A Question of Love Page 3

  ‘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!’

  ‘So the breastfeeding’s obviously paying off then,’ I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.

  ‘Oh, absolutely. It definitely makes them brighter.’

  ‘I’m not sure, Fliss. Mum only breastfed us for two weeks and—’

  ‘I know,’ she said in a scandalized voice. ‘Just think how intelligent we would have been! Oh God, she’s just puked all over me…hang on—it’sokaymylicklesweetiedarlingit-doesn’tmatter—where’s that muslin? I can never find one when I need one…damn, damn, damn—oh, here it is…Laura? Laura—are you still there?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m just on my way to the studio right now and—’

  ‘Did I tell you I’m just starting her on solids?’ she interrupted again.

  ‘Yes, Fliss. I believe you did.’

  Felicity, being the world’s biggest Baby Bore, tells me everything about Olivia—her development, her mental alertness, her weight gain, her hair growth, her superior prettiness compared to other babies of her acquaintance—and about the general joys of being a mum. She doesn’t do this to be smug—she’s a nice, warm-hearted person—but because she can’t help it because she’s so over the moon. And as the three of us are close, and as Hope and I don’t have kids—she’s never wanted them—Fliss likes to share it all with us both. She sees it as a gift to her childless sisters, to include us in every single detail of Olivia’s life. And although she means well, it does annoy me sometimes. Yes, to be honest, it can…get to me. But whenever it does, I just remind myself of what she went through to have a baby. ‘I’d walk over broken glass,’ she once said to me, in tears. ‘I’d walk over broken glass if that’s what it took.’ And in a way, that’s what she did, because having Olivia took her ten years and six failed cycles of fertility treatment. The fact that she was a Montessori teacher had only made her frustration worse.

  She tried everything to boost her chances—yoga, reflexology, acupuncture and hypnosis; she completely overhauled her diet. She had the house feng shuied—as though shifting the furniture around could possibly have helped! She gave up alcohol, coffee and tea. She even had her amalgam fillings replaced with composite ones. She went on a pilgrimage to Lourdes. Then, at thirty-eight, out of the blue, she conceived. Now, having finally managed motherhood, Felicity worships, fanatically, at the shrine of Babydom—she adores every burp, gurgle and squeal.

  ‘So how’s it going with the sweet potato?’ I enquired politely.

  ‘Oh it took a couple of goes—you should have seen her screw up her little face the first time—but she loves it now, don’tyoumygorgeouslittlepoppetypops?’ she added. ‘I mix it with a bit of courgette.’

  There then followed an exposition about the dangers of giving babies too much carrot because they can’t digest vitamin A and turn bright orange, followed by yet another lecture about the environmental horrors of disposable nappies—a subject with which Felicity’s obsessed.

  ‘They’re filling up our landfill sites,’ she said vehemently. ‘It’s so disgusting—eight million of them a day—and they never biodegrade, because of the gel. Just imagine, Laura, in 500 years’ time Olivia’s descendants will still be trying to deal with her Pampers! Isn’t that a dreadful thought?’

  ‘It is rather. So you’re using the cloth ones then are you?’

  ‘God you must be joking—too much hassle, not to mention the pong. No, I’ve started using these Eco-Bots gel-free disposables—I get them from
Fresh and Wild. They’re very environmentally friendly if a teensy bit expensive.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Forty-five pence each.’

  ‘Forty-five pence? Blimey.’ I did a quick mental calculation. Babies need six changes a day on average don’t they, which is £2.70, multiplied by seven equals £18.90 a week, times fifty-two weeks equals…£980 give or take, multiplied by two and a half years’ average time in nappies equals almost £2,500. ‘Poor Hugh,’ I said.

  ‘Well, he didn’t have to give up his job, did he?’ she countered crossly.

  ‘Mm, I suppose that’s true.’

  I like Hugh—Felicity’s husband. He’s a nice, rather attractive, easy-going man—but I feel a bit sorry for him. He used to work, very successfully, for Orange, which enabled them to buy their house in Moorhouse Road. But on the day Felicity ecstatically showed him the second blue line on her pregnancy test, he announced that he’d just resigned. For years he’d wanted to pursue an entirely different career. So far his pipe dream is not going well.

  ‘How is the father of invention?’ I asked as the car turned in at the gates of the studio car park. ‘Anything patentable on the horizon?’

  There was an exasperated sigh. ‘Of course not—what do you think? Why he can’t just get himself a proper job again I don’t know, or at least invent something useful, like the wheel!’

  ‘Anyway, I must go Fliss, I’ve just arrived—we’re recording today.’

  ‘Well, best of luck. And I’ll be watching tonight—as long as Olivia’s gone to sleep, that is.’ And then she started telling me about how she’s trying sleep training on Olivia to stop her waking at 4am and what she has to do to get her to drop off again and I was thinking, Why don’t you just shut up? Why don’t you just shut up about the baby? Yes, she’s a very sweet baby and I love her very much, but I don’t actually want to know any more about her today thank you, Fliss, because let’s face it, she’s your baby isn’t she, she’s your baby she’s not my baby—when Felicity suddenly said, in that impulsive way of hers that never fails to catch my heart, ‘You know, Laura, I’m so proud of you.’

  ‘What?’

  My frustration melted like the dew and I felt tears prick the backs of my eyes.

  ‘Well, I just think you’ve been so wonderful. I mean, here I am going on about Olivia, boring you to bits most probably…’

  ‘Oh…no,’ I said weakly. ‘Really…I—’

  ‘But just look at what you’ve achieved! The way you’ve coped with everything—the sheer bloody awfulness of it all and of what he did. The not-so-dearly departed,’ she added sardonically, because that’s how she always refers, rather blackly, to Nick. ‘But you’ve pulled yourself up again in the face of all the hideous difficulties he left behind, and—my God—look at you now! Your life’s going to be fabulous and brilliant and, from today, you’re going to be a famous television presenter.’ At that, I felt my heart sink. ‘And,‘ she added with an air of triumphant finality, ‘you’re going to meet someone else!’

  ‘And live happily ever after,’ I murmured cynically as I opened the car door. ‘In a whitewashed cottage with pink roses round the door and a Cath Kidston apron and two…Labradors, no doubt.’

  ‘Well, actually, I’m quite sure you are. If you’d only let yourself,’ Felicity added with her usual benign vehemence. ‘Anyway, drop by after work tomorrow and we can chat—I haven’t seen you for ages—and you can have a cuddle with Olivia. She’d love that—wouldn’toomylittledarling?’ she added in a soprano ripple. ‘Oo’dlovetohaveanicecuddle-withyourAuntieLauramylittlebabykins?‘ I could hear Olivia yodelling in the background. It tore at my heart.

  ‘Okay then. I will.’

  I took a couple of deep breaths to compose myself then looked at my watch. It was twenty-five past one and the studio session started at two. I ran inside, got the lift to the fifth floor and went straight into the small make-up room. Marian, the make-up artist, looked at me appraisingly.

  ‘Nice jacket,’ she said. ‘Great cut.’ Ya boo sucks, Nerys, I thought. ‘But I’m not too sure about that green.’ Oh. ‘It’s a bit acidic for your skin tone. Here…’ she grabbed an oyster-pink one from the wardrobe rail. ‘I think this might look better.’ To my surprise, it did. Oh well, Nerys is clearly right about some things, I decided generously as I buttoned it. Small things at least. Now, as Marian put up my hair, and sponged foundation on to my cheeks, adrenaline began to burn through my veins. Over the tannoy I could hear the murmurs and giggles of the studio audience as they were ushered into their seats. Then I heard Tom welcoming them to the programme and explaining that, although we record as live, there would be a few retakes to do at the end. Then he asked them not to raise their hands, or fidget or cough, although it’s not really possible to cheat on this show.

  ‘And please don’t shout out the answers!’ I heard him say. There were titters. ‘You may laugh, but it has been known.’

  Then Ray, our sound technician—popped in. ‘You’ve got three minutes, Laura.’ He clipped the tiny microphone on to my lapel, then tucked the talkback pack into the back of my jacket and handed me the earpiece. ‘Give me some level would you?’

  ‘Hello, one, two, three…I had toast for breakfast…and I was late getting to the studio…and I still haven’t looked at the list of contestants.’ I rummaged in my bag for it again, while he repositioned the mike. ‘Where the hell is it?’

  ‘Thanks Laura, you’re sounding fine.’

  ‘And would you now please give a warm welcome to our four contestants!’ I heard Tom say over the loudspeaker. The audience applauded enthusiastically as the four players went up. I heard their footsteps tap across the wooden stage.

  ‘What are they like?’ I asked Marian as I stared at my reflection. She had done their make-up before she did mine. ‘Will you tell me about them as I can’t find my list?’

  ‘Well there are two nerdy ones,’ she replied as she dabbed concealer under my eyes. ‘Complete train-spotters. Plug ugly.’

  ‘Par for the course.’

  ‘Then there’s quite a pretty girl in her mid-twenties, and, I must say, one absolutely gorgeous man. I was quite taken with him actually,’ she added with a giggle. ‘He made me come over all funny. Wonderful eyes,’ she confided as she pulled mascara through my lashes. ‘And it was obvious that he was rather excited about meeting you.‘

  I looked up at her. ‘Was he?’

  She tucked a hank of ash-blonde hair behind one ear. ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I really don’t know.’ She selected a lipstick from the ten or so standing on the counter in their metal cases, like bullets. ‘He told me how much he was looking forward to it—so I just assumed he was already a fan.’

  As Marian blended two lipsticks together on the back of her hand, I carried on rummaging in my bag for the list of contestants, but still couldn’t find it. Damn.

  ‘Look up please, Laura,’ Marian said.

  As she applied the lipstick with a small brush, then dabbed on some gloss, I heard Tom giving the contestants his usual advice.

  ‘Make sure you listen to each question properly,’ he said. ‘And don’t just blurt out the first thing which pops into your head because, on this show, if you get it wrong, you lose points so it’s important to think before you speak.’ Then, as Marian swiftly stroked on some blusher, then brushed powder on to my brow, I heard Tom say, ‘Well, I think we’re ready to start.’

  ‘Are you finished in make-up, Laura?’ I heard Sara say into my earpiece.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied as Marian sprayed my hair.

  ‘Okay, Tom, she’s on her way,’ I heard Sara add. ‘Cue intro.’

  ‘So, here to quiz you today is Whadda Ya Know?!!‘s presenter—Lau-ra Quick!’ Marian whipped off the black gown then I half walked, half ran the few yards down the corridor into the studio and stepped up on to the stage. As I did so I was momentarily blinded by the lights hanging from the rigging. I was aware of their heat, and of th
e oily smell, and of Tom extending his right arm to me by way of welcome; then he turned to the audience and raised both hands above his head to prompt applause, so I looked at them and smiled. As he walked off stage, I glanced up into the gallery at the back of the auditorium. There, behind the glass, was Sara, who produces the show, and the production assistant, Gill. Next to Gill I could see Dylan with his headphones on, then the vision mixers and technical team. As the clapping began to fade, I surveyed the set—four tall, illuminated blue columns of varying heights on either side; the massive pink question mark in the middle of the floor; at the back, the show’s title in huge, loopy green letters; the enormous yellow clock. The whole thing was deliberately kitsch. And standing before me, behind their electronic lecterns, were the four contestants. Without taking in their faces, I smiled.

  ‘Welcome to today’s recording,’ I began, squinting slightly into the spotlights. I lifted my hand to my eyes. ‘I’d like to wish you all good luck, and I look forward to chatting to you afterwards but, in the meantime, as Tom says, just relax and, above all, please try and enjoy yourselves!’ As I glanced at the names on their lecterns I became aware that while three of them were looking apprehensive, one of them was quietly smiling; then I saw that he was smiling at me. Now, as the spotlights were adjusted, I could see him properly. I felt as though I’d been plunged into a frozen lake.

  ‘Right, ready to start then, Laura?’ I heard Sara whisper as I tried to cover my involuntary gasp with a throat-clearing cough—for a moment I’d thought I might faint. And it was on the tip of my tongue to say, ‘Well you can’t start yet, actually, Sara, because I’m struggling with the fact that my first serious boyfriend—who I haven’t seen for twelve years and who broke my heart and who, if I’m being honest with myself, I never really got over—is standing just ten feet away.’

  ‘Counting down now, Laura,’ I heard her say. ‘So it’s in five…four…three…two…one and…go music!’ I heard the jaunty theme tune strike up, then the audience burst into applause.

  Aware of a pounding in my chest, I turned to the camera. ‘Welcome to Whadda Ya Know?!!,‘ I began with as much confidence as I could muster. Now, as the autocue scrolled down, I felt not so much cold as red hot. ‘I’m Laura Quick and I’ll be asking the questions tonight, but first, let me explain how the show works. In my hand, here, are the questions.’ I held up the cards. ‘All of them are open to any of the contestants to answer—it’s a case of whoever gets to the buzzer first. But once the players have buzzed they must answer—but they have no more than five seconds in which to do so. Now, if you look at the screens on the front of their lecterns, you’ll see that they each start with one pound. This will double with every correct answer they give, when we’ll hear this…’ There was a loud Ker-ching! like the pinging of a colossal cash register. ‘If, however, they give a wrong answer, or fail to answer in the five seconds, then their money will be halved, and we’ll hear this…’ There was a downward glissandoing Whooooop! ‘The winner will be the player who’s accumulated the most money. He or she will then get the chance to double it, if they decide to Turn the Tables—and ask me a question. But this carries a risk. If I get it wrong, their total money is doubled.’ Ker-ching! ‘But if I answer it correctly then it will be halved.’ Whooooop! ‘So, without further ado, let’s meet today’s four contestants!’