Jill Mansell - Chapter 1

Having changed out

Chapter 23

of her beer-friendly black lycra top and frayed jeans into an altogether more suitable peacock-blue dress with spaghetti straps and swishy sequinned hem, Lola entered the Carrick’s ballroom feeling quite the bee’s knees. Moments later those same knees quavered with excitement as, through the crowds, she spotted Dougie over by the bar, looking even more handsome than ever in formal black tie. Heavens, how could any girl resist him? He was gorgeous. Giving herself time to mentally get her act together, Lola hung back as Sally approached the group at the bar.

‘Hey, you’re here.’ Doug turned when she tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Everyone, this is my sister Sally, specialist subjects fashion and shopping. And rather more usefully she’s brought along her boss who’s a doctor, so any medical questions and he’s our man. He’s also excellent on astronomy, which ... which is ...’ As he was speaking, Doug’s gaze had veered past Sally, searching for someone who would fit the description of aged, avuncular, planet-watching Dr Willis. When he spotted Lola his voice trailed off, his welcoming smile faded and he said, ‘Oh for heaven’s sake, I don’t believe it. You again?’

Which was, frankly, more than a little hurtful.

‘Honestly.’ Sally rolled her eyes at the rest of the group. ‘Is this what he’s like at work? Frank couldn’t make it, he has to babysit his grandchildren tonight, so I asked Lola if she’d come along in his place. Otherwise we’d have been a team member short for the quiz.’

Doug shook his head. ‘So Lola’s our medical expert for the evening. Perfect. Let’s just hope no one needs an emergency tracheotomy’

‘Doug, calm down. I’ll answer the medical questions,’ said Sally. The tall man next to Doug said intently, ‘Are you a doctor too?’

‘Well, no, not exactly, but I’m a GP’s receptionist.’ As the man’s lip began to curl into a sneer Sally said, ‘Do you know what papilloedema is?’

He looked startled. ‘No’

‘See? I do. I know where the medulla oblongata is. I know about systolic and diastolic blood pressure measurements. I can tell you what talipes are.’ Airily Sally added, ‘And I can tell you exactly what to do with a sphygmomanometer.’

The man took a gulp of his drink. Lola stifled a grin.Touché. ‘Fine.’ Doug looked resigned. ‘Just don’t try and take out anyone’s appendix.’

‘Sally, hiiii!’ Yeeurgh. Isabel joined the group, flicking back her silky ice-blond hair and clutching Sally’s arms as if they were long-lost friends. Moments later, spotting Lola, she said with rather less enthusiasm, ‘Oh, hello again.’

‘I’m Tony, history and politics,’ the tall man announced. Gesturing towards the others he said,’Alice is biology and Greek mythology. Jerry’s Egyptology and maths. And this is Bob, whose speciality is—’

‘Trying to swim the Channel with his arms and legs tied up?’ Lola couldn’t help herself; when she was nervous, stupid stuff just came out of her mouth.

Tumbleweed rolled past. Quite deservedly, no one laughed. Tony cleared his throat and said,

‘No, Bob’s speciality is classical music.’

‘And cricket,’ said Bob.

‘Great,’ said Lola.

‘How about you?’

Crikey, how about me?

‘Um ... well, literature.’

‘And?’ Tony eyed her beadily; it appeared everyone was required to be an expert in two subjects.

‘And ... er, sumo wrestling.’ That would be safe surely?

‘Excellent, excellent.’ As he rubbed his hands together they made a rasping, sandpapery sound.

‘So which should we be hoping for this evening, hmm? Kachikoshi? Or makekoshi?’

Bugger. And his lip was curling again. He knew.

‘OK,’ said Lola, ‘I was lying. I don’t know anything about sumo. I only have one specialist subject and I’m sorry if that’s not enough, but I’m only here as a last-minute replacement. It’s either me or an empty chair.’

’Don’t worry about Tony, he’s a pompous twit.’

‘Is he? I mean, I know he is.’ To Lola’s relief, not everyone in the group was unfriendly. With the quiz due to start in five minutes, she beamed at the girl redoing her make-up in the ornate gilt mirror in the cloakroom. ‘I just didn’t realise people would be taking it so seriously’

‘Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. God, this skirt’s killing me.’ The girl, whose name was Elly, straightened up and gave her stomach a disgruntled prod. ‘I’ve put on almost a stone over Christmas, nothing fits any more. I’m going to have to join a gym before I turn into a complete hippo.’

‘I hate gyms.’ Lola pulled a face.

‘I thought of giving Doug’s a go. He says it’s all right.’ Disconsolately tugging down her corrugated skirt, Elly said, ‘But they’ll still make you suffer, won’t they? What I really need’s a magic wand.’

Lola carefully untwiddled a strand of hair from around one of her silver earrings. ‘Is that Holmes Place?’

Yh00000sh, Elly sprayed Elnett Ultrahold wildly around her head like a cowboy twirling a lasso.

‘No, Merton’s in Kensington — ow, sod it!’

She’d sprayed Elnett right in her eye. ‘Here,’ Lola passed her a clean tissue; the thought of Dougie working up a sweat on a rowing machine was enough to send any girl’s aim wonky.

‘Thanks. And just ignore Tony.’ Elly’s smile was encouraging. ‘We’ll still have fun; you don’t have to try and impress him.’

‘You’re right.’ Lola didn’t tell her that the person she really wanted to impress was Doug.

Their table was doing well in the first round; everyone was getting their chance to shine. Rivalry between the thirty or so teams in the banqueting hall was intense. Having answered a fiendish question about the last rugby World Cup, Doug (specialist subjects sport and economics) was so elated he actually grinned across the table at Lola before realising what he was doing and abruptly reaching for his drink instead. But the moment was already imprinted in Lola’s mind; for a split second there, it had been just like old times. Fresh hope surged inside her; please please let him be weakening, let him realise that the attraction was still there. From what she could tell, this thing with Isabel was pretty shallow, hardly the romance of the century. Isabel might be beautiful but her personality wasn’t exactly dazzling; in fact she was like an irritatingly chirpy child, tugging Doug’s arm for attention, giggling and endlessly whispering in his ear.

Basically she was nothing but an airhead ...

‘And now,’ boomed the question master, calling the noisy room to attention, ‘the penultimate question in Round One. Pay close attention, ladies and gentlemen, because every point counts.’

He paused for effect. ‘And this question is in two parts. The first part is this. What is the speed of light?’

Lola’s spirits sank; she was desperate to show Doug she wasn’t a deadweight, that she could be a useful member of the team, but how was anyone supposed to know

‘Three hundred thousand kilometres per second,’ Isabel whispered.

What?

What?

‘Good girl.’ Tony wrote down the answer without blinking.

‘And now for the second part,’ the question master announced. ‘In order for any object to escape the earth’s gravitational pull, it must be flying at or above the earth’s escape velocity. The question is, what is that velocity?’

Everyone at the table turned their gaze on Isabel. No, Lola wanted to yell, no, you can’t know the answer to that, you just can’t .. .

With a self-deprecating smile Isabel murmured, ‘Eleven kilometres per second.’

Smirking, Tony scribbled down the answer on their table’s card.