The Trivia Man

by Deborah O'Brien

  Most importantly, there was the elephant in the corner, or rather the baby growing inside her. Should she tell Josh? Didn’t he have a right to know? But how would it look now that he had rejected her if she announced she was pregnant with the child he’d never wanted? Would he try to pressure her into having an abortion? Would he remind her, as the doctor had, that at forty she was an ‘elderly primigravida’ and there could well be problems. Maybe she should wait until after the amniocentesis to tell him. Not that the results would make any difference to her. She intended to keep this child no matter what. Not as a consolation prize, but as the son or daughter she’d always longed for.

  The next morning she told him she was leaving.

  ‘There’s no rush,’ he said casually. ‘Stay as long as you need to.’

  That response made her even more determined to go as soon as possible. She gave her notice to Nola, who guessed the circumstances and offered to fill in until a replacement manager could be found. Then Maggie phoned her parents and told them she was coming back to the city.

  ‘Did he break it off?’ her mother asked.

  ‘It was mutual,’ Maggie lied.

  ‘Well, we’ll organise a big birthday party for you. That will cheer you up.’

  A party was the last thing she wanted. Facing her relatives and friends, minus her partner of the last ten years. Poor Maggie, they would be thinking, forty years old and a perennial failure at all things romantic.

  She had been back home a week when she told her parents about the baby. To her astonishment and relief, both of them were understanding. No lectures on the perils of being an unmarried mother or diatribes about the shame it would bring down on the Taylor family. Quite the contrary. Her father said he was excited about becoming a grandfather – he’d thought it would never happen. And her mother couldn’t wait to knit baby clothes.

  The following day Maggie felt some twinges in her stomach. Probably indigestion. But the discomfort persisted, growing stronger, like the cramps she used to have as a teenager whenever she got her period. It was then that she wondered if it had something to do with the baby. In a panic she phoned her mother’s GP.

  ‘I think you’re having a miscarriage,’ he said. ‘Let’s get you into hospital.’

  By now the twinges had turned into stomach-twisting contractions that hurt more than anything she’d ever experienced. She spent the night in hospital, willing the baby to stay attached to her uterus. Her whole future seemed predicated on his or her survival. In the morning she felt a little better. Instead of calling the nurse for a bed pan, she decided to use the ensuite bathroom. As soon as her feet hit the floor, she felt a gush of blood. Instinctively, she reached for the buzzer next to the bed and pressed it. At the same time she tried to stem the flow with her hospital gown, but it kept coming, seeping down the inside of her thighs.

  That afternoon she had a D&C to remove the last vestiges of the pregnancy. For a brief moment as she woke from the anaesthetic, she thought she had given birth to a fully grown, healthy baby. Then the reality struck her. There was no baby, nor was it likely that there would ever be one. Not now.

  During the first week after she left hospital, she hid away in her childhood bedroom, consumed by an overwhelming grief. Her mother brought meals and cups of tea, which she barely touched. What was the point? No Josh. No baby. No career. And a fortieth birthday looming in a few days. There would be no party, of course. There was nothing to celebrate.

  One morning her mother handed her an ad she’d torn from the morning’s newspaper. It was a teaching job in an independent school – French, Years 7 to 12, four days a week. At the bottom, it said: ‘Latin an advantage.’

  ‘You should apply for it,’ her mother said.

  ‘I haven’t taught in ten years,’ Maggie replied, but took the cutting and placed it on her bedside table.

  She prevaricated until the closing date and finally made a phone call to the school that morning. A woman by the name of Carole answered the phone.

  ‘Can you fax us your CV?’

  Maggie cobbled something together and sent it through, not expecting to hear from them again. Later that day, Carole rang back: ‘Are you free on Monday for an interview?’

  Maggie turned up at Brookford in her smart black pants suit. On Saturday she’d gone to the hairdresser and had her hair cut short. A new hairstyle for a new start. The interview was surprisingly brief and the principal offered her the job on the spot. Maggie always maintained it was because she was the only candidate who could teach Latin.

  If Maggie just happened to have her hair tinted and blow-dried the day before the Josh Houghton seminar, it had nothing to do with seeing him again after so long – it was just her regular three-monthly visit to the hairdresser. Besides, there would be so many people in the audience, he wouldn’t know she was there.

  Seven to nine pm, it had said on the internet. That gave her time to get home from school, have a light meal, shower, reapply her make-up and change clothes. And if she dithered over which outfit to wear, she dismissed her indecision as being a result of not knowing what was appropriate for a night-time seminar in a city hotel.

  At five to seven she was seated in the second back row, leafing through the notes they’d given her at the door. On a screen behind the podium the words ‘DOCTOR JOSH’S TIPS FOR BUILDING TIES WITH YOUR TEENAGER’ loomed in fluoro colours above a huge picture of Josh’s face. She could barely bring herself to look at it. In fact, she was relieved when a woman took the seat next to her and began to make distracting small talk.

  ‘How many do you have?’ the woman asked.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Teenagers. I have two. A boy, sixteen, and a girl, eighteen.’

  Maggie had become used to people asking if she had children, and it didn’t hurt anymore. Not much anyway. She had a standard answer which usually shut them up: ‘Actually, I have dozens of them.’ When they looked shocked, as they always did, she would add, ‘I’m a teacher.’

  At that moment a tall figure moved towards the podium, and applause broke out across the room. Maggie joined in politely. Like the celebrity that he was, Josh waited patiently for the clapping to subside. Then he began his spiel. She didn’t really listen to what he was saying. It was the honey-toned voice that held her enthralled, as it always had. At the end she woke from her trance to hear him saying there would be supper served in the foyer, where he would be signing books and DVDs.

  ‘I’ve brought my book with me,’ said the woman next to her, producing a paperback from her handbag. ‘But I think I’ll buy a DVD as well. For my husband. He’s so lovely.’

  ‘Your husband?’

  ‘No, Dr Josh.’

  Once she was in the foyer, Maggie decided to give the supper a miss and go straight home. Better to leave the past where it belonged.

  ‘You’re not leaving so soon, are you?’ asked the woman she had met earlier, who was now holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a DVD in the other. ‘At least stay for a coffee and some cake. After all, it’s included in the price.’ She looked anxiously towards a queue which was snaking across the foyer. ‘Will you excuse me? I need to have my book signed.’

  Maggie watched her join the end of the line. Then she fetched a cup of tea and perused the merchandise being sold by two attractive young women wearing Dr Josh T-shirts. Books were neatly stacked in piles, each with a different coloured cover. All the titles began Mending the Relationship with Your … but the object of the preposition varied. She picked up a copy of the version about teenagers and began to leaf through it. On the dedication page were the words, ‘To Kylie, Aidan and Sienna with love’.

  Maggie almost dropped the book. Who were Kylie, Aidan and Sienna? His children? No, Kylie was a 1970s and 80s name. She must be the wife. Aidan and Sienna would be the children. A pigeon pair. How dare he? How dare he have babies with this Kylie person when he hadn’t wanted them with Maggie?

  ‘May I help you?’ asked one of the young women.


  Was she Kylie? Or was it the other girl? Maggie read their name badges. Neither one was Kylie Houghton. Anyway, they couldn’t be much older than twenty. If he was married to a girl that age, it would make him a cradle-snatcher extraordinaire.

  ‘We’re offering a 10 per cent discount for tonight. Are you interested?’ the young woman asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Maggie said impulsively. ‘I’ll take this one.’

  ‘Dr Josh will be happy to sign it for you,’ she said, indicating the queue which was now considerably shorter.

  For a moment Maggie hesitated. Then she turned towards the queue. She had come this far. Why not have the book signed? In light of the dedication, there was no danger of her falling for him all over again. Josh was a happily married man with two children.

  For ten minutes she skulked in the line, hiding behind the people in front and pondering whether to turn tail and head for the bus stop. Finally there was only one man in front of her and nowhere to hide. Then the man was gone and it was Maggie’s turn.

  ‘Hi, Maggie,’ Josh said. ‘I spotted you waiting in line. It’s lovely to see you.’

  ‘You too.’ What was wrong with her? She was melting at the sound of his voice. Worse still, the photograph had been an accurate one – up close he had hardly changed, except for the grey hair. Once a prince, always a prince.

  ‘Would you like me to sign it?’ he asked.

  She had forgotten about the book she was clutching in her sweaty hand.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  He took a felt pen and scrawled boldly across the half-title page:

  For Maggie

  With love,

  Josh

  It seemed to Maggie that he used the word ‘love’ in a rather cavalier manner. For his wife, his children, and a woman he hadn’t seen in fifteen years.

  ‘You haven’t changed, Mags,’ he whispered as he handed the book back to her. Meanwhile, she checked his finger for a ring, just as he had done with her all those years ago. The finger was bare. Could he really be single? A microscopic ray of hope flashed before her eyes. Just as quickly it was extinguished by the realisation that the presence or other wise of a ring didn’t mean a thing.

  ‘How about a drink after this signing is over?’ he said sotto voce.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Just for old time’s sake. Ten-thirty in the piano bar. It would be nice to catch up.’

  She knew this was one of those watershed moments. Say ‘no’ and never see Josh Houghton again. Or say ‘yes’ and invite him back into her life. Then again, he had never left her life – not her fantasy life, anyway. And if they had a pleasant conversation about his wife and kids, she might finally summon up the strength to put the fantasy to rest.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘but just a quick drink. I’ve got to be up early for work.’

  She found the bar and took a seat among a circle of tub chairs arranged around a rosewood coffee table.

  ‘Can I get you something?’ the waiter asked.

  ‘A glass of chardonnay, please.’ By the time Josh appeared some twenty minutes later, she had finished the wine.

  ‘Sorry I’m late, Mags. I thought the signing was over, but then another dozen appeared from nowhere.’

  ‘That’s the problem when you’re a celebrity,’ she said. ‘All those fans lurking in the woodwork.’

  He laughed. ‘You could always take the mickey out of me. Not that I didn’t deserve it.’ He noted her empty glass. ‘Another chardonnay?’

  ‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have a second.’ She was pleased he’d remembered about the chardonnay.

  ‘Of course it wouldn’t.’ He nodded at the waiter, who appeared at their side with a bottle of wine, as if by magic.

  ‘So, Mags, what are you up to these days?’

  It was said so casually, he might have been an acquaintance she hadn’t seen for a year or two.

  ‘I’m teaching at Brookford.’

  ‘Really? That’s a very prestigious school.’

  ‘They couldn’t find anyone else to teach Latin,’ she said, her eyes twinkling.

  ‘You’ve always been so self-deprecating, Mags. I bet they snapped you up.’

  She smiled. ‘They haven’t fired me yet.’

  ‘How long have you been there?’

  She was about to say ‘fifteen years’ when the words stuck in her throat. If the baby had survived, he or she would be almost fifteen.

  ‘I’ve been there so long I’m like a piece of furniture. Mrs Chipps.’

  ‘And what do you do when you’re not working?’

  ‘I’m in a book club and a trivia competition. And I have a dog called Rufus.’ As she played back the words in her head, she was aware she had just labelled herself as an old maid with a meagre social life. It was time to turn the interrogation in his direction.

  ‘What about you, Josh? Other than being a best-selling author and the saviour of desperate spouses and parents?’

  ‘Well, I taught at Cambridge for a while. Then I moved to Hong Kong. That’s where I met Kylie. My wife.’

  ‘So you married again.’

  ‘Actually, I was married briefly during the Cambridge years, but it didn’t work out. Then I met Kylie and we got married two years ago.’

  Three marriages. The man who had said he didn’t believe in marriage had done it three times! And the expert in mending relationships had been divorced twice! What glorious irony.

  ‘Any children?’ she asked casually.

  ‘Aidan – he’s two – and Sienna’s six months old. People think I’m their grandfather.’

  ‘You don’t look that old,’ she said. It wasn’t an attempt to flatter him. Other than the grey hair and a few smile lines, he looked the same.

  ‘You don’t either, Mags. I like the way you’ve lost the angles. You were always too thin.’

  ‘Is that a gentle way of telling me I’m fat?’

  ‘Not at all. You’re curvy and softer now. There’s a difference.’

  ‘You always knew how to flatter a girl.’

  ‘I prefer Renoir’s women to Modigliani’s,’ he said.

  ‘Is Kylie Renoiresque?’ It was a daring question, but she couldn’t resist.

  ‘Thin as a stick.’ He produced a photo from his wallet. He wasn’t lying. Kylie was a waif-like girl with straight black hair to her shoulders and an angular face. Not pretty – the features were too sharp for that – but not plain, either. Aidan looked like a tiny version of his father, handsome and cheeky, while little Sienna had such a chubby face it was hard to tell if she resembled either of them.

  ‘Kylie’s having problems with Sienna,’ he said, replacing the pictures in his wallet. ‘Reflux vomiting. She wakes five or six times a night.’

  ‘Do you get up to her sometimes?’

  ‘Of course not. In my job I need a good night’s sleep.’

  Maggie concealed a smile.

  ‘Actually, Mags, it’s not going so well. The marriage, I mean. Kylie’s so preoccupied with the kids she’s not interested in anything else.’

  ‘You mean sex.’

  ‘That, and anything other than the kids.’

  ‘Well, Josh, she does have a toddler and a baby. Plus a husband who doesn’t help much. Or am I assuming wrongly?’

  ‘No, you’ve got it right.’ He started to laugh. ‘You always knew me so well.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘Yes, you’re the only woman who really understood where I was coming from. You encouraged me and listened to my problems. You’re still doing it.’ He looked at her from under his eyelashes in the way that had always turned her heart to mush.

  ‘I’m immune to those wistful gazes, Josh.’

  ‘You know all my tricks, Mags, and yet you still like me. You do still like me, don’t you?’

  Bugger, bugger, bugger. He knew.

  They finished their drinks and she told him she had to leave or she’d miss the last bus.

  ‘You could always stay here. I have a
room.’

  She laughed. ‘You never change, do you, Josh?’

  He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. The gesture was so tender she felt tears filling her eyes.

  ‘I knew you’d say no. But I had to ask. You’ve always been the one, Maggie. My entire life.’

  ‘Well, you missed the boat, Josh. Not just once but twice.’

  The last remark seemed to drift over him. ‘I’m back here next week for another seminar. It’s Monday afternoon. Why don’t we have dinner afterwards? No strings. Just two good friends.’

  ‘You never give up, do you?’

  ‘I don’t think you’ve given up on us either.’

  Trivia Night

  Although Maggie should have been excited about a night dominated by movie questions, her stomach was churning like a washing machine on spin cycle. The team was counting on her. What if she let them down? She examined her Jean Harlow costume in the mirror – blonde wig covering her own short, dark hair, false eyelashes, slinky silk dress and feather boa. The dress was actually a long white nightgown she’d bought years ago in one of those expensive lingerie boutiques in the city. It was so tight you could see the ridge line of her panties. She considered removing them. Legend had it that Harlow never wore underwear. But that wasn’t really an option for Maggie, who needed support panties to keep her stomach flat and a bra to contain her breasts.