The Delegates' Choice aka The Book Stops Here

'This is Lakeside,' said Israel.

Hundreds of people were flooding towards the main building.

'Where are they all going?'

'They're going shopping,' said Israel.

'On a nice day like today?'

'Of course. Come on.'

'It's like they're hypnotised,' said Ted, as people trailed past them towards the main mall.

'I suppose it is, yes,' said Israel. 'Hypnotised by consumerism.'

'Aye. All right, Siglund Freud. Let's just get you down memory lane and then get out of here. Muhammad, guard the car!'

'It's Sigmund,' said Israel. 'And you,' he said to the dog, 'don't shit all over the seats.'

Inside the shopping mall there were all the usual shops, spread out as far as the eye could see.

'An Argos!' said Ted. 'Look. There's not much you can't get out of Argos, I tell you.'

'What?'

'Argos. Great wee shop. We have one in Rathkeltair. There's one here as well. I didn't realise it was all over.'

'Ted, Argos is like a huge national chain of shops.'

'Is it?' said Ted. 'I thought it was just a local.'

'No. No. It's-'

'Look! And a Clinton Cards,' said Ted. 'There's one of these in Ballymena. They're bringing all our shops over here.'

'Yeah, and in England we have Starbucks as well. And Hoovers. And Ford motor cars?' said Israel.

'Woolworths,' said Ted. 'This place has got everything.'

'Anyway…' said Israel. 'Moving on.'

They went up an escalator, passed something that was meant to be a sculpture and then they were outside the Bargain Bookstore.

'Oh,' said Israel.

The Bargain Bookstore was now called the Book Worm, the shiny new plastic shop fascia showing a huge fat yellow cartoon worm wearing a bib, with a knife and fork in its hands, tucking into a plateful of books and winking suggestively. The name might have changed but the window display looked pretty much the same as it did when Israel had worked there, showing discounted autobiographies and biographies by footballers, and models and sportsmen, and huge, useless cookbooks.

'This is it?' said Ted.

'Yes,' said Israel. 'They've changed the name.'

'The Book Worm?' said Ted. 'Appealin'.'

'Well. Anyway. This is it. The old firm.'

'You made it sound like the British blinkin' Library,' said Ted. 'There's a shop like this in Coleraine.'

'No, no. Similar maybe,' said Israel. 'But not the same. This was a special place to work. Honestly. A lot of very interesting people work here.'

'Aye,' said Ted. 'I'm sure.'

'No, really. Great camaraderie. Each year we used to go on a day trip to Alton Towers.'

'Sounds amazing,' said Ted. 'Whatever Alton Towers is.'

'It's a theme park,' said Israel. 'Where they have this great water-'

'Let's hurry up then, shall we?' said Ted, striding into the shop. 'I'd like to get the van back this year, if possible.'

* * *

Inside the shop, Israel approached a woman who was wearing a shapeless red T-shirt with the words, 'The Book Worm!' emblazoned across her chest, the hungry worm on her back. She was unpacking a box of books.

'Hi!' said Israel. 'You're new here.'

'No,' said the woman.

'Newish?' said Israel.

'Can I help you?'

'Yeah. It's just, I used to work here myself, and I wondered if Simon was around.'

'Who?'

'Simon. The manager?'

'No. It's Justin who's the manager.'

'Right. Erm. Is Justin around then?'

'Yeah. Justin!' the woman shouted over a shelf. 'Justin!'

'What?' came a call back.

'Bloke here looking for a job.'

A Book Worm-T-shirted fat man with designer glasses emerged from behind some shelves.

'Yeah?' he said.

'Hi!' said Israel. 'I'm-'

'We're not taking anybody on at the moment,' said Justin. 'You need to write to head office for an application form. They'll keep it on file.'

'Erm. Sorry. I wasn't looking for a job. I used to work here. I was just looking for Simon.'

'Simon left six months ago,' said Justin, in a monotone.

'Oh, right. Did he?'

'Yeah. Sold his children's book for half a million pounds.'

'Did he?'

'Yeah.'

'Wow. Right. Gosh. The one about the forgotten world of dinosaurs underneath Lakeside, which is discovered by children who then embark on a magical journey of self-discovery?'

'Yeah, that one.'

'Wow. I never thought he'd…I mean, I knew, of course, he was…What about Amy?'

'Don't know any Amys.'

'Charlie?'

'Nope.'

'I see. What about Dwayne?'

'Bloke from Tottenham?'

'Yeah, that's right.'

'No, he's gone as well.'

'Oh, well, I'll-'

'Sorry. I've got a customer.'

'Right. Sure. Well. Say hello to Simon if you…'

Justin was already at the tills, ringing through a full-colour giant-size diet pasta cookbook.

Ted and Israel left the shop.

'Well,' said Ted. 'They certainly welcomed you back with open arms.'

Israel was silent.

'What was it you said to me the other day?' said Ted. 'Something about having to "embrace change" and try to move forward? Hoist by your petard and left danglin' by your-'

'Ted?'

'What?'

'Shut up.'

* * *

They drove for a long time in silence round the M25, and then onto the M11, deep into Essex.

'So,' said Ted, unable to restrain himself. 'Still planning to resign and move back here and pick up your old job at the shop again? Hook up with all your auld mates?'

'I'm not talking about it,' said Israel.

'Embrace change and try to move forward!' said Ted, chuckling. 'Isn't it? That's your advice.'

'I said I'm not talking about it.'

'All right,' said Ted. 'I'm only keepin' you goin'. Where are we now?'

'Harlow,' said Israel.

'Harlow!' said Ted, laughing.

'Yes, Harlow,' said Israel, unamused. 'What's funny about Harlow?'

'Harlow!' said Ted again. 'What sort of a name for a place is that?'

'Harlow? What's wrong with Harlow?'

'Harlow!' said Ted. 'Oh, hello, Har-low,' he said, in a Leslie Phillips kind of a voice. 'Hell-o, Har-low! Named after the platinum blonde?'

'Sorry?'

'Jean Harlow? The actress.'

'I don't think so. Although my knowledge of the origin of Essex place names is not exactly-'

And then they picked up the first signs for Ongar.

'Look! Look!' said Ted. 'There we are! Ongaa! Oogabooga-Ongaa.'

'Ongar,' said Israel. 'It's just called Ongar.'

'On guard!' said Ted. 'On guard!'

'All right, Ted, knock it off, will you.'

'Stupit English names.'

'I have trouble with Irish place names,' said Israel.

'Northern Irish,' said Ted.

'Yeah, whatever,' said Israel. 'Ballythis and Ballythat.'

'At least we don't have places called-what's that?' He pointed to another sign.

'Chelmsford.'

'Chelms-ford,' said Ted, sounding like Noël Coward. 'Charmed to meet you, Chelms Ford.'

When eventually they arrived in Ongar, which seemed to be several places under one name-'Chipping Ongar!' roared Ted, 'High Ongar! Oh, Holy God! You English!'-Israel got out and asked at a petrol station if they knew where the travellers might be.

'Crusties?' said the man behind the counter.

'Erm, possibly,' said Israel.

'Bloody everywhere. There's some of them out by Willingale, up past Fyfield there,' said the man.

'Willingale?' said Israel.

'That's it,' said the man. 'Little village, just.'

They drove on, past huge old houses with high brick walls built up all around them, and fields, and barns, and honeysuckle-covered cottages.

'Quite bucolic round here, isn't it,' said Israel. 'Not like I thought it would be.'

'Bit like North Antrim,' said Ted.

'A bit,' said Israel.

'Except not as nice,' said Ted. 'We nearly there?'

'Yeah,' said Israel. 'We've just got to look out for some sort of, I don't know, encampment sort of thing, I suppose.'