The Well of Lost Plots

'Good morning, Jack,' I said as I walked up, 'how are things?'

He looked a lot happier than the last time I saw him and smiled agreeably, handing me coffee in a paper cup.

'Excellent, Mary — I should call you Mary, shouldn't I, just in case I have a slip of the tongue when we're being read? Listen, I went to see my wife Madeleine last night, and after a heated exchange of opinions we came to some sort of agreement.'

'You're going back to her?'

'Not quite,' replied Jack, taking a sip of coffee, 'but we agreed that if I stopped drinking and never saw Agatha Diesel again, she would consider it!'

'Well, that's a start, isn't it?'

'Yes,' replied Jack, 'but it might not be as simple as you think. I received this in the post this morning.'

He handed me a letter. I unfolded it and read:

Dear Mr Spratt,

It has come to our attention that you may be attempting to give up the booze and reconcile with your wife. While we approve of this as a plot device to generate more friction and i

I trust you will do the decent thing and halt this damaging and abnormal behaviour before it leads to your downfall.

PS. Despite repeated demands, you have failed to drive a classic car or pursue an unusual hobby. Please do so at once or face the consequences.

'Hmm,' I muttered, 'it's signed Poi—'

'I know who it's signed by,' replied Jack sadly, retrieving the letter. 'The union is very powerful. They have influence that goes all the up to the Great Panjandrum. This could hasten the demolition of Caversham Heights, not delay it. Father Brown wanted to renounce the priesthood umpteen times, but, well, the union—'

'Jack,' I said, 'what do you want?'

'Me?'

'Yes, you.'

He sighed.

'It's not as simple as that. I have a responsibility for the seven hundred and eighty-six other characters in this book. Think of it — all those Generics sold off like post-Christmas turkeys or reduced to text. It makes me shudder just to think about it!'

'That might happen anyway, Jack. At least this way we have a fighting chance. Do your own thing. Break away from the norm.'

He sighed again and ran his fingers through his hair.

'But what about the conflicts'? Isn't that the point of being a loner detective? The appalling self-destruction, the i

'And what if you don't?' I persisted. 'It needn't be like that. There's more than one way to make a story interesting.'

'Okay,' he said, 'let's say I do live happily with Madeleine and the kids — what am I going to do for sub-plots? In a story like this conflict, for want of a better word, is good. Conflict is right. Conflict works.'

He gazed at me angrily, but I knew he still believed in himself — the fact that we were even having this conversation proved that.

'It doesn't have to be marital conflicts,' I told him. 'We could get a few sub-plots from the Well and sew them in — I agree the action can't always stay with you, but if we— Hello, I think we've got company.'

A pink Triumph Herald had pulled up with a middle-aged woman in it. She got out, walked straight up to Jack and slapped him hard in the face.

'How dare you!' she screamed. 'I waited three hours for you at the Sad & Single wine bar — what happened?'

'I told you, Agatha. I was with my wife.'

'Sure you were,' she spat, her voice rising. 'Don't patronise me with your pathetic little lies — who are you screwing this time? One of those little tarts down at the station?'

'It's true,' he replied in an even voice, more shocked than outraged. 'I told you last night — it's all over, Agatha.'

'Oh yes? I suppose you put him up to this?' she said, looking at me, scorn and anger in her eyes. 'You come down here on a character exchange with your Outlander airs and self-determination bullshit and think you can improve the storyline? The supreme arrogance of you people!'

She stopped for a moment and looked at the pair of us.

'You're sleeping together, aren't you?'

'No,' I told her firmly, 'and if there aren't some improvements round here soon, there won't be a book. If you want a transfer out of here, I'm sure I can arrange something—'

'It's all so easy for you, isn't it?' she said, her face convulsing with anger and then fear as her voice rose. 'Think you can just make a few footnoterphone calls and everything will be just dandy?'

She pointed a long bony finger at me. 'Well, I'll tell you, Miss Outlander, I will not take this lying down!'

She glared at us both, marched back to her car and drove off with a squeal of tyres.

'How about that for a conflictual sub-plot?' I asked, but Jack wasn't amused.

'Let's see what else you can dream up — I'm not sure I like that one. Did you find out when the Book Inspectorate are due to read us?'

'Not yet,' I told him.

Jack looked at his watch. 'Come on, we've got the fight-rigging scene to do. You'll like this one. Mary was sometimes a little late with the "If you don't know we can't help you" line when we did the old good cop/bad cop routine, but just stay on your toes and you'll be fine.'

He seemed a lot happier having stood up to Agatha, and we walked across the road to where some rusty iron stairs led up to the gym.

Reading, Tuesday. It had been raining all night and the rain-washed streets reflected the dour sky. Mary and Jack walked up the steel steps that led to Mickey Fi