Working out the exact relationship between the players would take time and I’d need help. The large hand of my black and white clock clunked through every minute, reminding me of the passage of time. I turned off the centre light and clicked on the small bulb over my character board. I sat in the low light for over two hours, trying to work it out.

There was Amber to the left of Rebecca. Both ladies were joined to me by bold red arrows running both forwards and backwards. James Pennington’s picture, or as I imagined he might look (complete with a theatrical curling moustache which I’d scribbled in with black felt tip), was pinned underneath Rebecca’s picture. A small arrow, indicating the more minor importance attaching to their relationship, was coloured in green and pointed from James to Rebecca. She was never really interested in him. The relationship had been one-way. The alignment of the arrows caused me anxiety. I was unwilling to acknowledge any significant links between the two ladies and the mystery man.

I cut out a cartoon image of Dracula and stuck it with glue between my two ladies. Without a name and identity, this seemed the best short-term solution. I got a measure of satisfaction by the addition of such a belittling caricature. The picture of Rebecca was now twice the size of Amber’s. The latter had already shrunk in my estimation and memory. It was six o’clock before I fell asleep, dropping off into a fitful nightmarish slumber in my mother’s old moth-eaten armchair.

56

Arthur

I decided not to call Rebecca for a few days; keep her waiting. She wasn’t going anywhere. I spent the next few days travelling round the country, finding solace in bland well-practised sales pitches to slick pharmaceutical companies. Arthur Beck at your service. I offloaded thousands of pills and potions with efficient ease, using slick unthreatening sales techniques to maximum effect.

While I drove up and down the mainland, letting rock and roll classics blast out from the car radio, I regained composure and belief in my invincibility. Something else had been bothering me about the case, a term I used when referring to my relationship intrigues.

I had pinned another cartoon image, this time of the Incredible Hulk on Rebecca’s side of the board next to James Pennington. I also cut out an extra-large question mark and stuck it diagonally across the image. Who was he? What relationship did he have, or did he once have, with my girlfriend? I toyed with the possibilities as I cruised around the countryside. He wasn’t a threat in the sense that I imagined Dracula to be but he might help fill in the gaps. I wasn’t confident that Rebecca would tell me the full story but I knew, from experience, that forewarned is forearmed.