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antelope.’ Kerching! ‘What do the five Olympic rings represent…? No takers for this one? The world’s continents. Who discovered the source of the Nile? No—not Livingstone.’ Whoooop! ‘It was Speke. What is the Roman numeral for a thousand? M is correct, Doug.’ Kerching! ‘What is a hoggerel? No.’ Whooop! ‘ It’s a yearling sheep. What is the world’s best-selling book? Luke? That’s right. The Bible.’ Kerching! ‘Which planet has a pink sky? Mars is correct, Jim.’ Kerching! ‘Of what colour is “Leukophobia” a fear? Doug? No.’ Whooooop! ‘Not yellow—it’s white…’ And all the time I was asking the questions, aware of the scores doubling and halving, the players’ fortunes yo-yoing up and down, into my mind would flash images of Luke and me lying on the college lawn beneath the huge copper beech; cycling over Clare Bridge; sitting at the same table in the library, feet gently touching; entwined, like rope, on Luke’s narrow bed.
    ‘Five minutes left,’ I heard Sara whisper in my ear. ‘It’s going great.’ As I turned over the next card, I quickly glanced at the scores again. Doug Dale was leading with £4096, which meant he’d got twelve questions right, while Luke was one question behind with £2048 and Christine and Jim were trailing in the low hundreds as they’d answered recklessly. Behind me I was aware of the audience, silent and focused.
    ‘Which animal features on the State flag of California?’
    There was a second’s silence, then Doug buzzed. ‘The eagle?’ Whooooop! He winced with frustration.
    ‘No, I’m sorry—it’s the bear.’ Now he and Luke were level-pegging.
    ‘Three minutes to go,’ I heard Sara say. I looked at the next question.
    ‘How many cards are there in a deck of Tarot cards?’
    ‘Seventy-eight,’ said Luke.
    ‘Correct! ‘ Kerching! His score doubled to £4096.
    ‘Two minutes, Laura,’ I heard Sara say.
    I looked at the next card. ‘Which artist designed the uniform of the Pope’s bodyguards, the Swiss Guard?’ Luke buzzed again, but then the answer seemed to elude him. He closed his eyes for a moment as he struggled to remember, and I was aware of the second hand, clunking forward. He only had three seconds left…Two seconds…One…He was about to lose four thousand pounds.
    ‘Michaelangelo,’ he blurted out. ‘It was Michaelangelo.’
    ‘Correct.’
    KERASHHHHH!!! The huge gong which signalled the end of the round had sounded. Luke was ahead by one point. He’d answered thirteen questions correctly, which meant that he was on £8192.
    I turned to Camera One. ‘Let’s take a look at the scores. In fourth place is Jim with £512, in third place is Christine with £1024. Doug is in second place with £2048. But this week’s clear winner—with £8192—is Luke North!’ The audience applauded loudly and he smiled. ‘But it’s not over yet,’ I added, ‘because it’s now time to Turn the Tables. The question is, Luke…Do you want to?’ I turned to the audience. ‘How many of you think that Luke should Turn the Tables? If he does, he risks losing £4,000. On the other hand, he could win another £8,000. So would you all please now cast your votes? They pressed the voting panels attached to the back of each seat, and the result was flashed up on a big plasma screen.
    ‘Sixty-eight of you think he should,’ I said, ‘with a hundred and ten believing that he should hang on to what he’s got.’ I turned to Luke. ‘The audience clearly think that you should quit now, Luke, but what do you want to do?’
    ‘I want to Turn the Tables.’
    ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘Yes,’ he said with a smile. ‘I’m quite sure.’
    ‘Okay then.’ I turned to the camera. ‘If I can’t answer Luke’s question—in the usual five seconds—then his prize money will double. If I can, then it will be halved. But I can assure you all at home, and here in the studio, that I have absolutely no way of knowing what he’s going to ask