A Question of Us

by Mary Jayne Baker

  ‘Oi. Last of the teddy boys.’ Sonny looked up from the answer sheet to glare at Tim. ‘If we’re playing by the rules tonight then you owe us a clue.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘We get a one-word clue for a question of our choice per quiz. That’s how it’s always been done. So help us out on this monkey one, will you?’

  ‘Oh right, the organ grinder thing.’ Tim cast suspicious eyes around the other teams, then lowered his voice. ‘Okay, Sonny. Coffee.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Coffee. That’s your clue.’

  ‘How the hell is that a clue?’

  Tim shrugged. ‘Sorry, lad, all you’re getting. Ta,’ he said as Si slid five pound coins over. He chucked them into his ice cream tub and sidled off to the next table.

  ‘Reckon I know it,’ Dave muttered when Tim was gone. ‘It’s something like a… cappuccino monkey.’

  Sonny turned to him, incredulity written all over his boyish face. ‘Have you gone off your tiny ginger head?’

  ‘I swear down, knobhead, cappuccino monkey.’

  ‘What the fuck’s a fucking cappuccino monkey? One with a frothy hairdo and sprinkling of chocolate?’

  ‘I’m telling you, seen it on the Discovery Channel. Go on, put it.’

  ‘I am not putting cappuccino monkey, David,’ Sonny said, drawing himself up. ‘Nor am I putting espresso monkey, Americano monkey or bloody Nescafé Gold Blend monkey. We’d look a right bunch of plums when we swapped papers for marking.’

  ‘Look…’ Dave jabbed a self-righteous finger at his teammate, ready to argue the lesser-sprinkled cappuccino monkey into existence to the death and beyond.

  Si leaned back on his chair and nudged Clarrie. ‘Tell you what, I only come for this bit,’ he muttered.

  ‘I know. We should start bringing popcorn.’

  ‘You know it’s Capuchin, right?’

  ‘Course,’ she said. ‘Reckon we should tell them?’

  ‘Nah. Let’s see how far it goes.’

  ‘Bet you that quid you lent me plus a fag Davy talks him round.’

  ‘Done.’ Si and Clarrie shook hands surreptitiously under the table.

  Dave did eventually convince Sonny to put his faith in the legend of the cappuccino monkey, fully caffeinated and ready to ‘ook’, just in time to be vetoed by his two teammates, and Simon was in debt to Clarrie by one cigarette and a torn-up IOU for a quid.

  The first round after the break was British history, which Si predictably blitzed, followed by S – one of those gimmicky rounds where the answers all have to begin with the same letter. By the time Tim called for teams to swap papers, the Flower Arrangers were still arguing over the last question.

  ‘It’s not Sasquatch, Sonny, that’s a yeti,’ Dave was telling his teammate. ‘Why would that be Louis Armstrong’s nickname?’

  ‘It is though, that’s what they called him. Trust me, my nan’s well into him.’

  ‘Why would they call him after a yeti? The man didn’t even have hair.’

  ‘Maybe he had hairy toes or something.’ Sonny raised an inspired finger. ‘Oh! Or, maybe because of how he played the trumpet.’

  ‘Like a yeti?’

  ‘Yeah. Look, you lot haven’t got anything better, have you?’ He glared at Si. ‘Shame you didn’t do more swotting for music rounds.’

  ‘I can’t learn everything in five days, can I?’ Si said. ‘Anyway, Dave’s music.’

  ‘I’m more of a heavy metal man,’ Dave said. ‘It’s a Dad question if you ask me. Nostalgia.’

  ‘Oh, just get something down,’ Clarrie said.

  While Dave scrawled ‘Sasquatch’ into the empty space, Clarrie leaned over to talk to Sonny.

  ‘Why don’t you swap with Gem’s team?’ she asked, nodding towards the Pink Ladies.

  Sonny glanced over at them. ‘Not sure, Clar.’

  ‘Go on, she’s looking at you. She wants you to go talk to her.’

  ‘Yeah, but… not sure I’m ready. Maybe next week.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be—’ But Clarrie’s arguments in Gemma’s favour were cut off by the arrival of Si’s pupil Shona, brandishing her team’s answer sheet.

  ‘Wanna swap with us, Sir?’

  ‘You’re bloody joking,’ Si said. ‘I have to mark enough of your stuff. Don’t see why I should do it when I’m not getting paid.’

  Shona grinned. ‘You’re funny, Sir. Here.’ She thrust the paper at him and he took it with a resigned sigh.

  ‘Here’s ours,’ Dave said, handing it to her. ‘Make sure you do it properly, child.’

  Shona pulled herself up, wobbling slightly on the oversized heels. ‘We can do it. We’re not thick, you know.’

  Dave turned to Si. ‘Are they?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later.’

  Shona giggled. ‘You love us really, Sir.’ She tottered off back to her team.

  ‘Oof,’ Si said, skimming his eyes over their answers. ‘Tell you what, they’re not going to win any prizes for spelling. Or handwriting. Oh Christ…’

  ‘What?’ Clarrie said.

  ‘Just seen their history round. God, I hope our head never gets to hear about this. I can see it coming up at my next appraisal.’ He pointed at one answer. ‘Look.’

  ‘Bloody hell, graphic,’ Clarrie said, blinking. ‘Not sure I knew language like that when I was their age. You reckon it’s aimed at Tim?’

  ‘No, it’s that question on which king was said to have tried to hold back the tide.’

  ‘Oh. Cnut?’

  ‘Yeah. Still, at least they knew it, even if their spelling’s off. Look, for the name of Queen Victoria’s consort they’ve put bloody Sherlock Holmes.’

  ‘Ha! You’ve got your work cut out at that school, haven’t you?’ Sonny said.

  ‘I can’t take any more. Here, Davy, you do it.’ Si thrust the paper at Dave, shielding his eyes.

  Tim tapped his mike. ‘Right. Here are your answers. Question one: Brian Blessed played “Fancy” Smith in Z-Cars. Two: organ grinders were often accompanied by Capuchin monkeys –’ Sonny sent Dave a smug sideways glance – ‘Three: well-known cockney rhyming slang Richard the Third was Shakespeare’s bottled spider. Four: largest organ in the body is the skin –’

  Dave glared at Sonny. ‘I thought you said you knew that massive organ one.’

  ‘I did,’ Sonny said, frowning. ‘Oi, Timothy!’ he called out. ‘How d’you work that out then?’

  Tim chucked him a dirty look for interrupting. ‘Coz that’s the answer. Largest organ is the skin. Covers all of you, doesn’t it?’

  ‘That’s largest by area. You didn’t say that, did you? I was going by mass.’

  Tim shrugged. ‘Sorry, lad. Quizmaster’s decision is final, as always.’

  ‘Bloody dictator,’ Sonny muttered.

  After the final answer revealed Louis Armstrong’s nickname to be not Sasquatch but Satchmo, the Flower Arrangers swapped papers with Shona’s team again, who’d scraped a paltry twelve points out of seventy.

  ‘How’d we do?’ Si asked, trying to see through the paper as Dave held it up in front of him.

  ‘Yeah… not bad,’ Dave said, looking impressed. ‘Full twenty on the history round with our Joker and it’s a sixty-seven in all. I think that’s a new record for us.’

  After Tim had collected in the papers, he fired up his mike. ‘Okay, so, tonight’s winners – Les Quizerables again, no surprise there. And in second place… well, it’s a rarity. The Mighty Morphin’ Flower Arrangers. Well done, Clarissa and the boys.’ He came over to shake her hand. ‘Here you go, tenner second prize, and twenty quid for Darren’s lot.’

  ‘Thanks, Tim,’ she said, taking the note from him.

  They didn’t often manage a second. Dave let out a small yip of a cheer, but Sonny and Si just blinked.

  Clarrie snuck a glance at Darren, accepting his twenty quid first prize. He smiled when he noticed her looking at him, and sent a thumbs-up of congratulations.

  ‘And in term
s of the League…’ Back at his microphone, Tim scanned the list in his hand. ‘… that brings the Flower Arrangers up to third place. Leading is still Les Quiz, on 134. Then the Pink Ladies on 130, Flower Arrangers on 129, Murgatroyds on 124 and Quiz-teama Aguilera on 118. So all to play for, ladies and gents. See you next week at the Railwayman’s.’

  ‘Right.’ Dave pushed his drink away and stood up. ‘Well done, you lot. I’m offski.’

  ‘You’re shooting off a bit quick, aren’t you?’ Sonny glanced at Dave’s still half-full glass. ‘You haven’t even finished your pint.’

  ‘On a promise, aren’t I?’ Dave said, grinning. ‘I’ll see you Tuesday for the next one.’

  ‘If you can find your way out of your sex pit,’ Sonny muttered.

  ‘I like to think of it as more of a sex lair,’ Dave said. ‘Anyway, it’s her sex lair. I’ve got Mum and Dad to worry about.’ He patted Si on the shoulder as he passed. ‘Good job tonight, sunshine. Keep it up and we might have that trophy in the bag.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Simon’s eyes twinkled at Clarrie. ‘Not all that’ll be in the bag.’

  12

  ‘You two coming to the Boar for one before we get off?’ Sonny said when Dave had gone. ‘We’ve got ten quid to put in the beer kitty now.’

  Clarrie shook her head. ‘Think I’ll leave it, I’m a bit tired. The ten quid’ll keep while next week.’

  ‘Yeah, I’d better head off too,’ Si said. He glanced at the door, where Shona and the other teens from his school were filing out. ‘Oh, thank God. I can finally go have a cig.’ He stood up. ‘Come on, Clar, I owe you one.’

  ‘Fine,’ Sonny said, looking sulky. ‘I’ll ring my mum for a lift then. Twats.’

  ‘Well, that’ll teach you for going on the pull last week instead of coming out with us, won’t it?’ Si took Clarrie’s hand and led her outside.

  ‘Let’s go in the wendy house, keep out of the drizzle,’ he said, indicating a stone smokers’ hut at the back of the rain-sodden car park.

  Clarrie followed him in and they took a seat on the bench.

  ‘So what will we talk about, Clar? We’re going to struggle for conversation now I’m not allowed to ask you out.’ He lit them a cigarette and slung his spare arm around her shoulders.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got something lined up,’ Clarrie said. ‘What’re you doing Friday?’

  ‘Bloody hell, you’re not by some miracle going to ask me out, are you?’

  ‘No, I want you to come round my mum’s. We’re having a family dinner.’

  ‘Ha! You’re inviting me to a meal with the family and you reckon that’s not asking me out?’

  ‘See, I knew you’d be like this,’ she said. ‘You used to come round for tea all the time, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, when we were kids. I mean, I take it we’re not having fish finger sandwiches and jelly. Although I should point out that if we are, that’d be fucking awesome.’

  ‘Look, it’s my mum who asked you, okay? She wants to have a family meal with her new bloke and apparently you come under the heading family.’ Clarrie paused to take a drag on the cigarette he’d passed her. ‘Plus she reckons you make me look good.’

  ‘She’s right there.’

  ‘All right, Captain Fantastic, get over yourself. So are you coming?’

  ‘Okay, if Kath asked for me.’ He plucked the cigarette from her mouth, drew on it and put it back between her lips, still holding it in his own two fingers. ‘She’s nice, your mum.’

  Clarrie took the cigarette off him so her lips weren’t touching his fingertips. ‘You would say that. Just coz she thinks the sun shines out from between your pert little bumcheeks.’

  He grinned. ‘That does help.’

  ‘By the way, there’s some rules,’ she said, handing back the cigarette. ‘We’re not allowed to smoke, we’re not allowed to swear and we’re not allowed to take the piss out of her boyfriend’s porno ’tache. Oh, and we have to drink wine.’

  Si wrinkled his nose. ‘Right. And did I already agree to go to this?’

  ‘You did, yeah.’

  ‘Bollocks.’

  ‘Favour to me, okay? I hate meeting her boyfriends. They’re always annoying or pompous or bloody… Tim, and they never stick around.’ Clarrie took the last of the cigarette from Si, smoked it to the filter and stubbed out the remains. ‘Mind you, she seems a bit keen on this one.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘That pharmacist guy, Greg. You know him?’

  ‘Not to speak to. I think he knows my parents though. God, weren’t kidding about the ’tache, were you?’

  ‘Nope.’ Clarrie smirked, remembering something Kath had told her. ‘Hey, did you know my mum used to fancy your dad?’

  ‘Did she? Christ, Dave was right about this place. We are bloody incestuous.’

  ‘I know. Everyone seems to have been out with everyone round here.’

  ‘Well, not quite everyone, eh?’ He gave her shoulders a squeeze.

  ‘Pack it in, Si. Not allowed to ask me out, remember?’

  He shrugged. ‘Didn’t say I was going to, did I? What were we talking about?’

  ‘My mum fancying your dad.’

  ‘Oh yeah. To be fair, it sounds like all the lasses back in the day used to fancy my dad a bit. He never stops going on about it, winds Mum right up.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Yeah, I bet that gets old fast.’

  ‘Listen, when I do it, it’s cheeky and adorable. And maybe just the teensiest bit erotic as well.’

  A shiver went through her. She hugged herself, flinching.

  ‘What’s up, you cold?’ Si asked. ‘Want me to stick the heater on?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  Simon leaned round to look into her face, then broke into a broad grin. ‘Ha!’

  ‘Ha what?’

  ‘Turned you on.’

  ‘Shut up. You did not.’

  ‘Yes I did. You got hot when I said erotic then, didn’t you?’

  Clarrie snorted. ‘What, you think it’s that easy?’

  ‘Erotic.’

  ‘Bugger off, Si.’

  He brought his lips close to her ear and lowered his voice to a soft, slow purr. ‘Erotic.’

  ‘Si, stop it.’ She jerked her head to one side, away from his mouth.

  ‘Why would I do that? I’m having the time of my life.’

  ‘Look, stop pissing about with my ear and light us another cig, will you? I won another half off you with that cappuccino monkey business.’

  ‘Need it to calm your nerves after all the eroticism?’

  ‘Shut it, cocky.’

  Si grinned and flicked open his Zippo.

  A blue Astra pulled up just as they were finishing their second cigarette. The window wound down to reveal a merry-looking Punjabi lady in her forties, eyes crinkled with laughter lines.

  ‘Hiya kids. Sorry to interrupt while you’re enjoying your cancer sticks.’

  ‘Hi Seema,’ Clarrie said, smiling at Sonny’s mother.

  Seema nodded towards Si. ‘He asking you out again, Clarissa?’

  Clarrie frowned. ‘Bloody hell, don’t you start. Is there a newsletter that goes out about my love life?’

  ‘Sort of. I was talking to your mum in Tesco.’

  ‘Oh right, the Tesco mothers’ meetings. Do you all just hang around the aubergines at a certain time on a Friday or what?’

  ‘Something like that. We’re thinking of starting a book club in the cereal aisle.’ Seema gestured to the pub. ‘My lad still in there?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll fetch him.’

  Si put a hand on her arm, his mouth curving. ‘Let me, Clar.’

  ‘Nope,’ she said. ‘My turn.’

  Clarrie walked to the back door of the pub and barged it open. She shouted across the other punters to Sonny.

  ‘Sunil Bandal! Get home for your tea before your mam comes in and gives you a bloody good hiding!’ There was a ripple of laughter as all eyes turned to the lone Flower A
rranger.

  Clarrie let the door slam closed and walked back, grinning, to join Si. She held out her fist and he bumped it with his.

  Sonny stomped out a minute later, face like a slapped thundercloud.

  ‘You’re dead, Midwinter.’

  Clarrie giggled. ‘Ah, give over, you mardy bugger. You know you love me when I’m hilarious.’

  ‘Right, boozy, in the car,’ Seema said to Sonny, jerking her thumb towards the passenger seat. ‘You’ve got to be up in the morning, we’re going round to Janrat and Daljeet’s for coffee. Their youngest is home from uni, just finished her PhD.’

  ‘I’m not getting set up again, am I?’ Sonny said as he climbed into the car.

  ‘I had one of my premonition dreams last night, Sonny.’

  ‘Christ, not this…’

  ‘You, a bald, overweight old man, crying into your cold baked beans in a bedsit…’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Mum!’

  ‘Your white-haired mother, grandchildless and alone in the old folks’ home, no longer around to look after you and tell you to watch your bloody language…’

  Sonny groaned as the Astra pulled away into the night.

  13

  ‘Who was the last one again?’ Si asked as he drove himself and Clarrie round to Kath’s house in one of the Denworth satellite villages for her meet-the-boyfriend dinner. ‘Terry the trainspotter?’

  ‘No. Mike.’ Clarrie scowled at the car ahead. ‘That twat who didn’t like my mates.’

  ‘Oh yeah, that guy.’ Si treated the car in front to a punishing scowl too. ‘Took a particular dislike to our Sonny, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah. Prick. Glad she found out sooner rather than later anyway.’

  ‘Worst pub night ever. Let’s never invite your mum’s boyfriends out for a drink without vetting them again.’

  ‘They weren’t all Mikes though,’ Clarrie said. ‘Some of them have been all right.’

  ‘Yeah? Which ones?’

  She scrabbled around her memory for a man her mum had gone out with who hadn’t been 100 per cent awful.

  ‘Johnny?’

  ‘You mean Johnny who was forty-eight and still lived with his parents?’

  ‘He was nice enough though.’