“We’re not even going to Winnipeg!” I protested. “I’m sorry, but there is no way Bea knew Canada had a football league until two months ago.”

“If I’ve learned anything, it’s that we’ve no idea what Bea knows and when she knew it,” Nick said. “I need your answer.”

I leaned back in my chair, an old, overstuffed chintz number. “The Winnipeg…Wombats?”

“That is not even a sincere guess,” Nick said. “It’s the Blue Bombers. Famous Canadian Kiefer Sutherland is going to be so disappointed in you.”

“Is he from Winnipeg?”

“No idea,” Nick said. “His binder hasn’t arrived.”

As intense as Bea was, it was fun for me and Nick to be united against a common enemy who wasn’t also a close member of his family. We knew her whipcracking was ultimately for our benefit, and so as the months wore on and the spring rains ceded to early summer sun that we were too trapped indoors to revel in, we kept ourselves sane by keeping a running tally of who was scoring higher on her tests and who managed to get more words in edgewise during her lectures. It made us feel closer to have an in-joke to grin about while Bea monologued about what would happen if we forgot that Toronto is not Canada’s capital city. And it helped deflect the weight of what was, essentially, an international audition for the Commonwealth. Instead of faking jollity with Freddie, acting as Eleanor’s personal fun ambassador, or being forced to clean Marta’s iPhone screen, we finally had an assignment that was all about us being us.

“Are you excited, at least?” Lacey asked. “Because the Daily Mail said you’re so work-shy that you made Richard give you the rest of the year off. Hand me that level, please.”

I dug through the tool kit on the floor of her front entryway until I found the neon-green level. Lacey had invited me to the cozy shoebox of a flat she now shared with Olly, ostensibly to catch up in person, but mostly to help with a variety of small tasks. “I’m trying to keep you grounded,” she’d teased. “Also, Olly takes two hours to decide which screwdriver to try. He’s fired.”

“I don’t know if excited is the right word,” I said to her now. “Motivated might be better. I want people to see what I’m worth. And Bea seems skeptical that I can pull this off without violating the Diplomatic Code, which I know she made up, but I still want to prove her wrong. How many nails do you need?”

“Two,” she said, marking spots on the wall with a pencil. “Bea doesn’t think you’re that incompetent. She’s just being Bea. Don’t let her rub off on you.”