‘I was answering your question.’ Arthur’s face crumpled with confusion.
‘I know. Thank you. But if you asked Elsa that question, would you want to hear all that information, or a shorter answer that you could talk about together?’
Arthur chewed slowly on a piece of bread, his brain processing that revelation.
‘Isaac?’ I asked. ‘Your answer please before we move on to someone else’s topic.’
‘If I could go on a cruise anywhere, I’d not go.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Because I’m not an old married couple? I spend enough time surrounded by elderly people and loved up couples as it is. I don’t especially want to holiday with them.’
‘Not all cruises are like that. The one Seb’s working on is for young singles.’
Isaac looked at me. ‘Your boyfriend – the one who left you to go and find himself on the other side of the world – is working on a boat with a load of young, single people? Serving them alcohol? And you’re okay with that?’
‘Yes, that’s what I said.’ I bristled. ‘What’s your point?’
‘You’re the relationship expert here. You figure it out.’
‘Or perhaps we’d be better off moving onto your topic?’ I retorted, his implication smarting like a slap on my cheek.
‘Fine.’ Isaac gave me a look that in twin-language told me he’d meant it as a loving warning, and to think about what he’d said. Then thankfully he changed the subject to what became a twenty-minute discussion about the progress he’d made in the garden that day (another task on the Boys to Men project) and possible plans for some serious landscaping.
We then paused to dish out bowls of ice-cream, moving on to Arthur’s topic before it got too late.
‘So, for my topic I wanted to tell you about Barnabas Brown.’
‘Go on,’ I said, suspicion twitching like a cat’s tail.
‘Right, well, Barnabas, or Barney to his good friends, of which he had many, was the Mayor of Sherwood from 1713 to—’
‘No,’ we all said in unison.
‘What?’ Arthur asked. ‘Are you suggesting I’m incorrect?’
‘No, we’re suggesting that your next grave hunt is not a valid topic of conversation.’
‘Why?’ Arthur protested. ‘It isn’t in the rules. We said no Cup talk.’
‘The nature of the task also means no boring talk.’ Isaac grimaced.
‘Are you saying you find my grave hunts boring?’
‘No, but the fact that you’ve asked Elsa four times if she wants to come and she’s politely declined all four times implies she does.’
‘The point of the task is a conversation, Arthur,’ I interrupted, trying to sound as kind as possible because his face was drooping with dismay. ‘Not a lecture. There’s not much room for an exchange of information when you’re talking about your specialist subject. Can you think of something else? A general question like I asked is great.’
‘Can I ask whose grave you’d most like to find and why?’
‘No. We’ve already agreed to avoid the topic of death, at least on the first couple of dates.’
Arthur thought for a painfully long time until he suddenly pulled the ice-cream spoon out of his mouth with a flourish. ‘What’s your favourite ice-cream?’
‘Great!’ I sagged back with relief. ‘Cookies and cream. What’s yours?’
‘Raspberry. With real raspberries though, none of that syrupy stuff.’
