The Hive (27 page)

“Well, you say that,” said Bubba. “But we do still only have seven players, you know.”

“Yes,” said Heather, chewing her lip. “And one of them’s only me…”

Indeed, thought Rachel, whose corporeal being was now consumed with a desire to win, greater than any desire she had felt about anything for years. And another one is your dull husband. And then there’s Mark I’m-a-Spiv-and-I’m-Proud Green.

“Where’s Will?”

“At home. Couldn’t get a babysitter.”

God help us…

“Well I’m pretty good,” said Bubba encouragingly. “Very strong in the arts, in particular. And anything that requires, you know,
emotional
intelligence or
empathy
…”

“Good-oh,” said Georgie. “Fingers crossed for an empathy round.”

The microphone whistled.

“Hello, good evening and welcome,” began Martyn Pryce, “to the St. Ambrose Annual Quiz Night.”

They all turned round to face the front.

“He’s lame,” said Jo, quite loudly.

“First things first, every team needs a name”

Georgie turned back to the table. “Got that,” she said. “We are the Outsiders.”

“and a captain.”

“Me!” Georgie stuck her hand up before anyone else could. “Me, me, me. I’m captain.” She wiggled her fingers in the air. “It’s me.”

At that moment Rachel’s mother came bustling across the room, towing a sheepish-looking Tom Orchard by the lapel.

“Ah,” she said. “Here we are, Mr. Orchard. At last. A table with a spare seat. Perhaps we can squeeze you in here?” She pulled out the empty chair next to Rachel’s, without letting go of his jacket. “I see you’re one player down on this team. Here’s an extra man for you.” She forced Tom down by his shoulders. “There you are, Tom. This will do. As good a place as any.” She pushed his chair firmly back into the table. His thigh brushed Rachel’s. “Just to make up the numbers.” And she bustled off again.

“You’d better be scribe, Mr. Orchard,” said Georgie, pushing the answer sheet towards him.

“OK,” he replied. “But please, call me Tom.”

“RIGHT,” bellowed Martyn Pryce. “WE’RE OFF. HERE’S THE FIRST QUESTION OF THE ST. AMBROSE QUIZ AND IT IS THIS:

OF WHAT IS AMBROSE THE PATRON SAINT?”

They all knew that one. That was the first picture in the time line that Rachel had done: him with his beehive.

“Good start,” Tom said. “Where are the pencils?”

“Bea put them out. Has she not given us any?” asked Georgie. “I don’t believe it. How low exactly is she planning to stoop? Who’s got a pen?” Nobody said anything. “Brilliant. Two bloody fondue sets and a bunch of edelweiss, yet no sodding pen.”

“I’ve got my crayons,” said Rachel, opening her bag. “But they are my favorites. You have to be careful…”

Georgie snatched them from Rachel’s clutches and gave them to Tom. “Here you are, Mr. Orchard. Tom. Now focus, you lot. Favorites, indeed. Will you bloody well focus.”

“WHO OR WHAT IS THE STARBUCKS LOGO?”

“Ooh!” Bubba gave a little jump and whispered the answer. “I forgot about coffee. I’m
very
up on coffee.”

“HOW MANY TEETH DOES A TORTOISE HAVE?”

“OMG!” squeaked Heather. She whispered the answer to Tom. “Only pet Guy’s not allergic to.” She clapped her hands in triumph. “That’s how I know.”

“WHERE WAS THE FIRST ESCALATOR IN BRITAIN?”

Bubba knew again. “And retail!” she mouthed to the table. “I’m
fabulous
on retail.”

“WHICH IS THE HOTTEST PLANET?”

Everyone knew that.

“OVER WHICH WATERFALL DID SHERLOCK HOLMES FALL?”

Rachel and Tom huddled together and conferred.

“WHAT CONTRIBUTION TO TEXTILES AND ANGLO-AMERICAN COOPERATION WAS MADE BY DR. WALLACE CAROTHERS?”

“Me! I know!” squeaked Bubba. “Fabrics too! I’m
brilliant
at fabrics.”

Well, well, well, Georgie thought to herself. Look at us. A proper, functioning team. Whoever would have predicted it? She stole a look over at the enemy. Bea and Tony were fussing around with drinks. The three ringers were hunched geekily over their answer sheet and Chris was sitting there, smiling. Georgie knew that smile. It was the smile of someone who is way out of his depth, but pretending otherwise. The smile of an idiot who has perfected the art of posing as an intellectual; the smile, in her experience, of an arse. Not for the first time did she feel a frisson of fury that he should have had the damned cheek to leave her Rachel.

“WHICH PUBLICATION HAS A SECTION HEADED ‘THE HERDING OF ANIMALS AFTER SUNSET’?”

Guy leapt forward and gave the answer to Tom. “Then it must be
The Highway Code,
” whispered Heather. “Only thing he’s read.”

“OF WHOM DID CHAUCER WRITE: ‘AND GLADLY WOULD HE LEARN AND GLADLY TEACH’?”

“You can leave that one to me,” said Tom.

“WHO CREATED MR. CHIPS?”

“And that,” he smiled.

“AND WHERE IN BRITAIN ARE THE REMAINS OF ST. EDMUND INTERRED?”

Blank faces all round. “Damn,” said Georgie. “We were doing all right up till then.” Then Rachel whispered something into Tom’s ear, and pressed up against him as he whispered back. And then she held her hand over her mouth as she said something else and he said she was brilliant and she said he got there first and they both hunched, tightly, giggling, over the table as he wrote it down. And when he got up, they were pressed together still. And, Well, well, well, thought Georgie again, as she watched them.

Well, well, well.

“IF THERE’S ONE THING ST. AMBROSE CAN PRIDE ITSELF ON IT IS THIS: ALL CHILDREN LEAVE HERE WITH AN EXCELLENT GROUNDING IN LITERACY AND NUMERACY.” There were murmurs of approval. “BUT WHAT ABOUT THEIR PARENTS? THAT’S WHAT WE WANT TO KNOW. SO THIS ROUND IS ABOUT YOU AND YOUR WORDS AND YOUR NUMBERS. PENCILS AT THE READY.”

Rachel sat back in her seat. She didn’t need to test her own numeracy, thanks anyway. No one was going to win anything with her number skills. Georgie, Tom and Mark seemed to have this covered. Especially Mark.

“HOW MANY DOZEN IN ONE THOUSAND ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY?”

Blimey. He was incredible. Tom shifted in his seat slightly, and his leg found Rachel’s again.

“HOW MANY SQUARES ARE THERE ON HALF A QUARTER OF A CHESSBOARD?”

Mark whispered the answer even before Martyn Pryce finished the question.

“HOW MANY WHOLE NUMBERS DIVIDE EXACTLY INTO TWO THOUSAND FOUR HUNDRED AND THIRTY-ONE?”

He was like Rain Man.

“I’m stronger on the arts,” Bubba murmured to the table. “The humanities. And so on…”

“AND THE NEXT QUESTIONS ARE ABOUT THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.”

Tom was predictably reliable on his pronouns, she was glad to see. No help required there.

“IF YOU COMBINE A FORM OF THE VERB ‘TO BE’ WITH THE PAST PARTICIPLE OF ANOTHER VERB, WHAT IS CREATED?”

But now Rachel leapt forward again, and her thigh was pressing into Tom’s. The rest of the team fell away, happy to leave them to it. Not surprisingly. For who round here could know more than her about the passive voice? Hey, she’d been really working hard on that lately, seriously swotting up: she was left by Chris; she was dumped by Bea; she was made fun of at that ghastly ball. Yes, she was flirted with, for a brief—rather happy, looking back on it—period. Then she was frightened off by those two dragons.

“SPELL THE FOLLOWING: MILLENNIUM.”

Tom spelled it.

Blimey, she could be a contender at the Passive Voice Olympics. She didn’t quite know what Bea and Chris were up to over there with The Reigning Champs but she did know that she was being put in a difficult position. And she was now being made to realize that that was enough of that.

Well, from right now, she was starting to take control of things.

“MEDICINE.”

And Tom spelled that.

Henceforth, her personal pronoun would be at the forefront of every active verb she could think of.

“AND LASTLY, HERE’S ONE FOR THE GARDENERS OUT THERE: ESCHSCHOLZIA.”

And he even knew that one too.

“Oh, Mr. Orchard,” she said. The warmth from his touch was radiating out from her thigh, spreading all over her lower limbs. “You are a lovely speller.”

“ANY JOKERS FOR SPORT?” asked Martyn Pryce.

“Christ, no,” said Georgie to the table. “Oh shit. I was hoping this wasn’t going to come up. Anyone know anything whatsoever?”

“Yup. Me. Give it here.” Jo grabbed a crayon, hunched over the answer sheet and took herself into a zone of her own.

“Now that,” said Georgie, approvingly, “is what I call teamwork.”

“WHAT ROLE DOES THE CYCLOPS PLAY IN MODERN SPORT?”

The rest of them were left with nothing to do but chat quietly and nibble on slices of schnitzel.

“HOW MANY TIMES DID RED RUM WIN THE GRAND NATIONAL?”

“So how long have you all been friends, then?” asked Tom. “You seem like you’ve known each other for ages.”

“Well, Heather and Georgie met when they were eleven,” Rachel began.

“Oh, earlier than that,” said Heather happily. “We first met at Brownies.”

“Shush, Heather,” said Georgie. “Jo is trying to concentrate.”

“HOW MANY TIMES WAS GARY LINEKER BOOKED IN HIS WHOLE CAREER?”

“No actual way,” squeaked Rachel. “Georgina Martin, you were never a Brownie.”

Georgie shuffled uncomfortably and gave Heather a sharp kick under the table.

“Oh but she was,” said Heather proudly. “She was a wonderful Brownie. So committed. Badges all down her arm.” She beamed around the table. “George was my sixer, actually. I worshipped her.”

“Shut up, Heather,” Georgie hissed.

“FOR WHICH TEAM DID ROY OF THE ROVERS PLAY?”

“Ooh, yes, shut up, Heather,” cackled Rachel. “What happens round a mushroom—”

“Toadstool,” Georgie snapped.

“—stays round a mushroom.”

“TOADSTOOL.” She couldn’t seem to hold herself back. “IT’S A FUCKING TOADSTOOL.”

“EMLYN HUGHES PLAYED FOR ENGLAND SIXTY-TWO TIMES. HOW MANY GOALS DID HE SCORE?”

Bea was staring at them with her eyebrow raised.

“There we are then,” interrupted Jo, pushing her answer sheet into the middle of the table. “Think we’ve done all right there. Quietly confident. If anyone else wants to give it the once-over…”

“Jo, you’re a star. I wouldn’t have a clue about any of them. You have saved the day.”

“You have,” added Rachel. “Go on, sixer, give her a badge.”

“Actually,” said Jo, “we should all be thanking Steve. I wouldn’t have known any of those without him.” She got up. “Might just nip off for a cigarette.”

“OK. Papers please,” called Martyn Pryce.

“The sixer does not hand out the badges.” Georgie held their answer sheet over her shoulder for collection. “They are in the gift of Brown Owl.” And then she hissed, very quietly, the lowest, the dirtiest insult she knew: “Boggart.”

“Good. Come on, team.” Georgie shook a fist across the table. “We’re strong on this. I can feel it. Best shot here. We need our best shot.” Rachel was not quite sure what had happened to the Georgie she knew and loved, but she certainly didn’t recognize this one.

“WHOSE WAS THE FIRST ROYAL WEDDING TO BE BROADCAST IN COLOR ON TELEVISION?”

Georgie whispered the answer and gave a louder “Yesss!” for the rest of the hall to hear. And there was that fist again.

“WHO SHOT J.R.?”

Heather got that. Georgie’s excitement was growing.

“NAME ALL THE TELETUBBIES, GIVING THE COLOR OF EACH.”

How could Rachel not know that one? Or Chris? Josh had been obsessed with them as a toddler. An entire era had revolved around Teletubbyland. They had effectively lived on Home Hill. They knew every uttering of every episode. Dipsy, Laa-Laa and their strange, fat friends were the principal icons of Mason family history. She stole a look over at The Reigning Champs, preparing herself for Chris’s eyes meeting hers, guarding herself against a flash of recognition, a moment of intimacy…He was still chatting away to Tony the Perv. The question, it seemed, held no live significance to him. The Teletubbies were but ancient history. And Chris had never seen the point of ancient history.

“HOW DID LADY BELLAMY DIE?”

She and Tom both knew that one.

“OF WHICH REAL U.S. CITY IS CARCHETTI THE FICTIONAL MAYOR?”

And that. The first time he had come round was the night of the Gourmet Gamble. Tom had studied her shelf of box sets while Rachel had knocked up a salad to go with the fish pie. It had become apparent then that their taste in TV was not just compatible, it was identical.

“WHO WHEN WE FIRST MET HIM WAS SEVEN HUNDRED AND TWENTY YEARS OLD, HAD TWO HEARTS AND CAME FROM THE PLANET GALLIFREY?”

Rachel looked over at Chris again. Another child, another passion…He was checking his BlackBerry.

“FROM WHICH FILM DO THE FOLLOWING LINES COME:

“‘TOMORROW IS ANOTHER DAY’?”

This round really was falling very nicely for them. Georgie was half out of her seat with excitement.

“AND FOR YOUR LAST QUESTION: ‘WHEN YOU REALIZE YOU WANT TO SPEND THE REST OF YOUR LIFE WITH SOMEONE, YOU WANT THE REST OF YOUR LIFE TO START AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.’”

Rachel whispered to Tom. Tom smiled as he wrote it down.

And that was it for Georgie. She could no longer contain herself. She was on her feet. “Oh ye-ah, oh ye-ah.” She was wriggling, gyrating around the table. “Outsi-ders. Outsi-ders.” Doing a strange stirring motion with her hands. “Oh ye-ah. Oh ye-ah. OUTSIDERS.
Yeah.
”

“I’d better just go and say hi to a few people before supper,” said Tom as he rose. “Excuse me.”

“Seems very nice,” said Georgie, watching him go. “Solid player.”

“Yeah,” agreed Jo. “Not an actual laugh a minute, though, is he? I dunno. The boys go on like he’s some comic genius, but I can’t say he cracks me up.”

“Same,” agreed Heather. “Sometimes Maisie just sits there giggling about some remembered Headmaster’s Funny Joke. And we can’t make head nor tail…”

“Anyway,” said Georgie. “Back to important matters: I am a proud woman here tonight. Proud of our performance. Proud of the way we have conducted ourselves. The first half has seen some good solid play, with the occasional flash of brilliance—”