Part 5 (1/2)

Question 6. Where is Mrs Thatcher's parliamentary seat?

56.Easy. I know this one, but there's the noise again. I turn, and look and catch her eye this time, and she pulls a face, mouths 'sorry . . .' and seals her lips with a little imaginary zip. I smile laconically down one side of my face, as if to say, hey, phew, don't mind me, I'm not taking this seriously either, then go back to the test. Must concentrate. I pop a Tic-Tac into my mouth, and press my fingers against my forehead. Concentrate, concentrate.

Question 7. The colour of Alice Harbinson's lips might best be described as . . . ?

Not sure, can't see. Something from that Shakespearean sonnet. Damask'd hue or coral or something like that? Maybe I'll have another look. No. Don't. Don't look. Just concentrate. Head down.

8, 9 and 10 are fine, but then there's a long stretch of ridiculously hard maths and physics questions, and I start to flounder a little, skip two or three that I just don't understand but have a stab at the one about mitochondrion.

'Pssst . . .'

Question 15. The energy liberated by the oxidization of the products of cytoplasmic metabolism is converted into adenosine triphosphate . . .

'Psssssssst . . .'

She's leaning forward over her desk, eyes wide, trying to pa.s.s me something in her clenched fist. I check that Patrick's not looking, and then reach behind me, and feel her press the little sc.r.a.p of paper into my cupped hand. Patrick looks up, and I quickly turn the motion into a stretch, arms up over my head, and when the coast is clear, I unwrap the note. It says, 'Your strange, unnatural beauty intrigues me. How soon till I can feel your lips against mine . . . ?'

Or, more accurately, 'Hey swot! Help me! Am very STOOPID and also p.i.s.sED. Please save me from COMPLETE humiliation. What are the answers to 6, 11, 18 and 22? And 4 is Byzantium, right? Cheers mate, in antic.i.p.ation, da thicko 57.behind yuu x.x.x. p.s. Split on me to the teacher, and I'll have you afterwards.'

She's asking me to share my general knowledge with her, and if that's not a come-on, then I don't know what is. Of course cheating in an exam is a terrible thing, and if it was anyone else I wouldn't get involved, but these are exceptional circ.u.mstances so I quickly check the questions, then turn the piece of paper over and write: 'No. 6 is Finchley, 11 is Ruskin's Stones of Venice maybe, 18 is Schrodiger's Cat maybe, and 22 I don't know either; Diaghilev? And yes, 4 is Byzantium.'

I read and re-read this several times. It's pretty dry, as love letters go, and I want to say something more tantalising and provocative, without actually just writing 'you're lovely', so I think for a minute, take a deep breath, then put: 'By the way, you owe me! Coffee afterwards? Best wishes, the Swot!' . . . then before I can change my mind, I spin around in my seat and place it on her desk.

Question 23. Whales of the sub-order Mysteciti have a specialised feeding structure called . . . ?

Baleen.

Question 24. Which French verse form, utilised by Corneille and Racine, consists of a line of twelve syllables, with major stresses on the sixth and last syllable?

The Alexandrine.

Question 25. Increased heart rate, cold sweat and a feeling of elation are usually a symptom of which emotional condition?

Come on, head down, concentrate, this is The Challenge, remember?

Question 25. How many vertices has a dodecahedron?

Well, dodec- is twelve, so that's twelve plane faces, which means 12 times four if you separated it all out, which is 48, but then you have to minus the number of shared corners which would be, what, 24? Why 24? Because each vertex is the junction of three plane faces? Threes into 48 are 16.

58.16 vertices? Isn't there a formula lor this? What il 1 were to draw it?

And I'm trying to draw a deconstructed dodecahedron when the little ball of paper is lobbed over my head and skitters across my desk. I catch it before it rolls off the edge, open it and read 'Okay. But you have to promise not to dance.'

I smile to myself, and play it cool by not turning round, because after all, that's what I am, a pretty cool guy, and I go back to deconstructing my dodecahedron.

59.8.

QUESTION- If incandescence is light emitted by a hot material, what is the term for light emitted from a relatively cool material?

ANSWER Luminescence.

'I expect you didn't recognise me without my dog-collar on!'

'What? Oh, no. I didn't to begin with,' she says. 'So - Alice!'

'That's right.'

'As in Wonderland?'

'Uh-huh,' she says, glancing longingly towards the exit.

We're sat at a little marble table in Le Paris Match, a cafe that's straining very hard to be French; all 'authentic' wooden chairs and Ricard ashtrays and reproduction ToulouseLautrec posters, and 'croque monsieur' on the menu instead of 'ham and-cheese toastie'. It's full of students in black polo-necks and 501s leaning forward in intense conversations over their pommes frites, and jabbing the air with their f.a.gs, wis.h.i.+ng they were Gitanes rather than Silk Cut. I've never been to France, but is it really like this?

'And is that who you're named after, Alice in Wonderland?'

'So I'm told.' Pause. 'How about you, why did they call you Gary?'

I think for a moment, and actually try to come up with an interesting and amusing anecdote as to why I'm called Gary, before deciding that it's probably easier to come clean.

60.'Actually, my name's Brian.'

'Of course. Sorry, I meant Brian.'

'Not sure. I don't think there are any Brians in literature. Or Garys, come to that. Except isn't there a Gary in The Brothers Karamazov'? Gary, Keith and . . .'

'. . . and Brian! Brian Karamazov!' she says and laughs, and I laugh too.

Today's turning out to be quite a big day for me actually, because not only am I sat here with Alice Harbinson, laughing at my own name, but I'm also enjoying my very first ever cappuccino. Do they drink cappuccinos in France? Anyway, it's okay; a bit like the milky coffees they do in the caff on Southend pier for 35p, except instead of little, bitter globules of undissolved instant coffee on the top, this has a grey musky sc.u.m of cinnamon. My fault; I overdid it a little, thinking it was chocolate powder, so it smells a bit like a hot, milky armpit. But then I expect that cappuccinos are a little bit like s.e.x in that I'll probably enjoy it much more the second time. Though at 85p a throw, I'm not sure if there'll be a second time. Again, a little bit like s.e.x.

There it is again. s.e.x and Money. Stop thinking about s.e.x and money. Especially money, it's awful, you're here with this amazing woman, and all you can think about is the price of a cup of coffee. And s.e.x.

'I'm starving,' she says. 'Shall we have some lunch? Some french fries or something?'

'Absolutely!' I say, and look at the menu. 1.25 for a lousy bowl of chips? '. . . though I'm actually not that hungry, but you get some.'

So she waves to the waiter, a whippet-thin guy with a Morrissey quiff, a student by the looks of it, and he comes over and talks over my head, greeting her with a big, friendly 'Hiya!'

'h.e.l.lo, how are you today?' she says.

'Oh, fine. Except I'd rather not be here. Double s.h.i.+ft!'

61.'Oh, G.o.d. Poor you!' she says, rubbing his arm in sympathy.

'How are you, anyway?' he says.

'Very good, thank you.'

'You're looking lovely today, if I may say so.'

'Aw, gee,' says Alice, and puts her hands over her face.