The Trivia Man

by Deborah O'Brien

  ‘Stockholm,’ said Edward.

  Maggie observed the disgruntled expressions on the women’s faces but wrote it anyway. She wasn’t enjoying herself tonight. Only partway through round one, and she wanted to go home.

  At interval Maggie went outside and sat on the brick ledge beside the murrayas. It was a chilly night and even the smokers – who normally huddled outside, puffing away on their cigarettes – had remained in the heated interior. After a while she texted Kevin.

  Hope things are going better. Call me if you need me. And please consider coming next week. I can’t cope with Edward on my own!

  As she reread the message before pressing ‘Send’, she realised the last sentence wasn’t just a light-hearted comment. She really meant it. Kevin’s gentle presence mitigated Edward’s bombast. It wasn’t the same without him.

  WEEK

  TWELVE

  Patrick

  Once a week Patrick went to a hall near Peter’s office where a group of children, mostly boys around his own age, assembled for two hours of activities. Although his mother called it a ‘drama lesson’, Patrick had overheard her whispering to his dad that it was part of the intervention program. He had looked up everything on the internet. His parents had installed a filter which blocked rude words and naughty pictures, but it didn’t censor sites about syndromes and special needs. And if he had to have anything wrong with him, this wasn’t such a bad thing. ‘Special needs’. That meant you were special. And there were secret code names too, so secret Peter hadn’t even told them they existed. Patrick had spotted them when he went up to Peter’s desk to have his name ticked off on the attendance roll. Patrick was good at reading upside-down and better still at memorising things. There were sets of letters beside everyone’s names. Most of them seemed to begin with ‘A’ – ASD, ADHD and AS. But he also saw a GAD and an OCD. It was like being a member of a really cool gang.

  Patrick had expected the drama class to be boring, but it wasn’t that way at all. In role-play you practised how to ‘interact’ with other people. You played games where you had to keep a conversation going for as long as possible by asking your partner questions. Sometimes you played ball games. But they weren’t the humiliating kind where people called you an ‘imbo’ or an ‘unco’ or a ‘poofta’. Nobody in the group seemed to be able to catch or throw, so they didn’t mind when you dropped the ball or threw it in the wrong direction. But what was best about going to Peter’s group was that the other kids didn’t bully you. In fact, unless Peter told them to talk to you or to play ball, they left you alone altogether.

  The only thing that worried Patrick was not being able to see Uncle Kevin. How could his mum have thought he was a bad influence when he was such a great person? It didn’t make sense. And if what she’d said was true, and Uncle Kevin really turned out to have it too, they could be in the same gang. How great would that be?

  Elizabeth

  Peter had warned Elizabeth that progress would be slow. She wouldn’t see instant results after the first session, not in the way that people had their hair dyed and suddenly looked different. The improvements would occur in tiny, barely perceptible increments. It would require patience. That was a virtue in which Elizabeth had to admit she was sorely lacking.

  After the first afternoon, she observed Patrick as he walked towards the car. With his head down and his slumping gait, he seemed to be the same solemn, self-absorbed, awkward boy, albeit with the face of an angel.

  ‘How was your drama lesson, Patrick?’ she asked as he did up his seat belt.

  ‘It was very nice, thank you. And how was your afternoon, Mum?’

  ‘Fine, thanks.’ She gave him a quick sideways glance as he sat upright in the passenger seat, staring at his watch. That was the first time she could ever recall Patrick specifically asking about her. Perhaps a miracle had happened after all.

  ‘That’s nice, Mum. What did you do after you dropped me off?’ he continued.

  Shocked at yet another question, she replied, ‘I read the paper and then it was time to pick you up.’

  ‘What are you going to do when we get home?’

  ‘Make dinner, I suppose.’

  ‘Oh.’ He was looking at his watch. ‘That’s only fifty-five seconds, but I’m exhausted. Can you sign my sheet later?’

  ‘What sheet?’

  ‘My homework sheet.’ He fished a piece of paper out of the backpack at his feet and read aloud: ‘Have a two-minute conversation with your mother, father or guardian. Remember to ask them questions. Answer their questions in a full sentence. Don’t forget to smile and to use their name.’

  ‘So it was an assignment.’

  ‘I forgot to smile,’ he said, adopting a false smile, revealing two missing front teeth. ‘Does this make up for it?’

  In spite of herself, Elizabeth began to laugh. ‘Yes, you have a lovely smile. But it’s better when it happens naturally. Are you looking forward to next week’s session?’

  ‘I suppose so. It’s not so bad having a syndrome.’

  ‘Don’t use that word,’ she reproached him.

  ‘But I like it, Mum. And Peter said there’s nothing to be ashamed about. We have special gifts, like superheroes, but we also have weaknesses. You know, like when Superman’s exposed to kryptonite. He said we have to work on our weak points and build up our strengths.’

  ‘All the same, Patrick, I’d rather you didn’t use that word in public.’

  Maggie

  Phillip Brown always sat on his own in the front row, just to the right of Maggie’s desk. Whenever he answered a question in his theatrical tones, there would be a barely audible titter from the other members of the class. In the future, his voice and manner of delivery would earn him kudos, not abuse, Maggie was sure of that, but it wouldn’t be for years to come.

  In the meantime, Maggie’s teaching strategy was to keep the lessons fast-paced and the students so busy they would have little time for taunts. As for Phillip, he didn’t seem to notice the reaction of the others. It was as though he was covered by a clear dome, insulating him from the rest of the class, a force field deflecting the jibes, subtle or otherwise.

  At the end of their sixth lesson, he lingered outside the Latin room.

  ‘Don’t you have a maths lesson to go to?’ Maggie asked.

  ‘Yes, but I want to tell you something first. It’s about the choir.’

  ‘Oh dear, you’re not still miming, are you?’

  ‘No, I’m not in it anymore.’

  ‘Goodness gracious, did they throw you out?’

  He gave her what she could only call a disdainful look. ‘No, the teacher offered me a job on the technical team instead. I’m in charge of sound.’

  ‘And how do you feel about that?’

  ‘I like it.’

  Maggie could barely contain her delight. ‘Good on you, Phillip!’

  As she watched him head off to maths, she was thinking how clever it was of Mei Zhen to come up with such an excellent solution.

  When Maggie’s mobile rang on Friday afternoon, she was surprised to see Kevin’s number on the screen. Surely he didn’t have another Telly Savalas question for her.

  ‘Hi, Kevin. How are you?’

  ‘I’m okay.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  In the silence that followed she wondered if the line had dropped out. Then she heard: ‘I have something to tell you.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘I went to see a psychologist.’

  ‘What did he have to say?’ she asked cautiously.

  ‘It’s a woman.’

  ‘Sorry. What did she have to say?’

  ‘That I have some of the typical behaviours to various degrees, but not all of them. She said I’m unique.’

  ‘I could have told her that,’ said Maggie. ‘You’re quirky. Then again, I like quirky people. They’re interesting.’

  ‘But I just want to be normal.’

  ‘Well, I’d much rather be interesting.’r />
  ‘Do you really think I’m interesting?’

  ‘I do indeed. Look at the way you’ve blossomed over the past three months.’

  ‘Blossomed?’

  ‘Come out of yourself. Become more involved with others.’

  ‘She said I need to work on that. She told me I have to learn to be more empathetic.’

  ‘To look outwards rather than making things all about you. That’s good advice.’

  ‘But I don’t do it on purpose, Maggie.’

  ‘I know that, Kevin. You’re not like my ex. He’s one of the most self-centred people I’ve ever met and he should know better. After all, he’s a so-called expert, advising other people on how to run their lives.’

  ‘You mean Josh?’

  ‘He likes to be called Dr Josh, but underneath the title, he’s seriously flawed. I just didn’t see it until recently.’ Then Maggie remembered her final words to Josh. ‘Actually I did bestow another name on him recently, but it’s a bit rude.’

  ‘You can tell me. I’m not a child.’

  ‘I called him a tosser.’

  There was a long silence during which Maggie feared she had offended him. Then she heard: ‘He deserved it.’

  Maggie started to laugh. At the other end of the line she thought she heard an elongated chuckle. Was Kevin laughing? It struck her that she’d never really heard him laugh properly before.

  ‘You’ve come a long way since we first met, Kevin. I’m proud of you.’

  ‘It was you who helped me.’

  ‘No, you did it yourself,’ Maggie protested, but secretly she was pleased. ‘And the hothouse atmosphere of the trivia team might have contributed as well. It seems to bring out the best and the worst in people.’

  ‘Are you referring to Edward?’

  ‘We shouldn’t be too hard on him. He’s going through a difficult time right now.’

  ‘I never think of Edward as having problems. He always seems so …’

  ‘In control? Or trying to control things? Well, now something has happened that’s beyond his control.’ As soon as she said it, she realised she had come close to betraying a confidence.

  ‘Is he sick?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. He’s working on something that might help him. Now tell me, did the psychologist say anything else?’

  ‘She mentioned some workshops. She said I need finessing.’

  ‘Finessing – I like that. We could all do with some finessing.’

  ‘I’m attending my first workshop tomorrow.’

  ‘And what’s the topic?’

  ‘Establishing eye contact.’

  ‘You’ll have to practise that when next we meet,’ said Maggie, relieved he couldn’t see her smiling. ‘I like the sound of your psychologist. Treating you as a person and working on individual issues. All the same, we don’t want them turning you into one of those deconstructed dessert pies I’ve seen on TV cooking shows – where the pastry breaks or the filling oozes, and the contestant pulls it apart, crushes the crust into a pile of crumbs and makes the filling into a quenelle. It’s never the same after they do that.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t do much cooking.’

  ‘Have you told your sister the news yet?’

  ‘No, I wanted to call you first.’

  ‘Would you like me to speak to her on your behalf?’

  ‘Would you really do that?’

  ‘If you’d like me to.’

  After a long pause he said, ‘I think it’s something I have to do myself.’

  ‘Good. Just tell her what you told me.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll change her mind about me seeing Patrick?’

  ‘You never know.’

  ‘Oh, Maggie, there’s one other thing. On the night I found out about Patrick, I put all my notebooks into garbage bags.’

  ‘You didn’t throw them out, did you?’ she asked in a panic.

  ‘No, there were too many of them. So I put them in the garage for the quarterly council clean-up. It’s on Monday. But I think I might wait until next quarter. They’re not taking up very much room.’

  ‘That’s a good idea. By then, you might feel differently. Are you coming to trivia on Tuesday? It’s the prize-giving.’

  ‘I don’t know. I really want to be able to tell Beth that I’ve dropped out of trivia. She always thought it was weird.’

  ‘Kevin, thousands of people go to trivia nights every week. It’s not the trivia itself that’s weird. It’s the fact that you were a one-man band. A loner. But you’re not on your own these days. You’re part of a team. You’ve made friends.’

  Elizabeth

  Elizabeth couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone outside the immediate family about Patrick’s diagnosis. How could she possibly announce to the world that her beautiful little boy was developmentally impaired? Yet Patrick himself had no such inhibitions. In fact, he seemed almost proud of his newfound status. Peter had given him a book about famous people with his condition, which he carried around like a bible.

  ‘Did you know that General Gordon of Khartoum might have had it?’ he asked her. ‘And Lewis Carroll too. Of course, they didn’t have a name for it in the olden days. That’s because they didn’t have psychologists back then. Can you spell “psychologist”, Mum?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Can you?’

  ‘Of course. There’s a silent “p”. P-S-Y-C-H-O-L-O-GI-S-T. The word comes from Ancient Greek and that’s why it’s so hard to spell.’

  Oh dear. Patrick was sounding increasingly like Kevin.

  Maggie

  On Monday afternoon Maggie was in the ladies’ loo, brushing her hair, when Ash walked in. She was helping Mei Zhen with the concert rehearsals which were being held after school.

  ‘Did you have a nice weekend?’ Maggie asked, making conversation.

  ‘We did indeed. And I’ve got some news for you, Maggie. We’ve been dying to tell you for the last few days, but we’ve been waiting for the ultrasound.’

  ‘Ultrasound? Do you mean …?’

  ‘Yes, we’re pregnant.’

  ‘Oh, Ash, that’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you both,’ Maggie said, giving her a hug.

  ‘Do you want to see the pictures?’

  ‘Of course. But isn’t it a bit early for ultrasounds?’

  ‘Mei Zhen had some light bleeding last week and assumed it was her period. She was really down and talking about going to a fertility specialist.’

  Maggie recalled the conversation in the ladies’ loo.

  ‘I suggested she do a pregnancy test, just in case, and it was positive. So she rang the doctor and he sent her off for an ultrasound this morning to check that everything’s okay.’

  ‘And it is?’

  ‘Yes, the baby’s heartbeat is strong and the size is perfect.’

  Ash produced an envelope from her bag and removed some black and white images that Maggie examined studiously.

  ‘Look at the little feet,’ said Ash. ‘Aren’t they cute?’

  ‘Yes, very cute,’ said Maggie, trying to make out the feet. All she could see was a tiny grey blob. ‘Is it common knowledge yet, Ash?’

  ‘No, you’re the only person at Brookford who knows. The doctor said not to tell anyone for a couple of months, but we’re so excited I don’t think we’ll be able to keep it a secret.’

  ‘In that case, you could just tell your family and a few close friends.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. But we’ll have to tell the headmaster eventually. We can’t have him finding out on the grapevine.’

  Maggie frowned. Brookford’s head of school was ultra-conservative. ‘That’s not going to be easy.’

  ‘I know. A double whammy. Gay and pregnant. We told Mei Zhen’s family yesterday.’

  ‘How did they take it?’

  ‘They can’t deal with us being a couple, let alone having a child.’ Ash smiled sadly. ‘I’m their worst nightmare – a woman, and a non-Asian to boot.’

  ‘They’ll com
e around when the baby arrives.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  Elizabeth

  When Elizabeth collected Patrick from school on Monday, he had someone with him, a boy of about the same age with strawberry blond hair and freckles, wearing sunglasses.

  ‘This is my friend Josh,’ Patrick announced. ‘He’s a new kid.’

  Patrick with a friend! Elizabeth could hardly believe her ears.

  ‘Can Josh come to our place this afternoon?’

  ‘He’d have to ask his parents first.’

  ‘My mum’s just over there,’ Josh said, pointing to a tall woman with a chestnut bob. ‘Her name’s Jessica.’ Josh made the introductions and the two mothers indulged in some small talk.

  Then Jessica said, ‘There’s something you need to know about Josh. He used to get into a lot of trouble at his old school for being disruptive. He hated reading and couldn’t concentrate. Then we discovered he had a problem – it’s called SSS, which means he’s super-sensitive to light. It actually hurts him to look at a whiteboard or sit in a classroom with fluorescent lights. That’s why he wears special glasses.’

  ‘And Josh gets to use coloured paper in class instead of white,’ Patrick interjected. ‘How cool is that!’

  ‘So you’ve been able to fix Josh’s problem?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘There’s no instant fix, but the coloured paper and the glasses make a difference. And so does raising awareness about SSS. That’s why I tell people about it.’

  Elizabeth swallowed hard. She’d only ever been intent on keeping Patrick’s problem a deep, dark secret.

  ‘I must admit,’ Elizabeth said, ‘that I’ve never heard of this SOS thing.’

  ‘SSS – scotopic sensitivity syndrome,’ Patrick corrected. ‘It’s more common than you’d think. A lot of people with learning problems have it.’