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He’d tap the piece he was going to move three times, always three times, move it, punch the timeclock and sit back, then fold his arms and wait for Purple’s move to come up on the electronic board. When Greg McInley won there were no fists raised in the air in triumph, no smiles even. He’d just push his chair back and walk directly off the stage, completely ignoring the audience who’d be on their feet, clapping and cheering. I always looked for a glimpse of his mother in the audience. And I thought I did see her just once, a woman in black in the front row, but the camera passed by her so quickly that I couldn’t be sure.

    Evening after evening my father would take me through Greg McInley’s most amazing moves, and he’d go on and on about the genius of the man to anyone who would listen. None of us could really understand the complexities of it. All we wanted to know was who was going to win. Man or machine? Greg McInley or Purple?

    My father tried to stay up all night to hear the news of the last match – the deciding match – as it came in, but he fell asleep. So he didn’t know the result any more than we did when it came on the breakfast news the next morning. We were all watching, watching and waiting. Then at last it came. “Chess. And Greg McInley has done it! Last night Greg McInley, world chess champion, beat Purple in the last match in the series. So he wins seven matches to six.” Then we saw pictures of Greg McInley sitting up there on the stage in New York. We saw him sit back, stroke his nose, reach out, tap tap tap on the Black Queen and at last make his move. He punched the timeclock, and then came his voice, soft, deep, calm: “Checkmate.” The cheering was thunderous. This time, when he stood up, he did bow just once, and I saw a flicker of a half smile, a shy smile on his face as he walked off.

    The reporter went on: “That is probably the last we shall see of McInley for some time. He will take away five million pounds in prize money, money which he usually gives away to good causes. An intensely private person, he never gives interviews. He will disappear, as he always does, into nowhere.”
    “Didn’t I tell you?” cried my father. “Didn’t I tell you?” He had tears in his eyes, and so did I, and so did Rula – but that was because she had lost Matey again. Matey turned up soon enough – my mother had shut him in the kitchen cupboard by mistake.
    Later, when we were clearing up breakfast, Gran suddenly said: “No-one can disappear into nowhere. Someone must know where he goes. That chess man, he must have a family somewhere. Everyone has a mother.” I felt myself going cold all over. “I mean,” she went on, “someone must know where he goes to, surely to goodness.”

    “Listen, Gran,” my father said, “if you’ve got a brain like he’s got, you can disappear, just like that, easy as pie. That man can beat the best chess players in the world, the best minds and now the best machines. Do you really think he can’t beat everyone at hide and seek too? If he doesn’t want to be found, then I’m telling you, he
won’t
be found.”

    “His mother would know,” Gran said – she was not giving up the argument. “Find the mother – she’ll know where he is.”
    I don’t know why I said it. I heard the words come tumbling out of my mouth and could not stop them. “The Black Queen, at Number Twenty-two next door, maybe she’s his mother,” I began – everyone was gawping at me – “well, she could be. She’s mad on chess. She’s got chessboards all over her walls, like pictures. I’ve seen them. Maybe she taught him. And she’s American too, isn’t she? Greg McInley’s American, isn’t he?” They were still gawping.
    “You’ve been looking in at her windows!” my mother cried – she was furious. “You’ve been snooping!”

    “I just looked, that’s all. When I found Matey that time, I just had a quick look.” I was in real trouble