'Israel?' said Ted.
'What?'
'I'll tell you what would make me feel better.'
'What?'
'If you shut up.'
'Right.'
'Completely.'
'All right. Okay.'
'Which means not speaking.'
'Okay, sorry.'
'Ever.'
'I-'
'At all.'
They got out of the car and walked in through the gates of Britton's Second Hand Van Sales into a forecourt filled with white vans, a vast drift of vehicles looking as though they were floating upon the brimming Thames behind them and beyond: Citroën, Fiat, Mazda, Mercedes, Toyota, Vauxhall, like big wheeled swans ready to fly up and away and soar over the capital.
'Wow,' said Israel. 'Looks like they've got them all here.'
'Except ours,' said Ted.
'Come on, let's think positive,' said Israel.
'I thought you were staying silent?' said Ted.
A man came down a flight of steps from a Portakabin office raised on stilts and approached them.
'Right,' said Israel.
'Do not speak,' said Ted. 'Leave the ba-flum to me.'
'The what?' said Israel.
'Leave it to me,' repeated Ted. 'The ba-flum.'
'All right, I will,' whispered Israel, as the man approached. 'Even though I have no idea what bum-flum-'
'Ba-flum,' said Ted.
'-ba-flum might be,' said Israel.
'Hello, gents!' said the man. He had thinning, slicked-back hair. He wore a cheap-looking suit with an expensive-looking purple lining, and he was finishing off a bacon sandwich, licking his fingers clean of grease and crumbs. He'd had acne. He couldn't have been much older than Israel but he looked like a bloated, out-of-condition Bill Clinton. He was, definitively, a second-hand car salesman.
'Gentlemen, gentlemen. Lovely to see you.'
They all shook hands. Israel wiped his hands on his trousers.
'Barry Britton,' said the man. 'How can I help you?'
'Great view,' said Israel, nodding towards the River Thames, out past the high wire fencing.
'Yeah, well. It's okay,' said Barry. 'You get used to it. It's like looking up a bit of skirt I always think. D'you know what I mean?' He had a long, lop-sided smile-a smile so big and so false, so gaping, that it looked as though if he smiled a little longer the top of his head would fall off.
'Erm…' said Israel.
'We're looking for a van,' said Ted.
'You're looking for a van?' said Barry, pointing finger and thumb at Ted, as though cocking a gun.
'That's right,' said Ted.
'You are lookin' for a van?' repeated Barry, amused, almost singing the words, cocking both hands at Ted.
'Yes,' said Ted mirthlessly.
'Well, my friend,' said Barry, slapping Ted on the back. 'You have come to the right place! This is where you're going to find your van. What did you say your name was?'
'I didn't,' said Ted.
'Ha!' said Barry. 'You're good! You're not giving anything away, right?'
Ted looked at him silently.
'Yeah. Good! Now, my friend, what sort of a van are you looking for? We specialise in light commercial and fittings, as you know. And you are looking for…No. Don't tell me…' He stood back and eyed Ted and Israel up and down. 'You're plumbers? Am I right, or am I right?'
'No,' said Ted.
'No? We get a lot of plumbers,' said Barry. 'Roof racks for the pipes, you know, and racking and what have you. Super racking. We've got a deal on that at the moment, if you're interested.'
'We don't want a plumber's van,' said Ted.
'That's fine,' said Barry. 'Not a problem. What is it then? Erm. You are…No, don't tell me…Chippies, are you?'
'No,' said Israel.
'We're not chippies,' said Ted.
'That's all right,' said Barry. 'Just guessing. You can't always judge a book by its cover, eh! Doesn't matter what you are, or what you do. Whatever it is, I can guarantee you, Britton's has the van for you.' When he spoke Barry sounded like he was rapping; Israel suspected a fondness for Eminem.
'It's a very particular sort of van we're looking for,' said Ted.
'Good!' said Barry. 'Excellent! You know what you want. That's good. I like a man who knows his own mind. I'm the same myself. A man's got to know what he wants in this life, and go get it, if you know what I mean. Eh?'
'The van,' said Ted, 'we're looking for-'
'Yeah. Okay. Let me tell you this. You just name your vehicle and spec, and if by some fluke we haven't got it-you're not going to believe this, but it's true-we'll get it; week, two weeks max, no problem. But first look. Look. Look at that. Little Citroën C15 over there. Lovely vehicle.' He gestured towards a small white van. 'And then we go all the way right up to the big Mercedes.' He gestured towards a big white van. 'I'm guessing there's going to be something here that's gonna suit you but if not, like I say, if we haven't got what you're looking for today, right here, right now on the forecourt, we'll source it. At Britton's we're all about customer service.'
'We're looking for a Bedford,' said Ted.
'Ha! Right, now,' said Barry. 'A Bedford? Well. Now…Phew! Don't take this the wrong way, all right, but I'm afraid you might be showing your age a little bit there. Yeah.' He patted Ted on the arm.
Ted looked for a moment as though he might knock him out.
'Only joking!' said Barry, sensing danger, stepping back. 'But the Bedford-okay?-that's more of a collector's item these days. We've not had a Bedford in for…Phew! I don't know how long. More of my dad's generation of vehicle, d'you know what I mean? No offence, like.' He pointed at him again with two fingers. 'If you're thinking Bedford, I don't know, let me think…You'd probably be better off these days with a Fiat. Depending on what you're after.'
Ted did not look amused.
'I say Fiat. Toyota might do you just as well. Nice little Ducato maybe?' He pointed over to another white van.
'It's got to be a Bedford,' said Ted.
'Right. You sure?'
'I'm sure,' said Ted.
'Well, now. I'm not saying here that we couldn't get you a Bedford. But just at the moment…You collectors or what?' said Barry.
'We're librarians actually,' said Israel.
'Come again?'
'Librarians.'
Israel thought that Barry's face coloured slightly at the mention of the word 'librarian' and that perhaps he twitched nervously inside his cheap suit with its expensive-looking lining. But then twitching nervously in the presence of a librarian wasn't an uncommon response-librarians, like ministers of religion, and poets, and people with serious mental health disorders, can make people nervous. Librarians possess a kind of occult power, an aura. They could silence people with just a glance. At least, they did in Israel's fantasies. In Israel's fantasies, librarians were mild-mannered superheroes, with extrasensory perceptions and shape-shifting capacities and a highly developed sense of responsibility who demanded respect from everyone they met. In reality, Israel couldn't silence even Mrs Onions on her mobile phone when she was disturbing other readers on the van.
'Librarians?' Barry was saying. 'Librarians. Well. I've got to hand it to you, on that one you might just have caught me out. That may be a Britton no-can-do, boys. Library vans. No. I don't think we've had a library van at all. We do commercial, that's it.'
'We didn't say we were looking for a library van,' said Ted.
'No?' said Barry. 'I thought your mate here said-'
'I said we were librarians,' said Israel.
'Right,' said Barry, whose face was beginning to resemble the colour of his expensive lining. 'Yeah. Well, you know, I just put two and two together?'
'Aye,' said Ted. 'Right. And what d'ye come up with?'
'Four,' said Barry, hesitating for a moment.
'Correct,' said Ted. 'So the thing is, we heard you did have a library van.'
Barry shook his head. 'No. I don't know who you heard that from.'