‘Hi. Rebecca. Thanks but if you don’t mind I’ll sit at the back away from all the noise.’ With a sideways glance, I indicated the gaggle of women beside him.

‘I don’t blame you,’ he said.

I then took out my mobile phone, feigned an urgent incoming message, and walked to the far end of the room.

The receptionist suddenly appeared at my side and asked if I could come back later. They were currently very busy. She could book me in for an induction that evening.

‘Yes. That’ll be fine. I’ll finish my tea and if it’s okay I’ll have a look around?’

‘Of course. I’ll see you at eight.’

After a few minutes, I saw Arthur stand and prepare to leave. I kept my eyes down, studied the brochure and looked up only after he’d gone.

38

Arthur

Insomnia is something that sort of inveigles its way into your life. I learnt to live on very little sleep; two or three hours at a time and would catch forty winks in my car at service stations all around the country.

After selling the pharmacy, I became a freelance travelling pharmaceutical salesman. My new career path offered plenty of flexibility and I liked to reach destinations in the early hours when traffic was at a minimum.

When I didn’t have to travel, I would park my car opposite Rebecca’s flat at night-time. I kept a beady vigil and monitored her movements which were logged meticulously in a notebook. I had to be certain she was single and not toying with my affections. I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

My actions might have appeared a bit spooky or bizarre to more uptight individuals and Rebecca did eventually freak out when she discovered them. The violence of her reaction told me I might have hit a nerve. But I carried sympathy when I asked, calmly, if she had never been enticed to spy on a loved one. Perhaps she might have been tempted to drive past and look up at a lover’s window? Catch them out or catch a glimpse? I thought Rebecca would have appreciated such commitment and dedication. Her use of the term psychotic obsession was a bit harsh.

One Saturday morning, early, I was jolted out of a peaceful reverie when I saw Rebecca leave her flat in jogging kit. My cover was nearly blown when a neighbour, a young unkempt man in his thirties, knocked on the car window.

‘Hey. This is residents’ parking. Do you mind finding somewhere else to sleep,’ he shouted, indicating for me to roll down the window. Rebecca looked round to see what was going on, while I tugged my hat low over my face.

‘Sorry. I’ll move on. No sweat,’ I mouthed without opening the window.