A Question of Us
Page 1
A Question of Us
Mary Jayne Baker
AN IMPRINT OF HEAD OF ZEUS
www.ariafiction.com
Contents
Welcome Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Become an Aria Addict
First published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © Mary Jayne Baker, 2019
The moral right of Mary Jayne Baker to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781789546132
Cover design © Charlotte Abrams-Simpson
Aria
c/o Head of Zeus
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5–8 Hardwick Street
London EC1R 4RG
www.ariafiction.com
To Porky’s, the original Ritz. We miss you every day.
1
14th Annual Denworth Quiz League: Leaderboard
The Pig and Trumpet, Match 1 of 8
Zeroes all round and everything to play for…
‘It’s a spaniel, Clar! Come on, look at its ears.’
Clarrie Midwinter took another look at the sheet Sonny had thrust in front of her, showing photos of the dog breeds they needed to identify for the quiz picture round, and shook her head. ‘No it isn’t. Its face is a weird shape.’
‘Well, yeah. It’s a dog.’
‘Spaniels have got them long noses though, haven’t they? That one’s all flat.’
‘Maybe it’s a spaniel that ran into a patio door,’ Dave said, draining the last of his pint. ‘I’ve seen them do that.’
‘Yeah, bet you laughed as well,’ Sonny said.
‘I did actually.’ Dave nudged the man next to him. ‘Here, Dad. What’s this dog?’
Jeff was half dozing, his double chin burrowing into his chest. He jerked awake when Dave jammed an elbow into his gut.
‘Hm?’ he said, stifling a belch.
Dave held the sheet up in front of him. ‘Number four. What is it?’
‘It’s a dog.’
‘We know it’s a bloody dog. What kind of dog?’
‘That? Chinese water terrier, that,’ Jeff said with a knowledgeable nod.
‘You just made that up.’
‘Honest to God. Saw one on Crufts.’
Since Jeff’s record on getting questions right was about one in every ten pub quizzes, Dave ignored him and passed the sheet back to Clarrie.
‘All right, Clar, ball’s back in your court. We’re stumped this side of the table.’
Clarrie elbowed the tall, dark-haired man next to her. He was leaning languidly on the back of his chair, facing the other way.
‘Oi. I see what you’re doing there, Simon Dewhirst.’
‘What am I doing?’
‘Making eyes at Sally Pemberton behind the bar. Come on, stop thinking with what’s in your pants and get your actual brain in gear, can you? You’re a dead weight on this team when you’re randy.’
‘I’m not randy. I’m scheming.’
‘You’re always bloody randy,’ Sonny said.
‘Okay, fair comment,’ Simon said, grinning as he turned back to face them. ‘But this is strategic targeted randiness. I’m projectile flirting in the hope she’ll bump me to the front of the queue when it’s my round.’
Dave nodded. ‘Good work.’
‘Do you have to encourage him?’ Sonny said. ‘There’s never any spare girls for us with him around.’
‘The chances of me getting lucky with Sally Pemberton are slim to none,’ Dave said. ‘The chances of Si getting lucky with Sally Pemberton, and me therefore receiving the knock-on benefit of a faster pint, are about 99.9 per cent. I’ll take those odds.’
Clarrie was still squinting at the photo of the dog, which was small and Ewok-like with curly beige fur.
‘I reckon it’s a cavapoo,’ she said.
Si shook his head. ‘That’s not a thing.’
‘It is too a thing, the woman next door to my mum’s got one.’
‘What, so it’s half poodle, half fizzy wine?’
She nudged him, smiling. ‘Half Cavalier King Charles, you div.’
‘You know, dogs really went downhill when they started breeding them for comedy portmanteau purposes.’
‘Go on then, write it down,’ Dave said, rolling the pen to Clarrie. ‘You’re captain, you get final say.’
‘All right.’ She jotted it into the answer box. ‘But if it’s wrong, it’s wrong. I don’t want it following me to the grave like Sonny and the fifth Marx brother.’
Sonny scowled. ‘Do we have to bring that up every week? Anyone could’ve made that mistake.’
‘Very true,’ Dave said gravely. ‘I’m sure Karl had plenty of time after writing Das Kapital for a bit of slapstick fun with the family.’
‘Oh, knob off, can you?’ Sonny rubbed a V-sign at Dave against his cheek. ‘Eight years ago I got that wrong. Jesus.’
‘Still funny though,’ Dave said, grinning. ‘Right, I’m off to the bar. Same again, you lot?’
Jeff was half asleep again, but he flickered to attention when he heard the magic word ‘bar’.
‘Another Landlord for me, young Davy.’
‘Si?’
‘I’ll skip this round.’ Simon waggled his still half-full beer. ‘All right with what I’ve got for now.’
Clarrie glanced at the dregs of her pint. She had to work tomorrow. Probably should go easy…
Oh, what the hell.
‘Carlsberg. Ta, Dave.’
‘Another Guinness, mardy bollocks?’ Dave asked Sonny, slapping his shoulder.
‘Yeah.’ Sonny’s tone was sulky after the reference to the infamous Marxgate. ‘And you can get me a bag of them Nobby’s Nuts while you’re up there.’
‘I don’t know why you let him wind you up, Sonny,’ Si said when Dave had gone. ‘It’s only a game, isn’t it?’
‘A game?’ Sonny’s eyebrows shot up into his carefully gelled hair. ‘This is the League, Si! Get some perspective, for Chrissakes.’
Clarrie felt Simon’s knee nudge her under the table. She tried not to laugh as she caught his eye.
By the time Dave was back with the drinks, Simon’s attention had wandered away from dog breeds and back to Sally Pemberton. Clarrie grabbed his chin and forced his face round to look at the sheet.
‘Here, stop flirting and help. We’ve still got loads of blanks.’
‘Well, if you want me to stop flirting then you know what to do, don’t you?’ Si said, snatching Sonny’s peanuts from the table and helping himself to some.
‘What?’
‘Take me off the market.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Here we go.’
‘Come for a Domino’s with me this Thursday,’ he said through a mouthful of nuts. ‘I’ll pay.’
‘Gee. The last of the great romantics.’ She shook her head. ‘Not going out with you, Si.’
‘Ah, go on. Just once so I can die a happy man.’ He leaned in closer, until she could smell the faint mix of tobacco and Lynx Africa that hung round his shirt, and brought his mouth to her ear. ‘You never know, you might like me.’
God, would he ever stop? Simon Dewhirst, with his stupid dark eyes and his stupid dark hair and his stupid… everything. She knew he only did it to wind her up, she knew it didn’t mean anything. She knew the way her stomach somersaulted when he leaned in close was just a knee-jerk response to the things he had going on physically that had always been so effective at making girls’ stomachs somersault. But it was seriously inconvenient when your best friend would insist on turning you on in public places, just because he knew he bloody could.
She jerked her head away from the teasing tickle of his hot breath. ‘Still a no. Sorry.’
‘Virgin.’
‘Sex pest.’
‘Stop pissing about, you two. We’ve got dogs to identify here.’ Dave watched Clarrie as she fiddled with the fluorescent orange strap digging into her shoulder. ‘Is your bra too small or something? Because I could take a look at it if you like, see what I can offer in the way of additional support.’
Clarrie tilted her head to one side as she tried to yank the strap into a more comfortable position. ‘It’s not a bra.’
‘Eh?’
‘It’s my bikini top. Didn’t make it to the launderette this week.’ She yanked the strap again and it snapped back against her skin. ‘Argh! Bastard!’
Sonny shook his head. ‘You are pure class.’
‘Graduated top of my finishing school.’
‘Take it off if it’s uncomfortable,’ Si said.
‘Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I’m not sitting here with my tits swinging free for the whole pub to gawp at, ta.’
‘Spoilsport,’ Dave said.
Sonny’s eyes narrowed as he watched a middle-aged woman in a blue twinset head into the Ladies, tapping at her smartphone.
‘Well, it looks like Barb’s team’ll be getting full marks on the dog breeds round,’ he muttered.
‘Again?’ Dave glared after her. ‘It’s not like she’s even subtle.’
‘Tim’d never let us get away with that,’ Si said. ‘It’d be disqualification, no second chances.’
‘She’s probably bonking him between rounds,’ Sonny said. ‘I always knew you could sleep your way to the top of this quiz league.’
Dave nodded to Clarrie. ‘All right, Clar, you’re up. Close your eyes and think of Tom Hardy, this could be our year.’
‘I’m not sleeping with Maserati Tim just so we can win the quiz league, David.’
‘Oh, go on. Give him one for the team.’
‘Why don’t you ask Si? He’s our slag-in-residence.’
Simon glanced over his shoulder at a slick-haired, loud-suited man setting up a microphone near the bar. ‘Not sure I’m Tim’s type, much as I’d love to help.’
‘Try your projectile flirting on him.’
Si winked at the quizmaster, who grinned and blew him a kiss.
‘There you go, you’re in,’ Clarrie said.
‘Oh yeah, that reminds me,’ Dave said. ‘Are we all allowed to ask you out or just Si?’
‘Bloody hell, Dave, am I the only lass in town or something?’
He laughed and jerked his head towards the bar, where a throng of men were waiting to be served. ‘You looked around lately?’
‘Yeah, it is a bit of a sausage fest this year, isn’t it?’ Clarrie said, following his gaze. ‘Looks like it could just be me and Barb flying the flag for the sisterhood now Gem and Yvonne are out of the League.’
‘Why aren’t the Farmers doing it this year?’ Sonny asked.
The Dalai Farmers – a five-man team consisting of Si’s parents, Yvonne and Pete, plus Dave’s dad, Jeff, and a couple of other oldies – had been doing the quizzes for years. This was the first time in around a decade that they hadn’t registered for the League.
‘My dad’s got a note from his mid-life crisis,’ Si said. ‘Him and Mum are going on a three-week coastal retreat this summer instead.’
‘Good news for us though, right?’ Clarrie said. ‘One less team in the competition nudges our odds up a bit. Plus we inherited Jeff.’
They all turned to look at the senior team member, one hand clasped protectively round his pint while he hummed with throaty snores. Dave gave an embarrassed cough.
‘Anyway, in answer to your question, Dave, yes, only I may ask Clarrie out,’ Si said. ‘In fact, I invented asking Clarrie out. You get your own rejection complex.’
‘All right, I will,’ Dave said. ‘And it can be on you, since I’m about to ask you out as well. Beer festival at the Hole this Thursday, what do you all say?’
‘Not me,’ Sonny said. ‘I’m staying in with the papers this week, make sure we don’t miss anything. Tim always does a current affairs round in the second quiz.’
Dave made an impatient motion. ‘Bring them with you if you’re that desperate to revise. Come on, it’s ten ales and a covers band. Should be a laugh.’
‘Nope.’ He flashed Dave a dirty look. ‘At least one of us has to take this seriously.’
‘Count me in, I’m not doing anything,’ Si said. ‘I mean, I certainly won’t be having pizza or sex or anything of that nature.’ He shot Clarrie a pointed glance, which she ignored.
‘Clarrie?’ Dave said.
‘Go on, if there’s a band,’ she said with a shrug.
Simon nodded to the door of the Pig and Trumpet, where another team were arriving. ‘Hey, who’s the newbie with Daz’s lot? He looks familiar.’
Clarrie turned to look at the man who’d just come in with Darren Constantin and his team, Les Quizerables. He was around sixty, short and full-bellied with round glasses perched precariously low on his nose.
‘Yeah, he does a bit.’
‘Didn’t go out with your mum, did he?’
Clarrie gave him a look. ‘Not everyone round here’s been out with my mum, you know.’
Sonny examined the man through narrowed eyes. ‘Hm.’
‘What’re you looking like that for?’ Dave asked.
‘Why’s the speccy bloke so much older than the rest of them?’ Sonny said, nodding to the other members of Les Quiz, their arch-rivals for the League title. ‘Looks a bit suspect.’
‘Well, why’s Jeff so much older than us?’ Clarrie said. ‘Probably drafted one of their dads to help with the olden days questions.’
‘Dunno, Clar, I’ve got a bad feeling.’
‘And I’ve got a nicotine craving.’ Si squeezed Clarrie’s shoulder. ‘Coming, kiddo? We’ve got about ten minutes, by my reckoning.’
He always asked, even though he knew she didn’t smoke. Well, not much. Not really. Not usually before the third pint.
‘Okay. If you promise not to ask me out again.’
‘I promise.’
*
‘So how about me and you dropping into that new Indian on Saturday?’ Simon asked as soon as they were out on the cobbles that served as the Pig and Trumpet’s smoking area. He pulled out his Zippo, lit a cigarette and passed it to her. ‘You can pay.’
‘You rotte
n little liar.’
‘Who’s little?’ Si said, smirking down at her from his six-three.
‘Stop towering me.’ Clarrie took a draw on their cigarette, exhaled with all the appreciation of a social smoker in heavy denial and handed it back. ‘You know, I was bigger than you once.’
‘For like five minutes. By Year Eight I could pick you up with one hand.’ He savoured a long drag on the cigarette, a kiss of baby pink around the filter now from her lipstick, and passed it back. ‘So what about it then?’
She placed the cigarette between her lips; felt the warmth, the slight wetness where he’d held it in his.
‘Pack it in, Si,’ she said, handing it over again. ‘Come on, the asking me out routine’s getting seriously old now. It’s not funny any more.’
‘It’s not supposed to be.’ He looked down into her face. ‘I mean it, Clar.’
‘The hell you do,’ she said, smiling. ‘You’ve never meant anything you’ve said to me in your whole entire life.’
‘Harsh.’
‘So are you going to ask Sally Pemberton out once you’ve finished pretending you want to get into my knickers? Doesn’t seem fair to tease the poor girl.’
‘Hey,’ he said, looking wounded. ‘If there’s one thing I never fake, it’s my desire to get into girls’ knickers.’ He glanced down at her jeans. ‘Assuming you’re wearing any.’
‘Er, excuse me?’
‘I thought you were out of clean clothes.’
‘I may be spilling out of my last pair of too-small Betty Boop pants here, yeah, but I haven’t quite resorted to going commando in the pub.’
‘Mmm. That’d really be… rock bottom.’
‘Fnar fnar.’ She finished the last of their cigarette and stubbed it out. ‘Anyway, sorry to shatter the fantasy.’
‘You build a man’s hopes just to cruelly dash them away,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘Like the hussy I am.’
‘You want to do your washing round at mine? I can pick you up after you finish work on Wednesday if you like.’
She looked up. ‘Oh, could I?’
‘Course, any time. I know you only skip the launderette when you’re broke.’ He smiled. ‘Tell you what, I’ll even lend you a tenner.’