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‘Somewhere down in Wiltshire?’ said Linda. She pronounced it Wilt Shire.
‘Wiltshire? Great! God! Where’s that?’
‘Stonehenge?’ said Ron. ‘Somewhere round there.’
‘How close to London?’ said Israel.
‘M3,’ said Ron. ‘M4?’
‘Is that close by?’
‘Not far, I don’t think,’ said Ron. ‘I went with the wife once to Salisbury. Years ago. Visiting some friends of ours over there. That was nice.’
‘Oh, yeah!’ said Israel, punching the air. ‘Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah!’
‘What?’
‘This is brilliant. Linda, I can’t thank you enough. This is fantastic! It’s the best day of my life.’
‘Right, well, thank you, Mr Armstrong.’
Ted had been rather quiet.
‘Mr Carson?’ said Linda.
‘You can’t replace the van,’ said Ted. ‘She’s irreplaceable.’
‘No one and nothing is irreplaceable, Ted, I’m afraid,’ said Ron. ‘Us old warhorses included.’
‘We’ve had that van nearly thirty years,’ said Ted.
‘Exactly,’ said Linda. ‘What about a refurbishment?’ said Ted.
‘We’ve looked into the price of a refurbishment and it’s not economical, I’m afraid,’ said Linda.
‘When did ye look into a refurbishment?’
‘We’ve looked into a refurbishment.’
‘Not with me you haven’t.’
‘No, we had some consultants look into it.’
‘You had consultants looking at my van?’
‘It’s not actually your van, Mr Carson. It’s the—’
‘It only needs a bit of work.’
‘New engine?’ said Linda, referring to a list. ‘Bodywork. Chassis.’
‘Well?’ said Ted.
‘She’d hardly be the same vehicle, would she, Ted?’ said Ron.
‘Like the philosopher’s hammer,’ said Israel.
‘What’s he going on about?’ said one of the nameless councillors.
‘No idea,’ said the other.
‘We’re looking at a number of possible suppliers at the moment,’ said Linda. ‘Mostly specialist coach builders—they do hospitality units, mobile police stations.’
‘Wow!’ said Israel. ‘Ted! We could have our own hospitality area, and a VIP lounge.’
‘Here are the brochures, gents,’ said Linda, handing over some thick glossy booklets. ‘If you’d like to be having a look at those.’
‘Fantastic,’ said Israel.
‘You will of course be fully consulted about the exact specifications.’
‘Ted! Look at this! What about a mini-bar, eh, Ted?’
Ted’s eyes were glazed.
‘We could have a toilet and everything. Remember that time you were caught short and…Ted?’
‘I think you’ll agree the standard of craftsmanship on this sort of vehicle is quite different to your own—’ began Linda.
‘What?’ said Ted.
‘Efforts, Ted. Which have been much appreciated, may I just say.’
‘I want it minuted that I’m very unhappy with this,’ said Ted.
‘Right,’ said Linda. ‘I really don’t think there’s any need for that.’
‘I want it in the records!’ said Ted.
‘Well, that’s fine, if you insist.’
‘This’ll be fantastic, Ted,’ said Israel. ‘Listen—’
‘I’ll tell you what, I’ll listen to you when you’ve learned to wipe your arse,’ said Ted.
‘Right. Thanks.’
‘Come on now, Ted, there’s no need for that sort of language now, is there? There’s ladies present,’ said Ron.
‘Women, thank you,’ said Linda. ‘This is the twenty-first century. Anyway, maybe you two…gentlemen…can talk it over between yourselves? And let me know whether we can go ahead with our plans and book your tickets over to England?’
3 (#ulink_f1418570-94b3-5f0b-b0a5-7c4a6351ed7d)
The meeting had ended, as was traditional at Mobile Library Steering Committee meetings, amidst argument, dissolution and general disarray—‘Don’t forget the Booker Prize longlist, announced in August!’ cried Eileen. ‘That’s August!’; ‘PR!’ Ron was saying. ‘New van! Great PR!’; and ‘Some reports of discrepancies in cataloguing!’ Linda was reminding Ted and Israel; and ‘What?’ said Chi-Chi; and ‘What?’ said Chang-Chang—and then it was the long drive home in the van with Ted silent and sulking and Israel flicking through the fat, plush brochures and the programme for the Mobile Meet, the UK’s, quote, Premier Mobile Library Event. Unquote.
It was an uncomfortable, damp, sweaty summer’s evening; tempers were frayed; temperatures high; and Israel knew that he was going to have to do something pretty special to persuade Ted to go with him over to England. This was his opportunity to ensure himself a free trip back home: the prospect of leaving Tumdrum was the best thing that had happened to him since arriving.
‘There’s some really good stuff on at this Mobile Meet thing,’ he said casually.
‘Huh,’ said Ted.
‘Look. A Guide to Electronic Self-issue,’ said Israel.
‘Bullshit,’ said Ted.
‘Supplier-Select Book-Buying For Beginners,’ said Israel.
‘Bullshit.’
‘Bibliotherapy,’ said Israel.
‘What?’
‘Bibliotherapy,’ repeated Israel.
‘Bullshit.’
‘Honestly, some of this stuff looks really good,’ said Israel. ‘I think it’ll be really interesting.’
‘That’s because you’re a ragin’ eejit, like the rest of them.’
‘Thank you.’
‘My pleasure. Hirstle o’ blinkin’ eejits, the whole lot of youse.’
‘What’all of idiots?’
‘Ach, read a fuckin’ dictionary, Israel, will ye? I’m not in the mood.’
‘Right. Ted,’ said Israel soothingly, ‘not being funny, but you really shouldn’t take this personally.’
‘I shouldn’t take it personally?’
‘No. The whole van thing, you know. You need to see it as an opportunity rather than a threat.’
Israel could sense Ted’s neck and back—his whole body—stiffening in the van beside him, which was not a good sign. Ted was like a dog: he gave clear warnings before attacking. Israel’s softly-softly, soothing approach was clearly not working; he’d rubbed him up the wrong way.
‘An opportunity!’ said Ted, his shaven head glistening, his slightly shiny short-sleeved shirt shining, and his big hairy forearms tensing and tensing again. ‘An opportunity! The van I’ve tended like me own wean for the past…God only knows how many years, and they’re planning to throw on the scrap heap? And I should view that as an opportunity?’
‘Yes, no, I mean, just…You know, all good things must…and what have you—’
‘Ach!’
‘Plus,’ said Israel, trying an entirely other approach. ‘Yes! Plus! You could think of it as a nice holiday, you know. We’re going to get to go over to England, relax, choose a new van. It’ll be great fun.’
‘Fun?’
‘Yes.’
‘You are actually stupit, aren’t ye?’
Israel thought fast. ‘We could have air conditioning in the new van,’ he said, wiping the sweat dramatically from his brow. ‘You know how hot it gets in here sometimes. And with the rain, in the summer. You were complaining about it only yesterday. Dehumidification.’
‘We don’t need dehumimidifaction.’
‘For the…books, though.’
Maybe a clerkly appeal, an appeal to worthiness, to the ancient and high-minded principles of librarianship?
‘We can’t think of ourselves always, Ted. We’re librarians. We have to think of the good of the books. You know, that’s our first responsibility, as librarians, to the books, rather than to the van.’
‘To the books?’
‘That’s right. To the books. And…’
God, what else would appeal to Ted?
‘Our responsibility to the clients.’
‘The clients?’
‘Yes,’ said Israel, without conviction.
‘Are ye having me on?’
‘No,’ said Israel. Clearly an appeal to their responsibility to readers wouldn’t work. It wouldn’t have worked with him either.
‘You’re not even half interested though?’ said Israel tentatively. ‘I mean, they’re giving us carte blanche, Ted. We could go for the full works. Anything we want. You know, like a mobile Internet café. “Would you like an espresso with your Catherine Cookson, madam?” We could have our own blog! Honestly, it’d be amazing.’
‘No,’ said Ted. ‘It wouldn’t be amazing.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we’re not getting a new bloody van!’
‘Language, Ted.’
‘Don’t talk to me about my language, ye fuckin’ eejit!’
