The Case of the Missing Books

'Thanks,' said Israel, recovering his powers of speech.

'It's all right,' said the drinker. 'I'll take a pint.'

'Right,' gasped Israel, 'pint, please, for my friend here.'

'Right you are. What d'you reckon?' asked the barmaid.

'Erm,' said Israel, 'it's…unusual.'

'I'll tell Elder you liked it. He'll be delighted. Some people can't stand the stuff. Elder!' she shouted. 'Elder! Look, look! He liked it! Sean, I'll get you your pint.'

Elder gave a thumbs-up sign from the other end of the bar.

Israel excused himself for a moment to use the toilet, and to splash water on his face-the mirror above the hand-basin was helpfully etched with the words, CHRIST DIED FOR THE UNGODLY, just in case anyone had forgotten-and when he returned the barmaid was setting up another First and Last for him.

'There you go. Drinks on the house.'

'No, really, thanks. It's fine. I'm not here to drink as such. I'm just, er, just waiting to see Ted-Ted Carson?-if he comes in tonight.'

'Och, Ted? He'll not be in for ages.'

'Oh, right. Well, I'd rather have a mineral water while I wait, if that's OK.'

'This one's from Elder,' she whispered. 'I don't think you want to upset him.'

Elder waved at Israel from the far end of the bar, pointing his finger at him, and mimicking drinking, and then rubbing his tummy with glee.

'No. Well. Thanks.'

'And a pint,' she said, setting a pint of Guinness before him.

'But I didn't-'

'That's from Sean here.'

'My round,' said Sean, who'd managed to finish a pint in the time it had taken Israel to go to the loo.

'Oh. Really, there's no need…' said Israel.

'You saying my money's not good enough for ye?' said Sean, scowling, breathing out his fierce cheese and onion fumes.

'No,' said Israel, laughing slightly hysterically. 'Of course not. Very kind of you. Thanks.'

'Only joking!' said Sean, patting Israel hard on the back.

'Cheers,' said Sean.

'Cheers.'

The drinks stood on the bar staring at Israel accusingly, like miserable little orphaned children waiting to be taken home, and the raven-haired barmaid and Elder and Sean were looking at him too, and Israel reckoned he'd probably toned up pretty well recently on all the whiskey he was drinking back at the farm, and so he smiled manfully at them all and steadied himself on the bar-stool and tipped back his head, and drank down the First and Last in one gulp-hoping to avoid the throat-scorching-and it worked, his throat was unscathed, and the on-lookers turned away to get on with their business…until suddenly the drink hit his stomach and Israel wished he'd sipped because it felt like something had ruptured or exploded down there, causing havoc, the fumes and the fall-out quickly working its way back up his throat, and once again robbing him of the powers of speech. The second Guinness was a great blessing though, and the third, and by the time Ted arrived Israel was four sheets to the wind, and was treating everyone at the bar to his favourite Jewish jokes.

'No, this is the best bit,' he was concluding. 'You're going to love this!' he guaranteed, barely able to contain his own mirth, 'So she said: "But the chicken was delicious!"' There were gales of laughter. 'Ted!' called Israel. 'Ted! Ted! Ted! Come here, Ted. What'll you have?'

'Ach, Israel, what are you doing in here?'

'Now. Ted.' Israel put a beery arm around Ted's shoulder. 'I'm not ashamed to say this, Ted. I'm just…I just. I wanted to say…I really…Ted…I wouldn't want…'

'All right, Israel.'

'No. Let me finish. Let me finish. Let me finish. I wouldn't want what's been…said. To. Come…And…A beautiful friendship.'

'Has he been drinking?'

The barmaid nodded her head. 'First and Lasts.'

'Ach, Rosie.'

'He seemed all right with them.'

'He's a vegetanarian, Rosie, for goodness sake. He's hardly going to be able to manage a First and Last.'

'No stomach lining,' agreed Sean, sniffing.

'He'd struggle with a pot of hot tea and a fry.'

'Sorry, Ted. I thought…'

'Ted,' said Israel. 'Ted! Ted!!'

'Yes, Israel.'

'I can't do it without you, Ted. I'm like a…rudderless…Ted. Ted! I am a…lonesome…fugitive.'

'All right, Israel,' said Ted.

'No. No. Let me finish. I'm…Feeling. Please. Ted. I need you, Ted. I need…' He put an arm on Ted's shoulder. 'Please, Ted, say you'll. Come back to me…Come! Come! To the mobile library, Ted. Ted? Ted?'

'All right, all right,' said Ted, 'take it easy, Israel.'

Ted had faced enough drunks in his time in the back of his cab to know exactly how to deal with them: you just agreed.

'Ted, Ted, Ted, Ted,' persisted Israel. 'Come back to me, Ted. I'm never going to…I can't…Without you, Ted.'

'Aye, all right, no problem,' said Ted. 'I'll come back and help you.'

'Mmm!' groaned Israel. 'Hey!' he shouted, to everyone and no one in particular, throwing his arms up in the air. 'Hey, hey, hey! Did you hear that? Ted! Is going to help me…On the mobile…Learning Centre!'

At which point he went to put his arms around Ted, missed, and fell off his stool.

'You're barred,' said Elder, from the other end of the bar. 'Barred!'

16

'Here,' said Ted, taking a hand off the wheel and fetching into his pocket.

'What?' said Israel.

'Take these.'

'What are they?'

'What do you think they are? Boiled potatoes? They're headache tablets.'

'Ugh. Thanks. Have you got any water?'

'I'm not your mother. And don't make a habit of it, all right,' warned Ted. 'Sets a bad example.'

Israel took the tablets dry.

'Yeeuch.'

'And remember, I'm only back because of the van,' said Ted. 'Not because of you.'

'Eerrgh.'

'You made such an auld mess of the van, I can't believe it. I shouldn't have let you out on the streets alone in the first place.'

The morning after the night before had not got off to a good start. Back at the farm, George and Brownie had been less than sympathetic towards Israel's hangover, and the permanently aproned Mr Devine had offered up last night's leftover grilled fish and onions for breakfast, the mere thought of which had delayed Israel's departure when Ted had arrived to collect him.

'How's he doing then, the king of comedy?' Ted had asked Brownie, while he waited for Israel to compose himself.

'Israel? Oh, he seems to be settling right in,' said Brownie, as Israel scuttled back and forth, whey-faced, to the toilet. 'Wee touch of the skitters just.'

By the time Israel was steady enough on his feet, Ted had finished off a pot of tea, two plates of grilled fish and onions, and had successfully set the world to rights with the elderly Mr Devine, who agreed absolutely with Ted about young people today, and that another war might not be such a bad thing and lock 'em all up and throw away the key.

'Here,' said Ted, in the van, fetching into his pocket again.

'What's this?'

'It's a tie.'

'I know it's a tie, Ted.' Israel was having to take deep breaths to prevent himself from… 'I mean what's it for.'

'Ach. What do you think it's for? You got a dog with no lead?'

'No. Is it a hangover cure?'

'Of course it's not a hangover cure-unless your hangover's that bad you're thinking of doing away with yerself.'

'I don't…wear ties,' said Israel weakly. And he certainly didn't wear this tie-which was fat, and purple, and nylon, and shiny.

'You're a librarian, aren't you?' said Ted.

'Yes.'

'And this is not a disco, is it?'

'No.'

'So?'

'I'm not wearing a tie.'

Ted slowed the van as they approached some lights.

'Sorry, Ted!'

'Aye?'

'Could you just…' Israel gestured for Ted to pull over, which he did, and Israel almost fell out of the van as he went to be sick at the side of the road.

All done, he clambered back in, ashen-faced.