Challenge Ten: John
Scott: 63 points
Virgil: 61 points
John: 60 points
Alan: 59 points
Gordon: 35 points
Scott was first to arrive in the lounge. Casting a satisfied eye over the scoreboard, he settled himself into his favourite chair. He was feeling good. After the exertions of the marathon he'd had a lazy morning, allowing himself the luxury of a lie-in - a whole fifteen minutes! – before eschewing his usual five mile run in favour of an easy two miles along the beach. Maybe he'd put in an extra hour on the weights tonight, just to make up for his laziness...
He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes to twelve. He just hoped John would hurry up and explain his challenge. It would be a shame to have lunch delayed. The smell of one of Grandma's chicken pies was beginning to drift in from the kitchen. His favourite! His mouth watered at the very thought of it.
Alan was next to arrive. He too glanced at the scoreboard, then sighed as he turned to Scott. "I still say John should have been disqualified after getting a ride from Gords on that last lap."
Scott had been happy to be magnanimous in victory. "Come on, Al. We talked this through last night. Poor guy ran over 20 miles and you saw the state of his ankle. He could barely walk last night. I don't know what he's got in store for us today, but if Virg's challenge involves anything beyond sitting still and creating something, he's got no chance of any more points."
"At least this challenge won't involve anything physical," Alan grinned. "Do you really not have any idea what he's got planned? I've been swotting up on all the spacey stuff, but knowing him it'll be something out of left-field."
"All the spacey stuff?" Scott repeated with clear disdain. "Is that what they call it at NASA? Good thing you didn't want to join the Air Force. We clearly had higher standards."
"So you haven't been brushing up on the stars then?" Alan asked, unfazed.
Scott shrugged. "Like you say, Johnny could throw anything at us."
"I should have insisted on being told all the challenges," Alan grumbled.
Before Scott could point out the disadvantage of this idea - for the other four brothers, at least - the door to the lounge slid open and Virgil wandered in, yawning and rubbing sleep from his eyes. He'd clearly been making up for the early start the previous morning.
"Seen the others?" Alan asked.
Virgil muttered something unintelligible as he headed into the kitchen in search of a much-needed coffee.
"I've seen Gordon," Scott told him. "Didn't hear him, though. Grandma was giving him another lecture. He couldn't get a word in."
Alan laughed. "You've got to admit, it was funny."
Scott rolled his eyes. He was clearly about to give all the reasons why 'funny' wasn't on the list of words he'd use to describe Gordon's antics of the previous day when Alan cut across him.
"Come on, Scotty. The whole point of this was to cheer Gordon up and that's what we've done. Yeah, I know getting his Olympic record back helped, but he'd still have been hurting over missing out on the chance to retain his title. But now he's back to normal. All thanks to me."
Before Scott could think of a suitable retort, Virgil returned from the kitchen with a coffee and a confused expression.
"Kyrano wouldn't let me have breakfast."
"Well it is nearly lunchtime," Scott told him. "Be patient."
"Yeah," Alan grinned. "Like we've been, waiting for you to announce your challenge."
"It's all in hand, Al." Virgil's attempt at nonchalance wasn't fooling anyone, but before Alan could chip away at him any further the door slid open and in came Penny, Parker and Jeff, followed a few moments later by Gordon and a stern-faced Grandma.
"Where's John?" she asked.
Before they could answer the door slid open once more and John came in.
"Finally!" said Alan. "We've been waiting almost as long for you as we have for-"
"Shut up Al!" Virgil and Scott were, as usual, in perfect unison.
"How long till lunch, Grandma?" Virgil asked. "I haven't had breakfast yet." Expecting sympathy – and hoping Grandma might raid the kitchen for him – he was surprised when the old lady just sighed.
John sighed too, to everyone's confusion, before taking centre stage in front of the gently flickering flames of the Tracylimpics scoreboard and taking a moment to compose himself.
"Come on, Johnny," Gordon prompted. "What's the challenge?"
"Space," Alan muttered. "I bet it's something to do with space."
John laughed. "Well actually, Al, you're right - in a way. It's all about who has the most space. In their stomachs, that is."
"Huh?"
John's eyes lit up as he elaborated. "Ice-cream! As much as you can eat - and then some. "
"You mean it's all about who can eat the most?" Penny looked somewhat uncertain.
"That's right." Grandma sighed once again. "Sorry, dear." She turned to her son. "You know, Jeff, perhaps you'd be a better judge-"
Jeff rarely interrupted his mother, but there was no way he wanted to witness the carnage that was about to ensue.
"Now then, mom, you know the deal. Parker and I did the marathon yesterday so that you and Penny didn't have to get up at 3am. You've got this one, I'm afraid."
"H'I'm watching!" Parker announced. "This'll be fun."
Penny was sorely tempted to walk away. She knew Jeff would hardly refuse a guest. A cup of Earl Grey and a perusal of the society pages would offer a far more genteel way to spend the next few minutes. But then, she had agreed to take on the judging of this challenge rather than risk bags under her eyes from a lack of beauty sleep the previous day. Plus, Scott might well win - after all, he was the biggest of the brothers and the possessor of the largest appetite - and it would be a shame to miss his moment of glory. No. she'd made a deal with Jeff and a lady never went back on a promise.
They moved to the dining room, where the brothers settled themselves at the table and waited for Kyrano to bring out five large tubs of chocolate ice-cream. Alan eyed his with pleasure, as much of an ice-cream fan as his fellow blond. Conversely, Gordon was regretting the large slice of cake he'd sneaked from the kitchen just half an hour earlier. Scott, despite having had a large breakfast, wasn't worried. There was always room for a sweet treat. He'd definitely be putting in some extra time in the gym, though. Virgil, too, was happy. He was starving, and whilst ice cream might not be his first choice for breakfast, he certainly wasn't going to complain.
"I dream of ice-cream," John admitted as he picked up his spoon. "Up on Five. Ice-cream and chocolate. This, my dear brothers, is the fulfilment of a dream. I've never had the chance before. Probably never will again."
Penny picked up a whistle and drew upon her deepest reserves of fortitude, envying Jeff as he hurriedly exited the room. "Very well. Gentlemen, prepare yourselves. When I blow the whistle, start eating. You have five minutes. Whoever eats the most ice-cream in that time wins."
"Hang on a minute, Penny." Ignoring the jeers of his brothers, John tucked a napkin into his shirt, then produced a band which he used to tie back his somewhat long hair. There had been no time for haircuts whilst he'd been preparing for the Tracylimpics.
"All set," he grinned, and Penny once again asked the competitors if they were ready to go.
Five spoons were waved at her. With a sense of trepidation, Penny blew the whistle.
It was the longest five minutes of her life. The woman who'd witnessed horrors her peers in the aristocracy could never begin to imagine, found herself unable to watch after the first 30 seconds. The possessor of the most beautiful table manners herself, the mayhem that unfolded was enough to make her feel more than a little queasy. It was just as well she wasn't really a fan of ice-cream, she thought. She didn't think she'd ever want to touch any ever again. She thought that even the delightful sorbets at her favourite restaurant would probably be ignored from now on.
Grandma Tracy had a stronger stomach – after all, she'd raised one son and five grandsons - but she'd always been a stickler for manners and her boys had quickly learned how to behave at the table. But even in their toddler years they'd never disgraced themselves the way they were doing right now. And if they had she'd have come down on them hard. It was torture knowing that this time she'd have to keep her mouth shut.
Virgil, whilst no slob, had a peculiar knack of attracting dirt. Out on rescues he'd start with a spotless, perfectly pressed uniform but within a few minutes he'd be covered in dust or mud or oil. Even in his studio he'd sometimes end up with as much paint on his hands as on his canvas. It was no surprise to anyone that there was as much ice-cream on his face as in his mouth.
Scott, too, was a mess, his face and shirt smeared with melted ice-cream. Penny was slightly repelled, though she still found herself admiring his competitive spirit. He was certainly making inroads into the tub in front of him.
John, however, was as immaculate as always. Although he was spooning the delicacy into his mouth as rapidly as his competitors, his napkin only bore a few tiny marks. He was certainly taking advantage of this limitless supply of his favourite treat, clearly determined not to waste a morsel. He appeared to be in the lead, calling for a second tub several seconds before the others.
Gordon and Alan were neck and neck. Or rather, up to their necks! Rivulets of melted ice-cream dripped down their necks and under their collars. Their chins were covered and sticky hanks of hair stuck to their faces
Tin-Tin came in, took one look at Alan, then turned and left. Quickly. Penny couldn't help but envy her.
"Thirty seconds," she announced, clinging to the knowledge that very soon this torture would be over.
It was a long half minute, but finally Penny could blow her whistle.
Spoons clattered to the table and Gordon let out a loud belch.
"Gordon!" Grandma admonished.
"Sorry Grandma."
Alan found he had the hiccups and Scott surreptitiously let out a notch of his belt.
"Guess we know who the winner is," Virgil said, gesturing to John's half-empty third tub. The space monitor had certainly indulged his fantasy and there was no question that he'd finished more than the others.
"Thank you very much!" John grinned and, to the groans of the others, proceeded to take a few more spoonfuls.
"How can you?" Virgil asked. "I never want to see ice-cream again."
"Neither do I," Grandma agreed. "Scott, get that shirt off. Honestly, the state of you boys. I thought I'd finished the laundry for this week."
Scott absent-mindedly pulled his shirt off, wiping his face with it, much to his grandmother's despair, before handing it over.
Penny couldn't help but feel compensated for her ordeal, though she only had a brief moment to enjoy the sight, preoccupied with the judging of the remainder of the others' tubs.
"In second place… Virgil."
Scott, Alan and Gordon could barely be separated, but the eldest was the victor by a whisker. Gordon was next and Alan took last place.
"That's not fair," Alan whined. "Virgil didn't have breakfast. Kyrano should have fed him when he asked. Favouritism, that's what that is."
"Say that to his face," Virgil suggested. "Or better still, go and complain to Tin-Tin and see where that gets you. Anyway, if anyone's got away with anything, it's Gordon."
"How'd you work that out?" Gordon asked.
"You were supposed to eat the ice-cream, not fling it around the room. There's more on the floor than ever went in your mouth. You'd better not be thinking of leaving Grandma to clear that up"
"Leave it to me, Virg." Gordon grinned. "I'd ask you to help but I guess you'll need to go and get ready for your own challenge." He exchanged an exaggerated knowing look with Alan.
"Yes, darling," Grandma said. "You really need to tell us what you've got planned. Who's going to judge? If it's me I'd like to know so I can get my baking finished today."
Virgil's delight at gaining eight points evaporated, the ice-cream suddenly settling like a rock in his stomach. He couldn't help but feel slightly sick.
"Come on," Alan said. "What time do you want us to meet tomorrow? And where? Clothes? Equipment? Come on, Virg, give us a clue."
"Shouldn't we be giving Virg a clue?" Gordon asked, a wicked glint in his eye. "I'm not convinced this amazing challenge exists. Trust me, tomorrow we'll be singing and dancing as we paint Thunderbird Two in flight."
"No you won't." Faithful to the end, Scott was still hoping Virgil would have come up with something original.
"Will too!" Gordon smirked. "I've said all along, Virgil's got nothing except music and art. I've already made up a song."
"Not a song." Virgil spoke through gritted teeth.
"Yeah, right." Gordon poked a chocolate-stained tongue out at his brother. "I'll give you a taste of the lyrics, shall I?" He stood up and struck a dramatic pose.
"There was a young man named Virgil,
Whose only true friend was a gerbil."
"That's a limerick," Scott told him.
"There's a tune, too," Gordon retorted. "You can hear it tomorrow. Don't want to give all my ideas away. So:
There was a young man named Virgil,
Whose only true friend was a gerbil.
He cried lots of tears
'Cos he was out of ideas,
So he ran off to Grandma and-"
What happened between Virgil and Grandma no one ever knew, because the middle Tracy finally cracked. The remainder of Gordon's half-melted tub of ice cream was deposited over his head and Virgil stormed out of the room.