by Siddiq Islam

In wishing The Poor Print a happy one-hundredth issue, I submit a puzzle of unwarranted length (sorry). The aim of the puzzle is to highlight the ambiguity of relationships and the conclusions to which we jump. As you read, check the assumptions you make along the way, remember the information you receive from each character, and appreciate the light-heartedness of the prose at the same time. I am not sure whether this is particularly clever or satisfying as far as puzzles go, but I hope that it at least has you perplexed for a short while.

You arrive at your cousin Rachel’s house a little later than expected. She has
 told you to come for dinner tonight, a rogue invitation considering you do not know much about this side of the family, only that they are a little unusual. Beyond the front door is an atrium with a large desk, sitting like a hotel desk, beyond which is a little moustachioed receptionist, sitting like a hotel receptionist, beyond whom is an array of room numbers, sitting on the wall like hotel room numbers.

‘Hello!’ pipes the man excitedly. ‘You must be our cousin. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and thank you for coming. I am Michael, Rachel’s brother. I have been posted at the door to greet everybody. You are the last one here, and dinner is about to be served, but if you go upstairs quickly, I think Rachel would love to see you. She should be in her office in room 106.’

You thank Michael, returning his greetings and plodding up the carpeted stairs. The whole first floor is one long corridor, with each room numbered. The family must have bought an old hotel and converted it into their home. After knocking on the door numbered 106 and opening it, you see that Rachel is holding a phone up to her ear.

She whispers to you, ‘Go next door to my brother’s office,’ before speaking again to the voice on the end of the line. Her finger points to the room next door. She is clearly busy, so you do as she says and try room 105.

The room is empty but for the stationery scattered across the desk. ‘Tinker-Taylor & Tinker-Taylor’ is embossed across the top of the paper. You remember now that Rachel and her brother founded a law firm. Not the catchiest name, but good on them for running it together.

The doorknob turns and a large man staggers in. ‘Sorry, who are you?’ he questions, somewhat bluntly. After you explain that you are Rachel’s cousin, he blurts, ‘Ah, then you had better see Uncle Ben. He is down the hall.’

This man is either trying to get rid of you or lacks some social skills. Regardless, you decide it best to leave him be, and you rush out of the room and down the hallway. Unsure which room this Uncle Ben is in, you have no choice but to try each door.

In room 104, a sick girl lies in bed. She is paler than her sheets, and while you are sorry for invading her space, you can’t help but feel sorry for her condition. You apologise and shut the door.

In room 103 is an elderly woman dressed in a frock. When you open the door, she whisks her head around and starts molly-coddling you. ‘My grandchild! I haven’t seen you since you were a tiny bean!’ She suffocates you in her frilly arms. Despite her immediate familiarity, you have no idea who this woman is, and she is definitely not one of your two grandmothers.

Rushing out of there in fright, you immediately stumble into room 102, to be met by your godfather, Lord Braeburn. It is so pleasant to see a familiar face. You relate to him who you have seen so far: your cousins, the gruff man, the sick girl, and the ordeal with the elderly woman.

‘Apologies for Granny Smith’, he says. ‘That is my sister and she has gone a bit loopy in her old age. She must have mistaken you for one of her grandchildren. That poor girl in the sickbed is my daughter, Eliza. I am worried to death about her, you know. We are not sure what has come over her but she has been rattling like a skeleton for a week now. As for Uncle Ben, he is in the room at the end of the hall with his wife Beth.’

You have finally reached the room at the end of the corridor. A middle-aged woman sits on a bed, and a dark-haired man looms over her, finger pointed. ‘All because of your bloody niece!’ he shouts. ‘She is your niece too’, states the woman, but before they can continue, they both notice you have entered the room and change face to greet you. When you tell them you are looking for an Uncle Ben, the dark-haired man says, ‘Aye, that is me. How are you, lad? Are you ready for some dinner? I have cooked my home recipe of microwaveable packet rice. Let’s round everyone up now, in fact. It is high time we ate. Please could you knock up the hall and let everyone know to come down to the dining room?’

Walking back up the corridor, you invite Lord Braeburn for dinner, as well as Granny Smith, trying not to get sucked into another mistaken hug. You are not sure whether the sick girl Eliza is eating, but you tell her to come anyway. Neither the tall, blunt man nor Rachel are in the office rooms, so you assume they have already gone downstairs.

In the next room, 107, a ginger man sits at his desk, with papers scattered all over. You introduce yourself and try to call him to dinner, but he insists that you sit with him for a while. ‘There is something you should know about this family. It is a tragic family with a history of fighting and despairing. Your Uncle Ben and I used to run a successful ice cream company together, called Ben and Jerry’s. We were going to take on the frozen-food world together, but Ben grew distant from me. He was jealous of my daughter, I am sure of it. He thought my daughter was better than his and he resented me for it. I didn’t do anything that deserved him cutting me off, but he went and started his own business in microwaveable packet rice. Now I am left picking up the pieces trying to come up with other convenient foods that can compete with his. What do you think about microwaveable packet pizza? Packet bolognese? It’s just not the same …’

You leave Uncle Jerry to lament alone and move on to room 108. It is a playroom where several young girls lie playing with toys strewn across the floor, and watching over them is the large, blunt man from the office. He looks as though a kind of idle sadness has washed over him as he watches the children. ‘My biggest regret in life’, he tells you, ‘is not having children. Look, everyone else has them, and they bring their parents so much joy. Come on, kids, it’s time to eat!’

In room 109 are a fair girl and boy, unpacking their bags. They look upset, but you don’t know who they are, and frankly you are quite unbothered at this point to find out. You notify them to come to the dining room and swiftly leave.

In the hallway, you bump into Michael again. He asks you how you are doing, and you tell him you are starting to get confused working out who is related to whom, so he helps you out. ‘Lord Braeburn has only two children, as does Granny Smith. There in that room was Artemis with her brother Apollo. They have just moved in to look after their mother since they are both doctors. She is the niece that Uncle Ben doesn’t like, and speaking of nieces, I have just worked something out … everyone has a niece here except you! Now please could you help me set the table? I’m not a lawyer or a doctor; I am just a waiter with no help!’