is kind of you! You see I adore quizzes,’ she explained, as she barged past me and installed herself on the sofa. ‘I watch them all. I’m rather good at them if I say so myself. Ooh, is that an open bottle? I’d love a glass.’
I wouldn’t have minded Cynthia’s presence—or the speed with which she consumed most of my Merlot—were it not for her non-stop commentary on the show. She sat right forward on the sofa, staring at the screen intently. If she’d had a tub of popcorn she would have been rattling it.
‘What an awful shirt that man’s wearing…And she really should get her teeth fixed…It’s the Ngorongoro crater you moron ! Ngorongoro!…The presenter’s a bit weird-looking, don’t you think…? No, no, it’s not a monkey house, you steaming great ignoramus—it’s a place where bees are kept!’ At times her exasperation with the contestants would almost lift her on to her feet. At other times she would roll her eyes at me before returning her gaze to the screen. ‘No, not the Titanic , you idiot —it was the Lusitania ! How many properties are there on the Monopoly board? Forty! Oh. Twenty-two is it? Hmmm…’ Sometimes she’d try and hurry the contestants, as though she was the compere. ‘Come on, now…Come on …’ Then it came to Turn the Tables time. ‘My God,’ Cynthia gasped. ‘He’s going to ask her a question. That’s novel! I bet Anne Robinson wouldn’t like that!’ We watched as the leading contestant, Geoff, the poultry wholesaler, asked me, with a smug little smile, as though he was convinced I couldn’t possibly know the answer, ‘What is a quadrimum?’
‘A quadrimum?’ Cynthia repeated with an appalled expression. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea. Poor girl, she’ll never get that—how humiliating. I can’t bear to watch.’ She covered her face with her hands. We could hear the stage clock ticking as the five-second countdown began. ‘Quadrimum?’ Cynthia repeated quietly from behind oblonged fingers. ‘Fiendish. Absolutely fiendish …’
‘It’s the best or oldest wine,’ Cynthia and I heard me say. ‘It has to be at least four years old.’
‘That’s…correct,’ said Geoff with an expression that combined horror, surprise and naked disappointment—after all, he’d just lost two grand.
‘That was good,’ Cynthia said. She looked at me, her eyes like satellite dishes. ‘I was amazed she knew it.’
‘It’s not that hard. It’s in any dictionary of difficult words—I used to make myself learn five new ones every day—andof course studying Classics helped. That word features in a beautiful poem by Horace.’ I made a mental note to re-read it. I glanced at the shelves—I knew I’d got it somewhere.
‘Even so, it’s impressive, I mean…’ She was looking at me again, and now her expression had changed. ‘I mean…’ She stared at me openly then turned her head back to the screen. By now the penny was rolling around in the gutter, tinkling loudly. ‘It’s you… ‘ she breathed. ‘I didn’t…notice…I didn’t…realize…’ She’d clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘But it is you, isn’t it?’ I nodded. ‘Of course —you’re called Laura.’ She looked at the TV. ‘And so is she. ‘
‘That’s…right.’
Having looked mortified, Cynthia suddenly brightened, as if seeming to glimpse the possibilities of the situation. ‘Well…that’s rather good. I’ve got a celebrity neighbour. A real live television presenter!’ she concluded happily. ‘Now, tell me— how did that come about?’ As the closing credits on the show scrolled up the screen, I quickly explained how I’d got the job.
‘So you’ve had fame thrust upon you, then.’
‘Well I certainly didn’t go looking for it.’ I thought, sinkingly, of Nick. ‘Fame’s the last thing I want. And you?’ I went on. ‘You’re a…medium aren’t you?’ I poured her another glass of wine. ‘A spiritualist?’
‘Oh no .’ She looked appalled.
I wouldn’t have minded Cynthia’s presence—or the speed with which she consumed most of my Merlot—were it not for her non-stop commentary on the show. She sat right forward on the sofa, staring at the screen intently. If she’d had a tub of popcorn she would have been rattling it.
‘What an awful shirt that man’s wearing…And she really should get her teeth fixed…It’s the Ngorongoro crater you moron ! Ngorongoro!…The presenter’s a bit weird-looking, don’t you think…? No, no, it’s not a monkey house, you steaming great ignoramus—it’s a place where bees are kept!’ At times her exasperation with the contestants would almost lift her on to her feet. At other times she would roll her eyes at me before returning her gaze to the screen. ‘No, not the Titanic , you idiot —it was the Lusitania ! How many properties are there on the Monopoly board? Forty! Oh. Twenty-two is it? Hmmm…’ Sometimes she’d try and hurry the contestants, as though she was the compere. ‘Come on, now…Come on …’ Then it came to Turn the Tables time. ‘My God,’ Cynthia gasped. ‘He’s going to ask her a question. That’s novel! I bet Anne Robinson wouldn’t like that!’ We watched as the leading contestant, Geoff, the poultry wholesaler, asked me, with a smug little smile, as though he was convinced I couldn’t possibly know the answer, ‘What is a quadrimum?’
‘A quadrimum?’ Cynthia repeated with an appalled expression. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea. Poor girl, she’ll never get that—how humiliating. I can’t bear to watch.’ She covered her face with her hands. We could hear the stage clock ticking as the five-second countdown began. ‘Quadrimum?’ Cynthia repeated quietly from behind oblonged fingers. ‘Fiendish. Absolutely fiendish …’
‘It’s the best or oldest wine,’ Cynthia and I heard me say. ‘It has to be at least four years old.’
‘That’s…correct,’ said Geoff with an expression that combined horror, surprise and naked disappointment—after all, he’d just lost two grand.
‘That was good,’ Cynthia said. She looked at me, her eyes like satellite dishes. ‘I was amazed she knew it.’
‘It’s not that hard. It’s in any dictionary of difficult words—I used to make myself learn five new ones every day—andof course studying Classics helped. That word features in a beautiful poem by Horace.’ I made a mental note to re-read it. I glanced at the shelves—I knew I’d got it somewhere.
‘Even so, it’s impressive, I mean…’ She was looking at me again, and now her expression had changed. ‘I mean…’ She stared at me openly then turned her head back to the screen. By now the penny was rolling around in the gutter, tinkling loudly. ‘It’s you… ‘ she breathed. ‘I didn’t…notice…I didn’t…realize…’ She’d clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘But it is you, isn’t it?’ I nodded. ‘Of course —you’re called Laura.’ She looked at the TV. ‘And so is she. ‘
‘That’s…right.’
Having looked mortified, Cynthia suddenly brightened, as if seeming to glimpse the possibilities of the situation. ‘Well…that’s rather good. I’ve got a celebrity neighbour. A real live television presenter!’ she concluded happily. ‘Now, tell me— how did that come about?’ As the closing credits on the show scrolled up the screen, I quickly explained how I’d got the job.
‘So you’ve had fame thrust upon you, then.’
‘Well I certainly didn’t go looking for it.’ I thought, sinkingly, of Nick. ‘Fame’s the last thing I want. And you?’ I went on. ‘You’re a…medium aren’t you?’ I poured her another glass of wine. ‘A spiritualist?’
‘Oh no .’ She looked appalled.
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