The Trivia Man

by Deborah O'Brien

  ‘Oh, come on, Mags. You and I were together for a decade and you never pulled a trick like that, even though you wanted a child.’

  Maggie squirmed. ‘Have you talked to her about how you feel?’

  ‘She knows already. But she doesn’t care. I’m terrified she’ll want a third one.’

  ‘Well, you know how to prevent that, don’t you, Josh?’

  ‘It’s not an issue right now, thank goodness. She’s sleeping in the spare room.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I don’t love her, Mags. I don’t think I ever did. I was an idiot back in the Glenview days. I didn’t realise what a treasure I had in you. I’ve been regretting it ever since.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say, Josh.’

  ‘Tell me you’ll stay tonight. Let me make up for the way our relationship ended. Please, Mags. Please.’

  She knew she shouldn’t be this happy. If you were too happy, the gods would strike you down. But she couldn’t help it. Sitting opposite her was the man of her dreams, telling her that he wanted her more than anyone else. And although he was married, it was only because Kylie had trapped him. He didn’t love Kylie; he never had. His marriage was falling to pieces.

  It might have taken thirty-five years, but he had finally realised that Maggie was the love of his life. She was sure of it.

  Kevin

  Maggie had said to keep it light and casual. But what did she mean by that? He should have asked for a clarification. Had she been referring to the way he should dress, or the food he should serve, or something else altogether? He had chosen a Monday night. Having to work the next day, Danni wouldn’t see it as an invitation to indulge in too much frivolity. He would offer her orange juice rather than wine, just to be sure, and have the television on the ABC news channel for good measure.

  He wasn’t sure whether to buy Chinese or Thai. He preferred Chinese but had the impression that Thai was more fashionable, though he wasn’t sure why. He would serve the food out of the plastic cartons – that would look light and casual. And they could eat at the coffee table. Like having a TV dinner. He felt certain Maggie would approve.

  One evening when Kevin was in fourth-year Economics at uni, he arrived home to hear raised voices coming from the kitchen. His parents didn’t argue very much, only when it came to discussions about their son. He crept down the hallway and stood behind the half-closed door.

  ‘Brenda, you’re always mollycoddling that boy, like he’s still a child.’

  ‘Well, Michael, you do the opposite. Expecting him to be just like you. Kevin is different. Special.’

  ‘Sure he’s different, but special? He’s just weird. And the longer he stays at home, with you making excuses for him, the worse he’ll get.’

  ‘You don’t expect him to move out, do you?’

  ‘He’s twenty-two years old. Why hasn’t he even mentioned moving into a flat? That’s what uni students do, isn’t it? Make their own lives. It’s part of growing up.’

  ‘But Kevin needs to be with people who understand him.’

  ‘What’s there to understand? He’s always been a sullen, silent boy who can’t make friends. Maybe if he shared a place with some other students, he’d learn how to mix with people. He might even find a girlfriend.’

  Kevin didn’t want to hear any more of their heated debate. He went straight to his room and did something he’d never done in his life. He made a snap decision. No list of pros and cons, no lengthy deliberation, no risk analysis. The next day he trawled the notices attached to a big board in the main quadrangle at uni: ‘Flats to Share. Rooms to Let. Flatmate Required’. He recorded every single phone number in his notebook. Then he went to the public phone in the students’ union and began calling them. Nobody seemed to be home. Eventually, when he’d almost exhausted the list, someone answered. A girl whose husky voice seemed to indicate she had just woken up. Strange, because it was eleven-thirty in the morning.

  ‘I’m ringing about the room.’

  ‘Room? Oh yeah, John’s handling that. Come round tonight. He’ll be here.’

  He sensed that she was about to hang up. ‘But I don’t have the address.’

  She gave it to him. ‘What’s your name, by the way?’

  ‘Kevin.’

  ‘I’m Marlena. See ya later.’

  By the time the takeaway was delivered it was six-thirty and Kevin was having second thoughts. What had possessed him to invite a woman to his apartment? Nobody had been there before, except for his father, who had moved in after Kevin’s mum had died, and his sister, who used to drop in to visit her dad once a week until his death. Kevin suspected she was checking that they weren’t living in squalor.

  The silly thing was that the apartment had always been immaculate. Kevin couldn’t stand mess. It cluttered his mind. And it was difficult enough to interpret the world without having clutter filling your brain. When his father had been living there, Kevin had hated the way he left newspapers around and dropped towels on the floor. But he’d never said a word. By then his father was old and feeble, and Kevin cleaned up after him without a hint of disapproval. He made his meals, changed his sheets – sometimes twice a night – and brought him his daily paper. He took leave from work for doctor’s appointments and administered medications. Although he had never particularly liked his father, he did it for his mother’s sake.

  Kevin glanced at his watch. Danni was five minutes late. Maybe she’d sent him a text. He checked his phone. No, nothing there. What would she make of his apartment? Twenty years ago, when he’d bought the unit in a squat blond brick block only two streets away from the beach, there had been a water view from the living room window; now it was obstructed by bulky new apartment buildings vying for space along the waterfront. Yet even though he couldn’t see the water anymore, he could still hear it. Each night he would fall asleep to the rhythm of the waves drumming on the shore, imagining them advancing up the sand or retreating with the ebbing tide. Now and then he would dream he was an oceanographer sailing around the world. Then he would wake to the reality that he was an accountant who spent his days in an air-conditioned cubicle in the CBD.

  As for the apartment itself, he’d never really thought about the way it looked; he wasn’t good at things like decorating. Embellishments were meaningless to him. As long as the place was clean, tidy and practical, nothing else mattered.

  He scanned the room. In the corner by the window an old green recliner chair remained just as his father had left it, a tartan rug thrown across the seat. That was where Kevin had found him the morning he died, just staring out the window with his eyes open and mouth agape as though death had caught him by surprise. On the wall above the sofa there was a painting which had belonged to his mother. It was an Irish scene of a little stone cottage and a woman hanging clothes on a line, with a child clinging to her leg. Whether it had any monetary value or not, he didn’t know or care. One day he would give it to Patrick.

  For the umpteenth time he took a duster and ran it over the dark wooden shelves of his bookcase. It soothed his nerves to do something mindless and repetitive. The shelves held his notebooks and folders, all carefully labelled. Some, like the linen-covered weather logs, dated back to his childhood. The top shelves were filled with leather-bound foolscap notebooks, one for every year from 1900 to the present day, each bursting with lists of key events, famous people born that year and those who died, and anything else chronological that might be required to answer a trivia question. Below them were more notebooks, bearing thematic titles: music, art, literature, films, sport, science and so on. At the bottom were folders filled with news clippings, each arranged by year.

  A special shelf at eye level held his trophies. Not the sporting variety – he’d never won any of those – but the kind awarded at trivia nights. Some were shaped like cups; others were medallions in open velvet boxes. He polished them regularly with a special felt cloth that made them shine without damaging the glittery surface. None of them was real gold o
r silver, of course; they were all cheap lookalikes. What mattered was that he had won them through his skill at remembering things, ordering facts and placing them into categories. That was his strength.

  When Marlena had told him to ‘come round tonight’, she hadn’t nominated a time. That left Kevin feeling helpless. Without a timeframe there could be no real structure, and without structure, there was only chaos. After some reflection he decided to turn up at eight o’clock. Dinner would be over, but it wasn’t so late that it could be viewed as an imposition.

  He arrived at five to eight and walked around the block to fill the time, noting that the terrace house in Coverdale was only two streets away from the university. At eight o’clock sharp he knocked on the door. A boy with long hair pulled into a ponytail answered it.

  ‘If you’re here for the party, you’re too early.’

  ‘No, I’ve come about the room.’

  ‘Oh. You’d better talk to John. Come in. I’m Tony, by the way.’

  As Kevin followed him inside, his nose was assailed by a strange, sickly smell that he couldn’t identify. The place itself, with its long hallway full of old furniture and boxes, reminded him of the junk shop from Steptoe and Son. The ponytailed boy called Tony negotiated his way effortlessly around the junk, and Kevin followed. At the end was a kitchen. Not that he could see much of it for the dishes piled up on the counters and the boxes of groceries on the floor. A table stood in the middle of the room, littered with empty wine bottles. Seated at the table were a boy with a beard and a girl with blonde hair falling over her shoulders. They were drinking red wine and finishing their dinner. Tony took a seat in front of a half-finished plate and indicated that Kevin should sit down too.

  ‘Did I disturb your meal?’ he asked.

  ‘Do you want some?’ asked the girl.

  ‘No, I’ve already eaten, thank you.’

  ‘What about some wine?’

  ‘No thanks, I don’t drink.’

  She poured a glass anyway and pushed it towards him. He tried not to look at the chip on the rim.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘So you’re Ken,’ she said.

  ‘No, it’s Kevin.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I always get those names mixed up.’ She giggled. ‘I’m Marlena, by the way.’

  ‘Where are you living now?’ asked John.

  ‘With my parents.’

  ‘So you want to get away from the olds?’ Marlena asked.

  All three of them were staring at him.

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Well, finish your wine,’ John said, ‘and I’ll show you the room.’

  It was bigger than Kevin had expected, with doors opening onto a balcony.

  ‘The furniture comes with the room,’ John said, indicating an old wardrobe, a single bed and a desk with a swivel chair. It was the desk that won Kevin over. Much bigger than the one he had at home, with a shelf above it which would be ideal for his notebooks.

  ‘We all share the bathroom,’ said John, taking him down the corridor and opening the door of an old-fashioned room with a big cast-iron bath and a gas hot water heater. ‘Do you want to think about things and let me know?’

  ‘No. I’ll take it,’ said Kevin, surprising himself. It was his second impromptu decision in twenty-four hours. But there was no time to weigh things up. He was determined he wasn’t going to spend one more night in his father’s house. Yet he felt uneasy about this crazy place with its cluttered hallway, messy kitchen and abundance of empty wine bottles. Still, if he kept to his room, he might be able to create a haven of tranquillity in the midst of the bedlam.

  ‘You haven’t asked about the rent,’ John said.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Forty dollars a week, plus food and grog. We all throw in for the kitty.’

  ‘That’s fine. When can I move in?’

  ‘Whenever you like. We’re having a party tonight. You can come, if you like.’

  Kevin was about to say he’d have to phone his parents first, but something stopped him.

  ‘I’ll go and get my clothes,’ he said, ‘and move in my other stuff later. Do you want a deposit?’

  John laughed. ‘Nobody’s ever offered me a deposit before. Yeah, okay, twenty bucks.’

  Kevin gave him the money. ‘I’ll be back in an hour or two.’

  ‘Take your time. Our parties go late.’

  A knock at the door jolted Kevin from his memories. He almost tripped over the rug, rushing to open it. There was Danni, wearing a white dress so tight that he could see her nipples through the fabric.

  ‘Hi, Kevin.’ She kissed him on the lips and handed him a bottle of wine. ‘I hope you drink red.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said and ushered her inside.

  ‘I like your apartment!’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s very … streamlined. Wow, look at all those books.’

  As she moved towards the bookcase with its tall leather-bound volumes, Kevin was mesmerised by the way the white dress clung to her body.

  ‘Have you read all of these?’ she asked.

  ‘I compiled them,’ he said.

  ‘I didn’t know you were a writer. I thought you were a forensic guy.’

  ‘They’re research,’ he explained.

  ‘Oh.’

  She ran her hand over one of the trophies. ‘Did you win these?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I always thought you looked like an athlete.’

  ‘They’re not for athletics. I won them in trivia competitions.’

  ‘Trivia?’

  ‘Yes, you know. General knowledge, obscure facts.’

  ‘The kind of thing they do in pubs?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You mean you actually know the answers.’

  ‘I’m pretty good.’

  ‘Wow. You must have a good memory.’

  ‘I work at it.’

  ‘Like swotting for exams.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Isn’t that boring?’

  ‘Not in the least.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Would you like to have dinner now?’ he asked. ‘While it’s still warm?’

  ‘Okay. Can I help?’

  ‘No, thanks. Everything’s ready.’

  As he placed the takeaway cartons on a tray, he observed her over the top of the servery. She was flicking through one of his notebooks. Had he found a woman who was actually interested in his research? Then he remembered he hadn’t offered her anything to drink.

  ‘Would you like some wine?’

  ‘I thought you’d never ask. I’ll pour. Do you have any wine glasses?’

  He searched in the cupboard and found a mismatched pair.

  ‘Are we eating here?’ she asked, pointing to the placemats and cutlery he had set out on the coffee table.

  ‘I thought it would be light and casual.’

  ‘Yes, it’s cute. Like a Japanese restaurant. We could even sit on the floor.’ She poured the wine, then removed her high heels and lowered herself onto the rug, a Greek goddess reclining in front of him.

  He carried the tray to the coffee table, together with some serving spoons and plates.

  ‘Cheers,’ she said, lifting her glass.

  ‘I don’t normally drink alcohol,’ he said, eyeing the glass she had poured for him.

  ‘It won’t hurt, Kevin. Just this once.’

  After Kevin told his parents that he was moving into a house with three other students, his mum began to cry, and his father, who had been all for it the previous day, seemed to have changed his mind. But Kevin wouldn’t budge. Not when his father’s words were still burning inside his head.

  ‘I thought you’d be pleased that I’m making my own life,’ he told his father coldly. ‘After all, I’m an adult now.’

  By the time Kevin returned to the terrace house at Coverdale with a suitcase containing his clothes, it was eleven o’clock. The front door was open and the hallway full of people competing for space among the old furni
ture and boxes. The sickly smell he’d noticed earlier was stronger than ever – it reminded him of burnt popcorn – and a fog seemed to have descended on the interior so that he could barely see the end of the passage.

  He caught sight of Marlena and made his way towards her, squeezing past people and trying not to knock them with his suitcase.

  ‘You’re back,’ she said. ‘I thought you must have done a Harold Holt.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘You know, a bolt. A runner.’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t do that. Once I make a commitment, I stick to it.’

  She gave him a look he couldn’t translate.

  ‘Well, put your bag upstairs and I’ll get you some wine.’

  ‘I don’t drink.’

  ‘That’s what you told me earlier.’

  After he dropped his bag in the room with the balcony, he came downstairs to find Marlena sitting on the bottom step with a glass of wine in each hand.

  ‘Welcome to your new home, Ken,’ she said, passing him a glass.

  ‘It’s Kevin,’ he said, taking a mouthful. Although he’d only indulged in a few tentative sips earlier in the evening, now he felt anxious to join in the party. If you had a glass of red wine in your hand, you looked like you belonged.

  Kevin couldn’t keep track of how much he was drinking because Danni kept topping up his glass. All he knew was that the alcohol was having an effect. The world seemed mellower, the edges blurred, the framework less rigid. He didn’t like things to be that way. It was disturbing. After they finished their Thai takeaway, he took the plates and cartons to the kitchen and poured himself a tall glass of water in an attempt to dilute the alcohol in his system. Then he resolved to abstain for the rest of the evening, however long that might be.

  He looked at the clock. Eight-thirty. Was it too early to call it a night? Danni had arranged herself on the sofa as though she planned to stay for quite a while yet. She had even changed the channel to a crime show on a commercial station.

  ‘Kevin,’ she called to him. ‘It’s one of those forensic shows. You should come and watch. You might pick up some tips.’