Surprise Me(24)

‘He was the Amish chap!’ says Simon, coming to life and tapping his pen thoughtfully on his fingers. ‘Or … wait. He wasn’t Amish, the girl was Amish.’

‘Oh God.’ Olivia gives a groan. ‘That film is ancient. Does anyone remember it?’ She turns to Toby. ‘It was before your time, Toby. It’s about … what’s it about?’ She wrinkles her brow. ‘The witness protection scheme. Something like that.’

‘The “witness protection scheme”,’ echoes Toby sardonically, doing quote marks with his fingers.

‘Toby, do not start about the witness protection scheme,’ says Tilda ominously. ‘Do not start.’

‘What?’ I say, my curiosity fired up. ‘Don’t tell me you have a conspiracy theory about the witness protection scheme, too.’

‘Does anyone know the answer to the actual question?’ Olivia demands crossly, but none of us is paying attention.

‘You want to know?’ Toby turns his gaze on me.

‘Yes! Tell me!’

‘If they ever offer you a place in the witness protection scheme, run for your life,’ says Toby without batting an eyelid. ‘Because they’re going to get rid of you.’

‘What do you mean?’ I demand. ‘Who is?’

‘The government kills everyone in the witness protection scheme.’ He shrugs. ‘It makes economic sense.’

‘Kills them?’

‘They could never afford to “protect” that number of people.’ He does his little quotey fingers again. ‘It’s a myth. A fairy-tale. They get rid of them instead.’

‘But they can’t just “get rid” of people! Their families would—’ I stop mid-stream. ‘Oh.’

‘You see?’ He raises his eyebrows at me, significantly. ‘Either way, they disappear forever. Who knows the difference?’

‘Absolute nonsense,’ snaps Tilda. ‘You spend far too much time on the internet, Toby. I’m off to the loo.’

As she pushes her chair back, I fold my arms and survey Toby. ‘You don’t really believe all this rubbish, surely? You’re just winding up your mum.’

‘Maybe.’ He winks. ‘Or maybe not. Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean there isn’t a conspiracy against you. Hey, do your girls like origami?’ He pulls a piece of paper towards him and starts folding it swiftly. A moment later he’s created a bird, and I gasp.

‘Amazing!’

‘Give it to Anna. Here’s one for Tessa.’ He’s making a cat now, with little pointed ears. ‘Tell them they’re from Tobes.’ He flashes me a sudden smile and I feel a pang of affection for him. I’ve known Toby since he was a teenager in a school uniform and used to lug a trombone to school every morning.

‘Harrison Ford!’ Olivia bangs the table to get our attention. ‘Concentrate, everyone! What character did he play?’

‘Actually, I’ve just seen Dan arriving.’ I get to my feet, desperate to escape. ‘I’ll just go and … er … Back in a second!’

OK, I’m never doing a pub quiz again, ever. They’re pure evil, sent from Satan. There’s a conspiracy theory for you.

It’s nearly two hours later. We’ve had about a hundred more rounds (it feels like) and now we’re finally on to the answers. Everyone’s getting very tired and bored. But proceedings have stalled, because a row has broken out. The question was: How do you spell ‘Rachmaninov’? and some Russian girl at another table wrote it down in Cyrillic. Now Dave is trying to manage a dispute between her and the purple-polo-shirt team, who are arguing: if no one else in the room understands Cyrillic, how can anyone judge if she’s right or not?

I mean for God’s sake, what does it matter? Give her the point. Give her ten points. Whatever. Let’s just move on.

It’s not just our marriage which is going to last forever. This quiz is going to last forever. We’re going to be trapped at this table for eternity, drinking terrible Chardonnay and trying to remember who won Wimbledon in 2008, until our hair goes white and we shrivel up like Miss Havisham.

‘By the way, Sylvie, I saw a piece about your father in the local paper,’ says Simon in an undertone. ‘About his fundraising achievements. You must be very proud.’

‘I am.’ I beam gratefully at him. ‘I’m very proud.’

My father spent a lot of time fundraising for liver cancer. It was his big thing. And being Daddy the super-networker, he did it spectacularly. He launched an annual ball at the Dorchester and managed to corral a load of celebrities into coming along, and even got minor royalty involved.

‘It said they’re naming a scanner suite at the New London Hospital after him?’

I nod. ‘They are. It’s amazing. They’re putting on this big opening ceremony, in a couple of weeks. Sinead Brook is unveiling the plaque, you know, the newsreader? It’s such an honour. I’m making a speech, actually.’

I must finish writing it, it occurs to me. I keep talking confidently about the speech I’m going to make, but all I’ve actually written so far is, ‘My lady mayoress, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to what is a very special occasion.’

‘Well, it sounds like he was pretty amazing,’ says Simon. ‘To raise all that money, mobilize people year after year …’