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one.
    It was no accident.
    It was no coincidence.
    Somebody had deliberately tampered with my kit.
     
    *                  *                   *                  *
     
    ‘ So what is it you’re saying?’ said Shirley, reaching for her beer. ‘Somebody’s sabotaged your stuff?’
    ‘ Well …Yeah.’
    In the cosy confines of the Red Lion, to which we always retire after training on a Tuesday, it did seem a rather melodramatic suggestion. I would have felt a little foolish, except that there was no denying it - somebody had been in my bag and tampered with the wires.
    ‘ But why would anybody do that?’ asked Little Bob, one of our foilists. ‘You weren’t even in the competition, so it’s not as if anybody had anything to gain from it. You’d be sure to find out the next time you went training anyway.’
    I looked down at my half-drained pint. He was right about that, of course. There was no advantage to be gained from it, but it was very unsettling all the same. Maybe that was the idea. Just to unsettle me.
    ‘I don’t know. Perhaps it’s a practical joke. Or maybe it’s just somebody trying to piss me off.’ As soon as I said it I knew it sounded pretty lame.
    ‘ You must have really upset somebody for them to want to get back at you that much,’ said Shirley. ‘Bit of a risk, wasn’t it, when they must have known you could have come back at any moment.’
    ‘ Mmmm.’ She was quite right. Whoever had done it must have had a very good reason for taking that big a risk.
    ‘ Go on then, Richard,’ chipped in Dominic, grinning as he raised his glass. ‘Who is it that you’ve been making enemies with?’
    ‘ Well … er … I don’t know.’ I took a sip of my Guinness. ‘I’ve been thinking it through and coming up with nothing. I don’t really have any enemies. You know me - I tend to avoid conflict if I can help it.’
    ‘ Yeah,’ said Shirley, clearly unconvinced by what I was saying. ‘You don’t have any enemies, you’re just a little paranoid, that’s all.’
    I smiled. It must all have seemed ridiculous to them. Personal vendettas like this just didn ’t happen in the world of fencing. Sure, you get people who don’t get on, but that’s only to be expected in a highly charged, competitive environment. Whilst there is, I suppose, the opportunity and potential for underhand trickery, it was so unlikely as to be regarded as impossible.
    ‘ Well,’ said Dominic decisively, as he drained his glass and plonked it down on the table, ‘the way I see it there are three possible explanations. One, you do have your very own stalker who’s tampering with your kit on purpose. Two, it’s just a practical joke by some arsehole at Cheltenham, and it’s getting under your skin a little more than it should.’
    ‘ And three…?’ I raised an eyebrow at him.
    ‘ Three, Shirley’s right. You really are paranoid.’
    Everybody had a little laugh at that. Yes, very funny. Of course, I hadn ’t told them about the phone calls or the flat tyres, so it was probably very easy for them to make a big joke out of Old Richard’s persecution complex.
    ‘ Another?’ Little Bob rose, pulling out his wallet and gesturing towards my now empty glass.
    ‘ Er …. no, no thanks. I’d best be off.’ I glanced at my watch.
    I always make a point of only having the one drink after training, as we live far enough from the Red Lion that I have to drive back. It ’s different for the other three though, as they all live within walking distance and don’t mind hauling their bags back through the darkened streets of Ely. As Little Bob headed for the bar to rack up another round I excused myself and made for the door.
    It was ten thirty and I was wide awake. I always am for hours after training, the adrenaline in the system taking a while to dissipate, so I tend to stay up late and watch TV while eating supper. Sue is nearly always fast asleep by the time I