There were just the three of them to start with–Tiger Wilson, Dr Christopher Devon and Gary Flynn–and they met on Friday nights in the Hare and Hounds. Well, not every Friday night, because sometimes Tiger’s wife wanted to be taken out to dinner, and sometimes Christopher Devon was on call, and sometimes Gary Flynn had a better offer. But not very often. Which is why, at least three weeks out of four, they played dominoes in the Hare and Hounds on a Friday night.

They would like to have played squash. It would have been better for their self-esteem. But Tiger’s right knee had gone, Christopher’s balance was sometimes a bit suspect and Gary maintained he was averse to anything physical unless it involved being horizontal.

They never really meant to play dominoes. Dominoes was a game for old men. And they were not old. They were in their fifties. The prime of life. At their peak. Established in their professions. Until recently at any rate.

They met…well, they dispute this. Tiger thinks it was at a drinks party, Christopher says they were his patients long before that and Gary claims to have no recollection at all, which most likely pins it down to the drinks party.

The fact that these disparate souls get on with one another at all is pretty remarkable, but they do have one thing in common. Their age. And like most men in their fifties they are at a crossroads. It’s not that they have underachieved. Far from it. They have accomplished what they set out to do. Reached the top of the tree. Well, the higher branches anyway.

Sorted eh? At fifty. In their prime. With just one niggling little question. Is that it?

Not that in the early days of the domino club this had ever been alluded to in so many words. It was more of an undercurrent. A frustration that occasionally erupted thanks to a newspaper article that highlighted the folly of government, or some local injustice that should have been sorted out. The kind of thing that causes most of the population to say, ‘They should do something about it.’

Then one day Dr Christopher Devon said, ‘We should do something about it.’

‘What sort of something?’ asked Gary.

And Tiger said, ‘We should form a sort of secret society.’

Chapter 2

And moreover my mother taught me as a boy (repeatingly), ‘Ever to confess you’re bored means you have no Inner Resources.’

77 Dream Songs, John Berryman, 1914–72