by Jenny Colgan
‘I’m Arthur Pendleton, from the district department to discuss …’
‘We know why you are here,’ said the man in the middle. His voice was low and ominous. ‘Proceed.’
Arthur nodded in a way that attempted to convey that he didn’t mind this little brushoff in the slightest, and started to outline the project, whilst Marcus distributed handouts and tried to get the overhead projector to work.
‘Thank you for agreeing to look at our submission. Now, this is what we’re planning …’
Ten minutes later, Arthur was struggling. He was getting no feedback from these people, none at all. No-one was smiling, not even when he made his patented hilarious lost children joke. They were scarcely glancing at their handouts. The woman kept looking at her watch. This was making Arthur angry, which didn’t quite reconcile with the light, open approach he’d been aiming for.
‘So you see, that’s the space problem solved … car parking …’ he stuttered, ‘and, overall, it’ll be good for families, and I see your granting permission as the first step on a much better road for Coventry. And …’
He ran out of words.
‘And, that’s it. Thank you for your time,’ he concluded.
The panel sat back, still eerily silent. The man in the centre started leafing through the booklet of projections Marcus had put together, without noticeable interest. Arthur felt the palms of his hands begin to sweat.
The moments ticked on, the silence seeming to stretch out into some space of infinite time. He snuck a glance at Gwyneth, who was concentrating extremely hard on the cornicing.
Finally, at some secret sign, all three members of the committee sat back.
‘We have recently decided to try out,’ said the one in the centre ponderously, ‘a new method of assigning credibility. We find the old style too … too …’
‘When we used to ask questions about the project plans,’ the stern-looking woman interjected – she leaned forward on the desk – ‘people lied.’
Arthur mimed shock and surprise, whilst feeling uncomfortably at the same time that she had just accused every single one of them of being a liar.
‘Quite,’ said the man in the middle. ‘So, we’ve decided to ask … er, slightly different questions. To test your mettle, as it were. See what you’re made of as a team. See if you can carry this thing,’ – he held up the booklet – ‘through.’
They looked nervously at each other. Marcus’s eyebrows were raised. Arthur reckoned they were covered if arithmetic came up.
‘I will ask you three questions,’ said the dark man. ‘You must answer them all. If you answer them all correctly, then you may go on your way and do as you wish.’
‘What? What the hell is this?’ hissed Gwyneth, but Arthur only shrugged.
‘Go ahead,’ he said.
The man blinked and went on. ‘Very well. Ahem.
My first is in the arm but not the hand
My second can be found in both sea and sand
My third cannot be found in skies of blue or oceans deep
But locked close in its heart its secrets keeps
My fourth can die but never will be born
My whole is of the night but rules the morn.’
Marcus, Gwyneth and Arthur sat stock still.
‘What?’ said Gwyneth, to Arthur, not having recovered her composure.
‘Ssh,’ said Arthur. ‘It’s a riddle.’
‘I know it’s a riddle! What’s it doing in a planning meeting?’
‘Testing our initiative. Must be one of those new American management techniques. Don’t look unsettled.’
‘If the first is … x,’ said Marcus, scribbling on a piece of paper, ‘no, that’s not going to work.’
‘It’s not algebra, Marcus.’
‘Damn shame.’
Arthur scribbled some notes on his pad. ‘My first is in the arm but not the hand …’
‘A wristwatch,’ said Marcus. ‘Or, underarm hair.’
‘Yes, that would work, if you didn’t have hairy palms,’ said Gwyneth crossly.
‘Ssh. It’s letters,’ said Arthur. Gwyneth looked over his shoulder. ‘Like R or M? Ooh, like the band.’
‘Just the one letter. What’s the second line?’
Gwyneth thought. ‘Something about beaches.’
‘A watch at the beach,’ said Marcus pensively.
‘You just don’t get this, do you?’ said Arthur. ‘Both in sea and sand. That means either s or a …’ He jotted them down on the piece of paper, then suddenly started. ‘I know what it is.’
Gwyneth sniffed. ‘What are you, some kind of genius?’
‘No, that’s me,’ said Marcus.
‘No … it’s just – wow! I know what the puzzle means. I understand it.’
Gwyneth sniffed. ‘Well, enlighten us, genius.’
He pointed it out. ‘Say if the first two letters are “m” and “a”.’
‘Uh huh.’
‘And it’s “of the night” …’
‘Margaret Thatcher.’
‘It’s a mare. It’s a mare, isn’t it?’ Arthur said to the judges.
‘You have nightmares,’ he explained to Marcus’s uncomprehending look.
‘I’m in one,’ said Gwyneth,
‘And mayors rule during the day!’
‘Oh,’ said Marcus. ‘This is stupid. Well, the next one’s bound to be maths.’
‘Correct,’ said the man.
‘Yay!’ said Marcus.
‘I mean, your first answer was correct. I doubt you will find this one so simple.’
‘Yeah?’ said Arthur, feeling pleased with himself. ‘Let’s see, shall we?’
The man coughed quietly.
‘I never was, am always to be,
No-one ever saw me, nor ever will
And yet I am the confidence of all
Who live and breathe on this terrestrial ball.
How loved and feared am I, how short, how long
Far longer than the night, beyond the reach of every dawn.’
Now they were even quieter. Arthur felt tenser than ever. Lynne might be fairly sure that these guys weren’t out to get him, but it didn’t feel that way.
‘It sounds like Sven’s dog,’ said Marcus.
‘Yes, that’s what they would give us a riddle on,’ said Gwyneth crossly. ‘Sandwiches. The next one will be about your mum.’
‘Are you dissing my mum?’ Sven interjected.
‘Stop it, you two,’ said Arthur. ‘We have to concentrate.’
‘But this is stupid!’
‘I may want to point out at this moment that you are the ones wanting to take public money to build a labyrinth in a park,’ said the woman. ‘Oh. I just did.’
‘I never was, yet always am to be …’ said Arthur as he wrote out the words. He pondered on whether it might be his namesake and supposed ancestor. Just at that moment he caught the eye of the main judge and had the weirdest impression that he knew what he was thinking. Then he blinked and returned to his papers.
‘A baby?’ said Gwyneth.
‘That never was? An abortion?’
‘Thanks for that Marcus, that’s disgusting. And how would that have the confidence of all?’
‘If it was the baby Jesus, maybe.’
‘The baby Jesus,’ said Arthur. ‘Is he both short and long?’
‘Well, I suppose he started off short and got long … you know, as he grew up.’
‘He doesn’t have the confidence of all though, does he?’ said Gwyneth. ‘I mean, if you’re Jewish or something.’
‘Terrestrial balls,’ said Marcus gravely.
‘Oh, God, what’s the second verse?’ said Arthur. ‘Can you repeat the poem?’
The old man did so.
‘What’s longer than the night?’ pondered Arthur.
‘Anything over eight hours,’ said Gwyneth. ‘Depending on the time of year. Oh GOD!’ She stood up suddenly in exasperation. ‘This is so stupid. I can’t believe
I’m even here. This is a total waste of everybody’s time. This is a serious project to us and everyone involved and we’re going to prat it up because of some stupid Gyles Brandreth tactic. Really, I just want to go home and wake up tomorrow and pretend this never happened.’
‘What did you say?’ said Arthur suddenly.
‘I am surrounded by morons,’ said Gwyneth. ‘This is not good.’
‘No, just that last bit again. What did you say you wanted to do?’
‘I – I wanted to go home.’
‘And?’
‘And … go to bed …’
‘And … forget all about it tomorrow …’
Arthur snapped his fingers.
‘I never was and always am to be …
Nobody ever saw me nor ever will …’
Gwyneth held up her hands. ‘I told you, I don’t know. One of those really small cats?’
‘No! It’s “tomorrow”! I’m sure of it. Marcus, give me some of the other lines.’
‘Far longer than the night, beyond the reach of every dawn …’
‘It has to be. Don’t you see?’
‘Like, Tomorrow Never Dies?’ said Marcus.
‘No, like, “Tomorrow never comes”,’ said Gwyneth. She looked at Arthur, still hostile, but coming round to his point of view. ‘That’s what it means, isn’t it? Yes, I think you’re right. It must be.’
‘Tomorrow Never Dies is a really good film, too,’ mumbled Marcus. Arthur looked at them both for affirmation, then took a deep breath.
‘It’s tomorrow,’ he said squarely to the three seated behind the desk. The old man paused for a moment, then, reluctantly nodded.
‘Yes!’ said Arthur, punching the air – although just the bit next to his hand, and quite quietly.
‘Great,’ said Gwyneth. ‘Can we go now?’
‘There is one further question,’ intoned the woman. She looked excited. This was obviously her question, her big moment.
‘Well, I’m sure Arthur can handle it. He knows everything,’ said Gwyneth, shooting him a nasty look.
‘Gwyn …’ said Arthur imploringly.
She stared at him coldly. ‘What, am I letting down the team?’ she said pointedly.
‘Don’t go,’ said Marcus, suddenly. Gwyneth looked at him. ‘You’re kind of handy.’
This was the first indication Gwyneth had had from any of the rest of them that she was any use to their office whatsoever. She was touched.
‘You mean it?’
Marcus shrugged. Gwyneth sat back down.
‘I’m staying for him,’ she said to Arthur, in case it wasn’t already completely obvious.
Arthur nodded and sighed. No wonder global warming hadn’t quite arrived yet. Thawing icebergs actually took for bloody ever.
‘Are you all … quite ready?’ said the now slightly excited-looking woman.
‘Yup,’ said Arthur.
‘Okay then,’ said the woman. She leaned forward and asked the question.
Arthur was puce.
‘You can’t be serious,’ he said loudly.
‘Three questions, you were aware of the rules,’ said the fussy man. ‘We’d like an answer from you, please.’
‘Oh, crap.’
Arthur stared at the floor. Marcus’s face was burning just from the question. He was desperately hoping not to be asked for input. Only Gwyneth sat stock-still.
Finally, Arthur turned to her. ‘Well? Can you?’
She shrugged. ‘Why should I?’
‘Oh, God, please.’
She still stared straight ahead.
‘Please.’
‘I’m so angry with you and what you did,’ she said, almost despite herself.
‘I know,’ said Arthur, hoping that he did know; hoping that he knew why. Why would someone get so upset about him sleeping with someone else? Only if …
There was silence. Then, slowly, Gwyneth stood up once more.
‘Um,’ the man said, ‘I’m afraid your leader has to answer this question.’
Gwyneth raised her eyebrows. ‘Why is that?’
The man looked perturbed. ‘Um, I’m … I’m sure it’s in the rules.’
Everyone looked at the second man, who was still scratching the proceedings into a ledger. Finally realizing that all gazes were on him, he looked up. ‘Er.’ He started leafing through his scrolls of paper. A shaft of dull evening light breaking through the high windows illuminated the dust rising from the handwritten pages. ‘I’m afraid … there’s nothing specifically here.’
‘Look again!’ said the other man, in outrage. The rustling of the paper continued for several minutes.
‘No … no, nothing, I’m afraid,’ he said eventually.
‘Well, this is preposterous.’
‘Can she answer or not?’ said Arthur.
There was a long silence.
‘I …’ The man cast around, as if looking for somewhere else to go. ‘I suppose so.’
Arthur looked directly at Gwyneth.
‘What women want?’ she said. ‘You want me to answer the question.’
‘Please,’ he pleaded.
‘Yes,’ she said. Then, calmly, with her usual grace, she approached the table. Without a backwards glance at either Arthur or Marcus, she rounded the table to the left until she came to the woman interviewer. Very carefully, she bent down and whispered in the woman’s ear for several seconds, then stood back.
The old man looked at the woman. The whole room looked at her. Very slowly and reluctantly, she nodded. The old man sat back, shaking his head.
‘Well,’ he said. Arthur was staring at him very very hard.
‘I suppose,’ he sighed, ‘the criteria have been fulfilled. You have your maze.’
Marcus and Arthur waltzed down the steps. Gwyneth followed them at a slightly disdainful distance.
‘We RULE!’ said Marcus, narrowly avoiding a large pink bus.
‘That was brilliant. I am so happy,’ said Arthur. ‘Here.’ He hailed a taxi. ‘As a show of how much I appreciate our excellent work, I’ll even stump for a cab.’
‘Could this day get any better?’ wondered Marcus. He jumped into the waiting car. Arthur turned back to let in Gwyneth, but she was just standing, listlessly, in front of the council building.
‘Um, you go ahead,’ Arthur said to Marcus. ‘We’ll catch you up.’
‘Hey,’ said Arthur, approaching her.
She shrugged.
‘Thanks … thanks for your help in there.’
‘Well.’
‘We couldn’t have done it without you.’
‘No, you couldn’t have.’
‘What did you tell her?’
Gwyneth laughed. ‘You don’t expect me to tell you, do you?’
‘Worth a shot.’
‘If women told men what they wanted, you’d find some way of deliberately screwing it up. Although you seem to manage that perfectly well without any guidance at all.’
He looked straight at her, suddenly serious.
‘Would I … could you see a way in which I might be any part of what you wanted?’
Her eyes dropped from his to the ground and she didn’t answer him. Her face was bright pink and white, either from embarrassment or rage, he couldn’t say.
Suddenly, it felt like time. A feeling of calm went through him. He stepped forward. She didn’t step away.
‘Hey!’ shouted Marcus. ‘Am I waiting with this cab or what, only he’s going to set the meter running fast.’
Chapter Eight
‘It really smells in here,’ said Sven, the following morning, as Sandwiches was sniffing round the skirting board of the boardroom.
‘No, it smells clean,’ said Arthur. ‘I had the cleaners come in specially. It was getting revolting.’
‘Or pleasantly familiar,’ said Sven.
‘Aorwhoo,’ agreed Sandwiches.
Arthur ignored them both and wandered on towards his desk, feeling like humming, or perhaps rendering a coup
le of verses of ‘It’s a Wonderful World’ – loudly, whilst tap dancing in a Fred Astaire manner over the coffee machine, backed by a hundred dancing girls and a thirty-piece orchestra.
This girl … wow, she was something else. He reckoned, if Marcus hadn’t intervened, he’d have got a snog, definitely. Maybe his ancestral status was making him more attractive to women, and, if so, why couldn’t it have kicked in at college?
‘You’ve got your eyes shut,’ said Sven.
‘Can we all work like that please?’
Gwyneth looked at herself in the dressing table mirror. Oh God. What had that been about? She couldn’t do this again. She’d been attracted to clients before – it was an occupational hazard – and she’d also seen what happened when other people gave into it. You were the talk of the company party. And wasn’t it hard enough being a woman here in the first place? She shook her head as she brushed out her hair. This was a terrible idea.
But she still remembered the way his hand had felt on her face …
Arthur’s euphoria was brief, slightly overshadowed by Rafe dragging in sixty feet of electrical cable to simulate what a forest of streetlights might look like (after it had been lightly chewed by a dog). But his warm glow carried on, even when Sven got into a complicated and personally insulting conversation with the ice makers, with whom they were due to meet, when Cathy brought in some homemade and completely inedible things which may have been cookies or muffins or slates, and when Marcus asked him to okay an enormous pile of figures, not a single one of which he understood. But where was she?
The glow remained, Arthur’s attention constantly straying towards the door. It was torture. How would she be?
He tried to concentrate on the flurry around him, explaining to Rafe that he couldn’t have a tram or a Japanese bullet train to ferry people around the exhibitions, and dealing with Sven, who thought his computer wasn’t working because his fingers weren’t sticking to the keys.
Finally, however, at about ten thirty, he saw a familiar shape make its way through the open-plan area. His heart leaped. Until he saw her face.
At first he assumed it was because of him. He had – or hadn’t – done something. She was suing him for sexual harrassment. He’d been reading this all wrong.