A Question of Love (3 page)

We’ll be discussing something to do with the show, and we’ll suddenly hear her pipe up from the front desk with her opinion on the matter, her conviction matched only by her ignorance. The other day, for example, I was talking to Dylan, who’s our new script editor—he’s a bit of a boffin really, perfect for the quiz. We were discussing Wallis Simpson for one of the questions; we compile them ourselves—Dylan does the science, geography and sport ones, while I do politics, history and the arts—and we were talking about the Duke of Windsor’s stint as Governor of the Bahamas.

‘It was Bermuda, wasn’t it?’ we suddenly heard from reception. ‘The Duke of Windsor was Governor of Bermuda wasn’t he?’

‘No, Nerys,’ Dylan shouted back politely. ‘It was the Bahamas.’

‘Really?’ There was a moment’s stupefied—and, frankly, impertinent—silence and then we heard, ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, Nerys. We’re quite sure,’ Dylan replied with saintly patience.

‘Because
I
thought it was Bermuda.’

‘Honestly, Nerys,’ I said. ‘It really
was
the Bahamas because a) it just
was
and b) Dylan and I have checked it in two reference books and on the net to make one hundred and ten per cent certain. Because that’s what we always do.’

‘I see,’ she replied, before adding, as if making a gracious concession, ‘Oh well then—if you’re sure.’

In many ways it’s unreasonable of me to dislike Nerys as much as I do because the fact is I know she means well. That’s the worst thing about it—she’s genuinely trying to
help.
There’s nothing in the world she likes more. I’ve seen her practically mug tourists in order to give them directions to Portobello, and several times I’ve heard her give unsolicited advice to strangers in shops.
You don’t want to pay fifteen pounds for that…they’ve got them for a tenner in Woolworths…yes, that’s right—a tenner…it’s not far…second left, third right, straight on for 800 yards, first right, fourth left, past Buybest, opposite the ABC Pharmacy…that’s okay, it’s a pleasure—no really…it was no trouble—honestly, please DON’T mention it.

And that’s the other thing. Nerys thinks that everyone’s indebted to her, and basks in their imagined gratitude. She deflects our exasperated put-downs like a Sherman tank deflecting ping-pong balls; they bounce off her completely unfelt. And though she drives us all mad, Tom keeps her on for the very good reason that a) having a receptionist gives out the impression that we’re a bigger, better company than we actually are and b) she adores working for him. In the two years she’s been here she’s always turned up on time, never taken a day off and, in her own way, she does the job well. She opens up the office in the mornings. If the photo-copier breaks down, she gets it repaired. She does all the clerical work and arranges our transport to and from the studio. She changes the light bulbs, and waters the plants. Tom appreciates her loyalty; he also feels responsible for her as he says she’s so annoying she’d never get a job anywhere else. Needless to say, Nerys fancies herself as a bit of a quiz buff and is thrilled about
Whadda Ya Know?!!
‘It’s a pity I can’t go on it myself,’ she often says. ‘I think I’d do
rather
well.’

I went through to the office, which increasingly resembles a small library—every inch of wall space taken up with the huge number of reference books we need to compile the quiz. The dilapidated shelves groan with
Halliwell’s Film and Video Guide
, the
Penguin Dictionary of Art
; all twenty-nine volumes of the
Encyclopaedia Britannica
and the
Complete Book of the British Charts
. We have the
Oxford Dictionary of Quotations,
the
Guinness Book of Records,
the
Science Desk Reference
and
Debrett’s.
Plus the
Concise Dictionary of National Biography
, the
Encyclopaedia of Battles
, the
Compendium of British Wild Flowers
and
Who’s Who
.

Dylan was at his desk, on the phone, absently winding his bootlace tie around his index finger, while Tom hovered over the central printer, which was spewing out reams of script.

‘Hi,’ I said to Tom above the clattering of the laser jet. Normally Tom wears jeans, but today being a studio day—we record six weeks ahead—he was wearing his one suit—a Prince of Wales check.

He looked up. ‘Hi, Laura.’ His blue eyes creased into a smile, the fine lines spoking out from the corners. ‘Now. I need to ask you a
very
serious question.’

‘Go on then.’

‘Who sent you the flowers?’

I smiled. ‘My sister Hope and her husband—to wish me luck. Why?’

‘I thought they must be from an admirer, that’s all.’

‘Nope.’ I went to my desk. ‘I don’t have any.’

‘Sure you do.’

‘I don’t, I tell you. I haven’t been on a date for
so
long.’

‘Then it’s high time you did. You’re young, Laura.’

‘
Ish
.’

‘You’re beautiful.’

‘Hardly, but thanks.’

‘So you’ve got to get out there and…seize the day.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Maybe you’re right.’ A new relationship—however scary the idea—would help me move forward, and, without wishing to sound heartless here, it’s hardly as though Nick’s in any position to object.

‘Anyway, today’s a big day for you.’

My stomach turned over. ‘It is a big day—dead right.’ Today, I thought, my life could change forever.

Tom pulled out the last sheets of script and began shuffling them into order. ‘So are you feeling okay?’

I shook my head. ‘I’m feeling horribly nervous to tell you the truth.’

‘The critics will love you, Laura. Have confidence.’ He picked up a red stapler and began clipping the pages together.

‘That’s not what I mean.’

The stapler stopped in mid air. ‘Oh.’ His voice had dropped. ‘Because of…Nick.’

I nodded. Tom knows what happened. Everyone here does—but then it was too big to hide.

‘I feel like I’m a target, Tom, waiting to be shot at.’

Tom looked at me, then carried on stapling. ‘Well, that’s the risk you took. We talked about it when you agreed to front the show, remember?’

‘Yes,’ I murmured. ‘I do. But at that time it was only going to go out on cable—we had no idea it would ever hit the network, let alone at peak time.’

‘I hope you don’t regret it.’

‘No,’ I sighed. ‘Of course not—I was thrilled—I still am. But now that I’m laying myself open to media scrutiny, I can’t help feeling…
terrified
, actually.’

‘Well, don’t be.’ He straightened up. ‘In any case, Laura, what happened to Nick wasn’t your fault. Was it?’

I stared at him.
Your fault…
‘No. No, it wasn’t my fault.’

‘If the show’s a success,’ he went on, ‘then yes, the story might get picked up. So make sure your nearest and dearest are primed to keep schtum.’ I made a mental note to remind my sisters to stay quiet. ‘But in any case, you’ve done nothing
wrong.
You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, Laura, have you?’

To be ashamed of…
‘No. No, I haven’t. That’s right.’

‘Anyway, there’s a friendly little piece in
The Times
today,’ he said. ‘Here…’ He handed it to me. It was very complimentary about the show’s ‘unique format’—with its ‘unexpected twist’—and about my presenting skills. I showed him the one in the
Independent.

‘ “Riveting…”‘ Tom read. ‘Good.’ He nodded. ‘Well, I think it
is
riveting—if I’m allowed to say that about my own baby.’ I looked at him. ‘Anyway, I’d better get over to the studio.’ He reached for his coat. ‘Ner-ys,’ he yelled, ‘Is my car there yet?’

I saw her peering through the slats in the blinds. ‘He’s just pulling up.’

‘I’ll see you there in about an hour, okay, Laura?’ Tom said. I nodded. ‘Don’t be late.’

‘I won’t. I’ll just get Dylan to run through the script.’

I put the flowers in water, then sent Hope a virtual thank you card, and by the time I’d pressed ‘Send’ Dylan was winding up his phone call, and waving at me. He used to be a question setter on
Mastermind,
and is now script editor on
Whadda Ya Know?!!
He decides which questions should go in each show, and in what order, then he goes through them with me before we record.

‘Right then, Laura.’ He picked up his clipboard. ‘Your starter for ten. What is the name for an alloy of copper and tin?’

‘Brass!’ we heard Nerys shout from the front desk.

‘Bronze,’ I replied.

‘Correct. What is the Roman numeral for a thousand?’

‘C!’ she yelled.

‘It’s M.’

‘What is the capital of Armenia?’

‘Ulan Bator!’

‘Yerevan.’

‘It’s Yerevan,’ said Dylan, rolling his eyes. I sat down at my desk.

‘What is a hoggerel?’ I heard him say as I fiddled with a large paperclip.

I looked up at him. ‘A what?’

‘A hoggerel.’

‘Pass!’ Nerys called out. ‘Anyway, that’s much too difficult if you want my opinion. Good
morn
-ing, Trident Tee-
veee
…?’

‘A hoggerel?’ I repeated. ‘No idea.’

‘It’s a yearling sheep—you can accept “young” sheep. Who discovered the source of the Nile?’

‘Livingstone,’ I replied absently. ‘No, not Livingstone—erm…I mean—
Speke.’

‘In which Scottish mountain group is Aviemore?’

‘The Cairngorms.’

‘What’s the traditional Muslim colour for mourning?’

‘White.’

‘In human biology what term describes the hollow ball of cells that is an early stage in the development of the embryo?’ I felt my insides shift.

‘I’ll have to hurry you…’ I heard Dylan say. ‘Don’t you know it? Sure you do—a well-informed woman like you.’

‘Yes. I do. It’s a blastocyst.’

‘Correct.’ I visualised a tiny blob, smaller than a full stop, but already heaving with life, burrowing into the dark softness of the uterine wall.

‘Are you okay Laura?’

‘What? Yes…of course. Carry on.’

He flipped over the page. ‘What is the Hindi name for India?’

Sindh, I wondered? No, that’s a province…The Hindi name for…begins with a ‘b’ surely…a ‘b’…a ‘b’…a
‘b’
…’Bharat, isn’t it?’

‘Correct.’

‘So have we covered all areas?’ I asked after we’d been through all sixty questions.

Dylan nodded. ‘The whole shebang.’ He took a deep breath. ‘History, Politics, Science, Literature, Religion, Philosophy, Geography, the Monarchy, Classical music, Pop music, Entertainment, Architecture, Ballet, the Arts and Sport.’

‘Comprehensive then.’

‘And are you happy with the script?’

I quickly scanned it. ‘It looks fine.’

‘Your car’s here, Laura!’ I heard Nerys shout. I picked up my bag.

‘Are you coming with me, Dylan?’ He grabbed his leather jacket and helmet.

‘No—I’ll see you there; I’m on my bike.’

‘You be careful on that motorbike now!’ I heard Nerys call out as he left the building. ‘You want to be careful!’

‘Yes Nerys. I always am.’

As I passed her desk Nerys handed me a large envelope. ‘It’s the list of contestants. Sara asked me to give it to you before she went to the studio this morning.’

‘Thanks. I’ll look at it on the way.’

‘Good luck then, Laura.’ She looked at me appraisingly. ‘Yes—you’re a Summer. I can tell from your skin tone. Good
morn-
ing, Trident Tee-
veee…
‘

The studio we use is in Acton, so from Notting Hill it doesn’t take long. But today the traffic was slow because of the weather—the snow had turned to driving rain. Then we were held up for ten minutes at White City because someone had broken down, and then we hit roadworks, and the driver was ranting about Ken Livingstone, and what he’d like to do to him, and it was only then that I remembered the list. I don’t meet the contestants beforehand—Sara auditions them—but on the day I’m given a brief biography of each one.And I was just about to open the envelope and read the four names and the brief descriptions of who they were, what they did, and what their hobbies were etcetera, etcetera, when my mobile rang. I rummaged in my bag.

‘Laura!’ It was my elder sister, Felicity. She loves to chat—unfortunately about only one thing. I braced myself. ‘
Guess
what Olivia discovered this morning?’ she began breathlessly.

‘Let me see,’ I replied, as I glanced out of the window. ‘A cure for cancer? Life on Mars? The square root of the hypotenuse?’

There was a snort of derisive, but delighted, laughter. ‘Don’t be
silly
Laura. Not yet.’

‘What has she discovered, then? Tell me.’

‘Oh it’s so adorable—her
feet
!’

‘Really?’ I said as we pulled up at a zebra crossing. ‘Where were they?’

‘On the end of her legs of course!’

‘Isn’t that where they’re usually located?’

‘Yes, but babies don’t
know
that, do they? They suddenly discover it when they’re about six months and they’re
fascinated
. I just wanted to share it with you.’ I suppressed a yawn. ‘You see this morning, there she was, lying on the changing station gurgling and smiling up at me in that adorable way of hers—just looking at me and smiling—weren’tyoumylovelylicklesweetiedarling?’ she added in a helium squeak. ‘Then, she suddenly looked at her feet in this really quite profound way, Laura, and then she grabbed them and started
playing
with them. It was quite amazing actually…just playing with her toes and…are you still there, Laura?’

‘Yes…yes, I am.’

‘Don’t you think that’s
incredible
?’ I thought of the microscopic blob, its cells dividing, and doubling.

‘It’s a miracle.’ I glanced out of the window.

‘Well, I wouldn’t go
quite
that far. But it is an important little milestone,’ I heard Felicity add proudly. ‘And what’s so fantastic about it is that Olivia’s only five months and three days—so she did it a month
early.
Your niece is very advanced—aren’tyoumylovelylicklebabychops?’ Her voice had suddenly risen two octaves again. ‘You’revewyVEWYadvanced!’