The case of the missing books Page 4

  'Aye,' he said to himself, lost in rapture. 'Aye, aye.' Having eventually circled the bus and patted it fondly, as though calming a beast, he stood back. 'Well?'

  'Well,' agreed Israel.

  'Well?' said Ted. 'What do you think?'

  'Erm. It looks like a bit like a…bus,' said Israel. 'Except without windows.'

  'You're not wrong, Sherlock Holmes,' said Ted. 'It's a Bedford. Built on a VAM bus chassis. Beautiful, isn't she?'

  'Beautiful' was not quite the word that Israel had in mind: the words he had in mind were more like 'write-off', 'wreck', 'filthy dirty', 'yuck', and 'I want to get out of here and go home.'

  'You are joking me, are you?' he said.

  'Joking?' said Ted.

  'This is not the mobile library,' said Israel.

  'That she is.'

  'But we can't possibly drive that…thing. It's a wreck.'

  'Lick of paint, be as good as new,' said Ted.

  Israel put his hand into a rust hole.

  'Come on,' he said.

  'And a bit of bodywork,' admitted Ted.

  And then there was the soft sound of something heavy and metal falling onto the ground and Ted got down on his hands and knees and looked underneath the vehicle.

  'And some spot-welding,' he admitted. 'But she's no jum.'

  'I see,' said Israel, who had absolutely no idea what a jum was. He was up on tiptoe trying to peer into the bus's dark interior.

  Ted produced some keys from his pocket and weighed them heavily in his hand, as if they were precious jewels. He then placed them ceremonially in Israel's hands.

  'Over to you, then,' said Ted.

  'No, really,' said Israel.

  'She's all yours,' said Ted.

  'No. I—'

  'Take. The keys,' said Ted insistently.

  'Right,' said Israel.

  'So,' said Ted.

  'Well,' said Israel, hesitating and trying to think of something appropriately moving to say. He couldn't. 'It's an—'

  'Get on with it.'

  'Right.'

  He went to open the door on the driver's side of the mobile library, but there was no door on the driver's side.

  'Oh,' said Israel.

  'Other side,' said Ted.

  Israel went round to the right side and placed the key in the lock, turned, and nothing happened. He looked helplessly at Ted.

  'Jiggle her,' said Ted.

  Israel jiggled as best he could, but he was getting nowhere. He let Ted have a jiggle. That was no good either.

  'Ach,' said Ted, examining the keys. 'Rust.'

  'Oh well. Another time maybe.'

  'Not at all,' said Ted, pointing up at the top of the van. 'Skylight.'

  'What about it?'

  'Way in,' said Ted. 'Catches wore away years ago. Should have got them fixed. Lucky I didn't. Come on.' He bent down slightly and clasped his hands together ready for Israel to climb up.

  'Hang on now,' said Israel. 'Wait a minute. You want me to—'

  'Come on,' said Ted, 'none of your old nonsense now,' and nodded to him to put his foot on his hands.

  Israel hesitated. 'This is ridiculous.'

  'Set yourself to it. Come on. Quickly. We're not on holiday, are we?'

  'No.'

  'So then. Come on, you big glunter.'

  So against his better judgement–and partly because no one had ever called him a big glunter before–Israel did what he was told and placed a foot on Ted's big joint-of-meat hands and Ted grunted and puffed and straightened up and Israel scrambled for handholds and footholds up the side of the van, and by grappling and struggling he made it up onto the roof of the van, where there was only a few feet clearance from the roof of the barn, and he knelt down, puffing and scraping dust and rust and chicken shit out of the way.

  'Eerrgh.'

  'Good man you are!' shouted Ted. 'Go on then!'

  'All right. Give me a minute,' said Israel, catching his breath and crawling on his belly towards the skylight. 'It's filthy!'

  'Get on with it.'

  'But—'

  'Just pop it.'

  'What?'

  'The skylight. Pop it.'

  Israel had a hold of the skylight and was wiggling and wobbling the Perspex from side to side.

  'Got it?'

  'Not yet.'

  'Pop it!' shouted Ted, like a boxer's corner man.

  'I can't pop it!'

  'Go on!'

  'I am going on!'

  'Put some effort in.'

  'I am putting some effort in. It's stuck.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'Yes!'

  'Might be rusty,' granted Ted.

  'Might be? It's all rust.'

  'Just yank her then,' said Ted.

  Israel got a hold of the two sides of the skylight and braced himself, half kneeling and half standing, and put all his weight into pulling up and back and he took a deep breath and then he pulled up and back, and the skylight gave a sound of cracking, and the ancient Perspex came away in his hands.

  And Israel straightened upwards and backwards…smashing the back of his head on the roof of the barn.

  'Aaggh!' he screamed.

  'You done it?' said Ted.

  'Aaggh!'

  'What?' said Ted.

  'Aggghh!'

  'What's the matter?'

  'Aaggh, shit!'

  'Will you mind your bloody language!' shouted Ted.

  'Aaggh!' shouted Israel back. 'I nearly brained myself.'

  'Aye. Knock some sense into you.'

  'Ow,' said Israel, rubbing his head. 'I'm injured. My head.'

  'Only part of you safe from injury.'

  'I'm in agony here!'

  'Aye, but you've not lost the powers of speech.'

  'It hurts.'

  'All right. You got a bump. Now just get on with it.'

  'Get on with what?'

  'What do you think? Your eyes in your arse or what?'

  'What?'

  'Climb in, you fool.'

  'What do you mean climb in? There's no ladder.'

  'Of course there's no ladder. Jump!' said Ted.

  'I'm not jumping in there,' said Israel. 'It's dark.'

  'Of course it's bloody dark. Just jump,' said Ted. 'What's wrong with ye, boy? Just mind your bap, eh.'

  'My bap?'

  'Your head, you eejit.'

  'It's quite a drop,' said Israel, peering down into the dark interior of the van.

  'Get on with it now,' said Ted. 'Christmas is coming, and it'll be here before we are if you keep carrying on.'

  'I don't like the look of it.'

  'Well, you're not going to like the look of it when I come up there and throw you down. Now, jump.'

  'I don't know if I'll fit.'

  'Of course you'll fit. What do you want us to do, grease you like a pig? Get in there and stop your yabbering, will ye. Come on.'

  'Ah, God. All right,' said Israel. 'But I'm blaming you if I get hurt.'

  'Fine. Just jump.'

  'My head hurts.'

  'It'll hurt even more if you don't shut up and get on with it,' said Ted reasonably. 'Jump!'

  And lowering himself over the gap, supporting himself by his arms, Israel did.

  And 'Aaah!' he cried, as he landed awkwardly on his ankle inside the mobile library.

  'Ach, God alive, Laurence Olivier, that's enough of your dramatics now,' said Ted. 'Open the door.'

  'I've hurt myself,' called Israel from inside the van.

  'Ah'm sure,' said Ted. 'But come and open the door first.'

  'I've hurt my ankle,' shouted Israel. 'I don't think I can walk.'

  'Well, crawl.'

  'I think I might have broken it!'

  'If you've broken your ankle then I'm the Virgin Mary,' said Ted.

  Israel stood up. 'I can't walk!' he cried.

  'I tell you, if you was a horse I'd shoot you. Now stop your blethering and open this door before I lose the head and batter the thing in on top of yo
u.'

  Israel hopped down the bus and, after some fiddling with catches and locks, managed to open up the side door.

  Ted entered.

  'Ah,' he said. 'At last. Smell that.' It was not the smell of a library–books, sweat, frustrated desire, cheap but hard-wearing carpets. It was more the smell of a back-alley garage–the smell of warm corroding metal and oil. 'That's beautiful, sure,' said Ted, sweeping his arm in an expansive, welcoming kind of gesture. 'Welcome home.'

  Maybe in her day the mobile library had been beautiful: maybe in her day she'd have been like home. These days, however, she was no longer a vehicle any sane person could possibly be proud of, unless you were Ted, or a dedicated mobile library fancier, or a scrap-metal merchant, and she wouldn't have been a home unless you were someone with absolutely no alternative living arrangements; also, crucially, and possibly fatally for a mobile library, there were no shelves.

  'There are no shelves,' said Israel, astonished, still rubbing his head, and staring at the bare grey metal walls inside the van.

  'No.'

  'None at all.'

  'Aye,' agreed Ted.

  'Well, I don't want to sound all nit-picky, but shelves are pretty much essential for a library.'

  'True.'

  'Essential.'

  'You could stack books on the floor,' said Ted.

  'Yes. We could. But generally, we librarians prefer shelves. It's, you know, neater.'

  'All right. Don't be getting smart with me now.'

  'Right. Sorry. But there are no shelves. And no books, as far as I can see. So…the books?'

  'The books?'

  'The library books?'

  'Ach, the books are fine, sure. You don't want to worry about the books. They'll be in the library.'

  'This is the library.'

  'Not this library. The old library.'

  'The one that's shut?'

  'Yes.'

  'You're sure the books are there?'

  'Of course I'm sure. There's been books there since before Adam was a baby.'

  'Really.'

  'We'll take a wee skite over later on, sure.'

  'A what?'

  'A skite. And we'll get Dennis or someone to knock us up some shelves.'

  'Who's Dennis?'

  'He's a plumber.'

  'Right.' Then Israel thought twice. 'What?'

  'He's a joiner. What do you think he is, if he builds shelves? I mean, in the name of God, man, catch yerself on. I'll give him a call later. So, do you want to try her?'

  'Sorry?'

  'Try her? Start her? For flip's sake, d'they not speak any English where you come from?'

  'Yes. Of course they speak English. I am English!'

  'Ah'm sure. And you can drive, can you? Or do they not teach you that over there on the mainland either?'

  'Of course I can drive,' said Israel, grabbing the keys from Ted's hands.

  Israel could drive–sort of. He had a licence. He'd passed his test. But he was a rubbish driver. And he was tired and he had a headache and what he really needed now was a lie down in a darkened room, preferably at home in lovely north London, rather than attempting to drive a clapped-out old mobile library under the scrutiny of a half-mad miserable minicab driver in the middle of the middle of nowhere. Nonetheless, he wasn't going to lose face, so he climbed into the thinly padded driver's seat, the foam coming out of the leather-effect PVC, put the key in the ignition, turned the key and…

  Nothing.

  Thank goodness.

  'Oh well,' he said, 'we can always come back—'

  Ted's heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

  'It'll only be the battery,' said Ted. 'I'll take a look.'

  It was the battery. And the alternator. And the air filter. And the fuel filter. And a lot of other things Israel had only ever heard rumour of–the gasket, the plug circuit, wiring looms, cylinder barrels. Ted spent a long time examining the engine.

  'No. We'll have to get her into the workshop to get the guts of it done,' he concluded.

  'Oh dear,' said Israel. 'That is a shame.'

  'Aye,' said Ted. 'Offside coil spring,' he continued, to himself. 'Brake drums.'

  'Right,' said Israel, as if he had any idea what Ted was talking about, which he didn't. 'My foot's fine, by the way, thanks for asking. And my head.'

  'Aye.'

  'You've not got any headache tablets, have you?'

  'What for?'

  'For my headache?'

  'Ach.'

  'That's a no, is it?'

  Ted locked up the shed and walked back to the car. Israel walked back with him.

  'You're wanting a lift then?' said Ted.

  'Er. Yes.' Israel looked around him at the middle of the middle of nowhere: mountains; the sea; hedges; the barn. 'Yes. That would be nice. I've been on the road now for…' Israel checked his watch.

  'Aye. Well. I've a couple of fares I need to pick up first.'

  'Right.'

  'I've to pick up George at the Strand, at the pork dinner.'

  'Right. I see.' Israel had really had enough for one day. 'And what's a pork dinner, just…out of interest?'

  'The pork dinner,' said Ted. 'The Pork Producers' Annual Dinner. At the Strand. Same every year. First Friday in December.'

  Oh, God.

  4

  It was dark now as they drove and Ted was offering a running commentary and pointing out interesting landmarks all along the way, although it was too dark for Israel actually to be able to see any of the landmarks, and anyway most of them were carpet factories, and canning factories, or buildings that no longer existed. Eventually, Ted pulled off the road and up onto yet another rutted lane, which led to the hotel, the Strand, which had clearly seen better days–even in the dark you could tell it could have done with a paint-job and some re-rendering, and maybe some work on the subsidence round where it stood on the cliff overlooking the sea.

  As they drew up outside the hotel Israel could see through the vast, brightly lit ground-floor windows groups of men in dinner jackets and women in evening dresses talking, and smoking, and laughing, and clutching each other and glasses of champagne and barbecued spare ribs, and just for a moment he thought he could have been back in London: the romance of it, the people, the comfort, the warmth. He could almost smell the perfume without opening the windows.

  'Only be a minute,' said Ted, once he'd parked the car. 'Just go and round them up.'

  'Fine,' said Israel, happy to sit dozing in the passenger seat, glad that the longest and worst day of his life was finally coming to an end.

  A man and woman approached the car and got into the back seat, laughing and joking. They didn't notice the heap of sleeping Israel in the front, and Israel, dozing, didn't notice them.

  What woke him up was the sound of the kissing. It took him a minute to remember where he was: sitting in the front of a cab in the middle of nowhere waiting for Ted Carson to return, feeling sick, while a man and a woman on the back seat seemed to be getting to know each other as more than just good friends.

  Oh, God.

  There was a smell of alcohol and cigarettes and hot barbecued meats coming from the back seat, and that distinctive smell of passion; that pulse; that vibration; that disturbing hint of civet. Israel half opened his eyes, determined not to look round, and sank down lower and lower in his seat queasily, trying to remain as quiet as possible, hoping for some kind of cooling-off or reprieve, but the couple behind him were oblivious and activities were proceeding apace, and he realised if he didn't act now things could only get messier, and worse.

  'Evening,' he said, in a slightly squeaky voice, in a convenient pause, turning round as he spoke and trying to smile.

  Everything happened at once. The woman screamed and reached for the door handle, the man let out a roar and reached forward with a punch that caught Israel on the side of the head, knocking off his glasses and knocking him against the passenger-seat window, and then Ted appeared, opening the driver's door.


  'Ach, there you all are now. Thought I'd lost you. You've met Israel then?'

  Israel was slumped against the passenger door, holding his head.

  'Aaggh.'

  'Israel?' said Ted. 'Are you all right?'

  'Aaggh.'

  'What have you been up to?' Ted clambered into his seat. 'Can I not leave you for one minute without you getting into trouble? What's wrong?'

  'He hit me,' mumbled Israel.

  'He's the new librarian,' explained Ted, turning round to the man and woman on the back seat.

  'I don't care if he's the fuckin' Pope, Ted,' said the man. 'He gave us the fright of our lives.'

  'Oh dear,' said Ted, starting up the engine and reversing out of the parking space. 'Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Not a good start is it?' He turned to Israel as he changed into first, and headed back down the dark lane.

  'Uggh,' Israel continued moaning.

  'All right, all right,' said Ted. 'Now tell me: how many fingers am I holding up? Come on. Eh? Hey? Come on!' He was holding up two fingers in the dark.

  'Two,' said Israel.

  'Good man,' said Ted. 'Must be a bruise just. No harm done. We'll find you a red flannel when you get back to George's. Now catch a hold of yourselves, lads, shake hands and let's forget all about it, eh?'

  The man in the back seat leant forward to shake Israel's hand.

  'Shake!' Ted instructed Israel, and Israel reached a cold hand round, without turning.

  'There we are,' said Ted. 'Now let's settle down.' And they drove at high speed for what seemed a long time in complete and utter silence.

  They skirted the coast, Israel staring with his one good eye out into the far, dark double-blackness of the sea, wishing he was anywhere else but here–even back at the discount bookshop at the Lakeside Shopping Centre in Thurrock in Essex, which wasn't a bad little job when you thought about it–and eventually Ted pulled up outside a house on what appeared to be a half-completed housing development perched on the edge of the main road and overlooking the sea. Some of the houses had roofs; some had windows; some had roofs and windows; all of them had identical bright white PVC front doors. Against the backdrop of the dark black sea the development looked like a shiny plastic clearing in the jungle.

  The man in the back gave the woman a quick kiss and a squeeze of the hand, and then climbed out of the car, and Israel reluctantly unbuckled his seat belt and went to get out of the car himself.