fingers down his arm to take his hand. ‘I lost so you’d know that when I said this, it was because I wanted it. No silly bets, no silly games: just one adult asking another.’ Her voice was low, full of feeling. ‘Go out with me, Simon.’

  He blinked, looking shellshocked.

  ‘Well, say something,’ she said with a nervous smile. ‘I’m being romantic, see? You like that.’

  ‘Clarrie – you really mean it this time?’

  ‘I really do. God, more than I’ve ever meant anything since the day I came screaming into the world and started buggering things up for everyone who knew me,’ she said. ‘Go out with me, Si. I want to take you out on a date, right now. A proper boyfriend/girlfriend date, with the hundred per cent guarantee of many more to come. For the rest of our lives, if you still want me after I made such a massive mess of everything.’ She made an effort to fix on her old teasing grin for him. ‘Oh, and I don’t want you to count your chickens, but if you say yes then there’s every possibility I’ll be inviting you back to mine for coffee. By coffee I actually mean sex, by the way.’

  ‘Oh my God, Clarissa!’ He threw his arms around her, lifting her off the ground. ‘You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to hear that.’

  ‘Simon… I was so scared it was too late.’ She blinked back a tear. ‘Am I forgiven then? Really truly?’

  ‘You always knew I would in the end. Can’t do without you.’

  ‘I really thought I’d lost you this time. I’m so sorry. So sorry.’ She brushed the corner of his eye with her finger. ‘Don’t cry, eh?’

  ‘Sorry. Can’t help it.’

  She looked at him in silence for a moment: the swimming eyes, that gorgeous Simony face. Then she crushed him to her, held him tight with her head against his chest, blinking back her tears. She loved him, she’d always loved him – why had it taken nearly losing him to make her realise just how much?

  ‘Come on, handsome. Let’s have a smoke,’ she said at last, taking his hand and leading him to the canopy by the wall-mounted heaters. ‘One last fag break for old time’s sake, eh? Then next week we can get vapes and take up jogging, or whatever couples are supposed to do.’

  ‘Haven’t got any. I told you, I quit.’

  ‘I have though.’ She fished in her pocket for the pack she’d bought earlier and waggled it at him. ‘Ta-da…’

  Simon grinned, looking pale still but like his old self again. ‘Bloody hell. Times really are a-changin’ if you’ve started buying your own fags, kiddo.’

  ‘Yep. Got them as part of my back-up plan to lure you outside for a smoke and flash you my boobs, just in case the quiz thing didn’t work,’ she said with a smile. ‘I wouldn’t get used to it though. Cigs and chips are the two things that always seem better when they’re yours.’

  He laughed, lifting her hand to press the backs of her fingers against his lips.

  ‘Come on, I’ll treat you,’ Clarrie said. ‘We could even push the boat out and have one each.’

  ‘I’d rather share. They taste better when you’ve had them.’

  ‘Sweet.’ She stood on tiptoes to kiss his nose. ‘And then what?’

  Simon’s still-damp eyes glinted in the reflected glow of the fluorescent striplight mounted above them. ‘I’ve been promised a date and I’m bloody well claiming it. You’re not getting out of my sight until I get it, Clarrie.’

  ‘You’re not getting out of my sight ever again, mate. I love you, you know.’

  ‘Love you too, sweetheart. Can I call you boyfriend words now?’

  ‘You can call me anything you like. Except Melons McGee, save that one for Dave.’ She gave the hand she was holding a squeeze. ‘So what do you reckon on this date you’ve waited so long for? Dinner and a show, my dear?’

  ‘I was thinking a couple of cans, bag of chips back at your place.’

  ‘That’s it? After all that? Cheap date, aren’t you?’

  He shrugged. ‘Thought we might get an early start on that coffee.’

  ‘Ah, right. In that case…’ She pulled him to her for a long kiss.

  ‘The guys made me realise something,’ she said when they were finally forced to break apart for air.

  ‘What, sweetheart?’ It sounded like he was letting the endearment roll over his tongue, relishing the novelty of being able to use it whenever he liked.

  ‘All that time I was worried I’d mess things up with you the way I did with the others. But now I know I only messed up with them because they weren’t the right ones – I mean, because they weren’t you. Everything Ed did annoyed me because it wasn’t what you’d do. Olly telling me he loved me wasn’t you telling me. You were always the one, Si, even back at school. I just didn’t realise it.’

  Si pressed a kiss onto her forehead. ‘Soppy mare. You mean it?’

  ‘Yes, I mean it. I had a bit of an epiphany the other day when I remembered something about Ed.’

  ‘He wasn’t as fit as me?’

  She smiled, feeling a thrill to hear him back to his teasing, cocky self. ‘No, I always knew that. It was this habit he had.’

  ‘Collecting cafetières?’

  ‘Not that one. Rubbing his fingernail. Whenever he was nervous or jittery he’d start rubbing his bloody fingernail. It used to drive me round the twist.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, you do it too. Haven’t you ever noticed?’

  ‘What? No I don’t.’

  ‘Yes you do, you do it when you’re stressed. You’ve done it since we were little kids. But it doesn’t annoy me when you do it. God help me, I even find it adorable. Because you’re Simon and Ed wasn’t.’

  ‘Right, come here. You’re getting properly kissed for that.’ He claimed her mouth, and she sank into the comfortable, familiar warmth of his embrace.

  ‘Come on. Let’s have this smoke and get back to mine, eh?’ she said when he finally released her, passing him the cigarettes.

  ‘Here, do it like this.’ Si leaned against the wall and turned her round so she was leaning back against him. He rummaged for his lighter and lit a cigarette, then reached round and held it to her lips. His other arm curled around her middle, thumb tip sliding underneath her top to stroke the skin of her tummy.

  She took a drag on the cigarette from between his fingers. ‘Mm. We should’ve been smoking like this for years.’

  ‘Shame we only worked that out the week we both decided to quit.’ He brought the cigarette to his own lips and breathed a silver wreath of smoke over her shoulder, away from her face.

  ‘Don’t burn my hair,’ Clarrie said with a laugh.

  ‘I’ll try not to. I’ve heard setting fire to your new girlfriend on the first date can really put a downer on a relationship.’

  ‘You’ve heard that, have you?’

  ‘Yeah. There was an article about it in GQ.’

  He reached up with his non-smoking hand to guide her face round and examined her profile carefully.

  ‘Now what’re you doing?’ she asked.

  ‘Checking your wince reflex. You just heard me use the G word, right?’

  ‘GQ?’

  ‘The other one.’

  Clarrie smiled. ‘Say it again and watch me.’

  ‘Girlfriend.’

  ‘There, you see that? Not a flicker.’

  ‘No.’ He traced over the curve of her lips with one fingertip. ‘Just this sexy little smile you’re teasing me with.’

  ‘You’ve got lipstick on your finger.’

  ‘Got it all over my face as well, probably. I don’t really care right now.’ The arm slid back around her waist. ‘So are you really all mine this time, Clarrie? Finally?’

  ‘Yep. Forever, if you’re sure you want to keep me.’

  She felt him shudder. ‘Oh God…’ he muttered.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Just needed to hear that, that’s all.’

  ‘Boyfriend.’

  He laugh
ed. ‘Random. What was that in aid of?’

  ‘It’s foreplay. I noticed commitment words seem to get you going.’

  ‘Being with you gets me going.’ He tossed the neglected cigarette away and twisted her to face him. ‘Go on, tell me you love me again, Clarrie. In the interests of foreplay.’

  ‘You know I do. I always have.’

  ‘Not scared any more?’

  ‘Terrified. But in a good way.’

  ‘Okay. Is good terrified a thing?’

  ‘It is in New Clarrieland. Look, Si…’ She took his face in both hands. ‘We can take this one day at a time, all right? There’re things going on, up here –’ she tapped the side of her head, ‘things I might need help to deal with. But I need you to know I’m not running away, not any more. Losing you, this last week you wouldn’t talk to me – God, it felt like… like someone had cut away a piece of me.’ She stroked his cheek with her thumb. ‘No matter how scary it is, I’m ready to work at this, to build a future, whatever it brings. I’m ready to grow up, I promise – if I can do it with you.’

  To her surprise, Si’s face convulsed with a sob.

  ‘You okay?’ she asked gently.

  ‘Happy, that’s all. Sorry. I can see my macho stock must be plummeting tonight.’

  ‘I don’t like you when you’re macho, I like you when you’re Simon. My Simon.’

  ‘Say that again.’

  ‘I said, mine…’

  She lifted her face to kiss him softly on the lips.

  ‘Love it when you get all possessive, Clar.’

  ‘Is this a sex thing?’

  ‘No, it’s a you thing. I’ll show you a sex thing later, see if I can beat that record I set last week.’

  ‘Bloody hell. This relationship won’t last long if I die of exhaustion in the first few days.’

  Simon shrugged. ‘I’m afraid that’s a risk we’re just going to have to take.’

  ‘Okay, I’m willing to chance it. Go on, call us a cab then.’

  ‘Don’t need to. I haven’t had a drink, I can drive us.’