"Oh, we can't end on that note," said Spike, breaking the gloom. "This isn't an After School Special. Come on, we're all standing around like we're at a funeral. Let's go celebrate James Armstrong losing at something for once!"

Lynda brightened. "You're right! Let's go."

Later that night, after celebratory drinks, only Spike and Lynda remained in the pub. Lynda was laughing at Spike as he performed a dramatised re-enactment of the tie-breaker round.

"And then, you're like this . . . " Spike said, bending over backwards exaggeratedly, ". . . and the crowd cheers and he's all 'What?' and trying to grab hold of the donut that's just swung around and hit him in the eye . . ."

Lynda was gasping for breath. "No! Stop!"

"And you just gulp that donut down like nothing and take it out." Spike finished with a victory stance, arms aloft before flopping down onto the couch next to her. "What an effort."

"At least I managed to contribute eventually," she replied.

"So the questions didn't cover your core capabilities," Spike shrugged. "So what?"

Lynda shrugged back. "You know me."

"Yeah," Spike nodded. "I do. And do you know what else I know?"

"What?"

"I know this quiz night isn't the only thing James Armstrong lost." He looked at her meaningfully. "Whaddya say, Boss? Wanna move on to the next round?"

Lynda regarded him thoughtfully. "Speaking of moving . . ."

"Yeah?"

"Want to help me look for a flat this weekend?"

Spike looked puzzled, then dubious. "What does real estate have to do with it?"

"Privacy," replied Lynda. "Can't have my boyfriend over to stay at Mum and Dad's, can I? I've only got a single bed."

Spike grinned. "Bonus round!"