She exhales impatiently, then puts her phone away and beams at me again. “So, you two must go in for the Couples’ Quiz this afternoon.”

“Couples’ Quiz?” I echo blankly.

“You know. Like the TV show. You answer questions about your partner and the winners are the couple who know each other best.” She gestures at a nearby poster, which reads:

TODAY at 4 PM:

COUPLES’ QUIZ on the BEACH.

BIG PRIZES!! FREE ENTRY!!

“Everyone’s entered,” she adds, sipping at her drink through a straw. “They put on loads of activities for honeymooners here. It’s all marketing nonsense, of course.” She casually brushes back her hair. “I mean, honestly, as if marriage were a competition.”

I almost snort with laughter. Nice try. She wants to win so badly, it’s practically etched on her skin.

“So, are you in?” She peers at me over her Gucci shades. “Go on! It’s only a laugh!”

I suppose she’s right. I mean, let’s face it, what else are we doing with our time?

“OK. Sign us up.”

“Yianni!” Melissa calls over to the bartender. “I’ve got you another couple for Couples’ Quiz.”

“What?” Ben turns to me with a frown.

“We’re going in for a competition,” I inform him. “We agreed to do the first activity we saw, didn’t we? Well, this is it.”

Yianni passes two paper flyers to Ben and me, along with a bottle of wine and two glasses, which Ben must have ordered. Melissa has stood up from her bar stool. She’s on the phone again and sounds even more irate than before.

“The beach bar, not the lobby bar. The beach bar! … OK, stay there, I’m coming.… See you later,” she mouths, and totters off in a swirl of orange caftan.

When she’s gone, Ben and I are silent for a moment, studying the Couples’ Quiz flyers. Demonstrate your love! Prove you have what it takes as a couple!

Despite everything, I can feel my competitive spirit rising. Not that I need to prove anything at all. But I just know there isn’t any couple at this resort more intimate and connected than Ben and me. I mean, look at them. And look at us.

“We’re so going to lose this,” says Ben, with a snort of amusement.

Lose?

“No, we’re not!” I stare at him in dismay. “Why do you say that?”

“Because we need to know stuff about each other,” replies Ben, as though it’s obvious. “Which we don’t.”

“We know heaps about each other!” I say defensively. “We’ve known each other since we were eighteen! If you ask me, we’re going to win.”

Ben raises an eyebrow. “Maybe. What kind of questions do they ask?”

“I don’t know. I never watched the show.” I have a sudden idea. “But Fliss has got the board game. I’ll call her.”


14

FLISS

We’re at the departure gate at Heathrow when my phone rings. Before I can move, Noah plucks it out of the side pocket of my bag and studies the display.

“It’s Aunt Lottie phoning!” His face lights up in excitement. “Shall I tell her we’re coming to surprise her on her special holiday?”

“No!” I grab the phone. “Just sit down a minute. Look at your sticker pack. Do the dinosaurs.” I press answer and take a couple of steps away from Noah, trying to compose myself. “Lottie, hi!” I greet her.

“There you are! I’ve been trying to reach you! Where are you?”

“Oh … you know. Just around.” I force myself to pause before I add, light as gossamer, “Any luck with your room yet? Or the bed? Or … anything?”

I know from Nico that she’s still roomless. But I also know Ben tried to hire a room off another guest on the beach. Sneaky little sod.

“Oh, the room.” Lottie sounds disconsolate. “It’s been such a bloody saga. We’ve given up for now. We’re just going to enjoy the day.”

“Right. Sensible plan.” I breathe a slight sigh of relief. “So, how is it out there? Sunny?”

“Boiling.” Lottie sounds preoccupied. “Listen, Fliss, d’you remember that game Couples’ Quiz?”

I wrinkle my brow. “You mean the TV show?”

“Exactly. You had the board game, didn’t you? What kind of questions do they ask?”

“Why?” I say, puzzled.

“We’re doing a Couples’ Quiz contest. Are the questions hard?”

“Hard? No! They’re just fun. Silly things. Basic stuff that couples know about each other.”

“Ask me some.” Lottie sounds a bit tense. “Give me some practice.”

“Well, OK.” I think for a moment. “What kind of toothpaste does Ben use?”

“Don’t know,” says Lottie after a pause.

“What’s his mother called?”

“Don’t know.”

“What is his favorite meal that you cook for him?”

There’s a longer pause. “Don’t know,” she says at last. “I’ve never cooked for him.”

“If he was going to the theater, would he choose Shakespeare, a modern play, or a musical?”

“I don’t know!” wails Lottie. “I’ve never been to the theater with him. Ben’s right! We’re going to lose!”

Is she insane? Of course they’re going to lose.

“Does Ben know any of those things about you, do you think?” I ask mildly.

“Of course not! Neither of us knows anything!”

“Right. Well …”

“I really don’t want to lose,” says Lottie, lowering her voice savagely. “There’s this bridezilla girl here and she’s been boasting about her wedding, and if I don’t know anything about my husband and he doesn’t know anything about me …”

Then maybe you shouldn’t have married each other! I want to yell.

“Could you maybe … talk to each other?” I suggest at last.

“Yes! Yes, that’s it,” says Lottie, as though I’ve cracked some fiendish code. “We’ll learn it all. Give me a list of the stuff I need to know.” She sounds determined. “Toothpaste, name of mother, favorite meals … Can you text all the questions to me?”

“No, I can’t,” I say firmly. “I’m busy. Lottie, why on earth are you doing this? Why aren’t you lying on the beach?”

“I got talked into it. And now we can’t back out, or we’ll look like we’re not a happy couple. Fliss, this place is mad. It’s Honeymoon Central.”

I shrug. “You knew it would be, didn’t you?”

“I suppose.…” She hesitates. “But I didn’t realize it would be this honeymoon-y. They have loved-up couples everywhere, and you can’t take a step without someone saying ‘Congratulations’ or chucking confetti over you. That bridezilla girl is renewing her vows already, can you believe? She was trying to talk me into doing it too.”

For a moment I’ve forgotten where I am and the whole situation. I’m just chatting with Lottie.

“Sounds like it’s become totally gimmicky.”

“It is a bit.”

“So don’t do the Couples’ Quiz.”

“I have to.” She sounds resolute. “I’m not backing out now. So, should I know where Ben went to high school, all that kind of stuff? What about hobbies?”

My frustration returns in a flash. This is ridiculous. She sounds like someone mugging up, trying to fool an immigration officer. For an instant I consider saying all this to her right now.

But, at the same time, my deeper instincts tell me not to try anything by phone. All that will happen is we’ll have a steaming row and she’ll ring off and get Ben to impregnate her right then and there, probably on the beach in full view of everyone, just to show me.

I need to get out there. Pretend that I simply wanted to surprise her. I’ll assess the territory, let her relax. Then I’ll draw her aside and we’ll have a chat. A frank chat. A long, relentless chat, from which I will not let her escape till she’s seen the whole picture. Really seen it.

This Couples’ Quiz has played into my hands, I realize. She’s going to fall flat on her face in quite a public way. And then she’ll be ripe to hear the voice of reason.

A flight is being announced, and Lottie immediately demands, “What’s that? Where are you?”

“Station,” I lie smoothly. “Better go. Good luck!”

I switch off my phone and look around for Noah. I left him sitting on a plastic chair two feet away, but he’s made his way to the desk and is deep in conversation with an air hostess, who is crouching down and listening intently to him.

“Noah!” I call, and both their heads turn. The air hostess raises a hand in acknowledgment, stands up, and leads him back to me. She’s very curvy and tanned, with huge blue eyes and hair in a bun, and as she approaches I catch a waft of perfume.

“Sorry about that.” I smile at her. “Noah, stay here. No wandering.”

The air hostess is gazing at me, transfixed, and I put my hand to my mouth, wondering if I have a crumb on my lip.

“I just want to say,” she says in a rush, “that I heard about your little boy’s ordeal, and I think you’re all really brave.”

For a moment I can’t find a reply. What the hell did Noah say?

“And I think that paramedic should get a medal,” she adds, her voice trembling.

I look daggers at Noah, who returns my gaze, serene and untroubled. What do I do? If I explain that my son is a complete fantasist, we all look stupid. Maybe it’s easier to go along with it. We’ll be boarding in a minute; we’ll never see her again.

“It wasn’t that big a deal,” I say at last. “Thank you so much—”

“Not a big deal?” she echoes incredulously. “But it was all so dramatic!”

“Er … yes.” I swallow. “Noah, let’s buy some water.”

I hurry him off to a nearby drinks machine, before this conversation can go any further. “Noah,” I say as soon as we’re out of earshot, “what did you say to the lady?”

“I said I want to be in the Olympics when I grow up,” he replies promptly. “I want to do the long jump. Like this.” He breaks free of my grasp and leaps across the airport carpet. “Can I be in the Olympics?”