The Book Stops Here: A Mobile Library Mystery (4 page)

There was a lot of other stuff: stuff about budgets; and footfalls; and deadlines for this, and deadlines for that; and Israel soon lost interest and pretty soon after that he also lost the will to live. While Linda was speaking about rolling out wi-fi connections across the county, Israel sat staring down at the thinly veneered pale wood surface of the table around which they were all sitting, like miniaturised modern-day medieval knights discussing their forthcoming crusade against the Infidel, or Mafia bosses running a failing cold-storage and meat-packing plant, and for a moment he imagined that they were a parachute-display team and that the table was in fact nothing but a big inverted bag of air held by a gathering of cords and they were all about to drop down thousands of feet, out of the blue sky, down to earth…which, indeed, promptly they did.

'Mr Armstrong?' Linda was saying. 'Hello? Mr Armstrong? Earth calling Armstrong? Excuse us?'

He was doodling. His agenda looked like a greyscale photocopy of an early Jackson Pollock, pre–
Full Fathom Five
. At the last Mobile Library Steering Committee meeting Linda had proposed a motion banning all doodling, claiming that it was an act of passive aggression, perpetrated almost wholly by males, but the motion was voted down—Ron was a secret doodler, as were Chi-Chi and Chang-Chang. Linda had also been pressing for a Mobile Library Steering Committee team-building weekend away—with orienteering, and whitewater rafting, and abseiling—which absolutely nobody else at all thought was a good idea. No one wanted bonding; they wanted the opposite. She'd also been pressuring Ted and Israel to sign up for a PR and Power Presentation Skills course running over in Derry; they had, so far, successfully resisted.

She was basically completely crazy, Linda, as far as Israel could tell, and she'd got even crazier since splitting up with her husband and coming out as a lesbian, which made her Tumdrum's only Chinese Catholic lesbian single parent, as far as Israel was aware, and as much as he disliked Linda—and he really disliked her a lot—you had to respect her for that. There'd been a leaving-do recently for a retiring librarian down in Rathkeltair, and they'd all gone out to a Chinese restaurant that had karaoke, and once everyone had done their 'Country Road's and 'Imagine's and 'A Whiter Shade of Pale's, Linda insisted on getting up, Baileys in hand, and singing—unaccompanied, because there was no backing track—an old music-hall song, 'Nobody Loves a Fairy When She's Forty', encoring with 'Two Lovely Black Eyes' and 'The Man Who Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo'.

Really, you couldn't help but like Linda.

'Armstrong!' Linda was saying. 'Pay attention!'

At least, you couldn't help but like her in theory.

As always, the major issue facing the Mobile Library Steering Committee had been tucked away deep into the agenda.

'So, gentlemen. Now the good news.'

'Item nine,' said Eileen.

Ted looked at Item 9.

'Oh, my God,' said Israel. 'Ted?'

'What?' said Ted.

'Oh. My. God!'

'What?'

'Item nine.'

'What about it?'

'Look at it.'

Ted peered at the agenda. 'Aye.'

Israel read it out: '"Replacement of mobile learning centre vehicle."'

'What?' said Ted.

'Your van, gentlemen,' said Linda, with some pride, 'is going to be replaced.'

'What?' repeated Ted.

'The van, Mr Carson, we've found the money through some Lottery funding and a new development grant.'

'No way!' said Israel.

'Way,' said Linda.

'We can't get rid of the van,' said Ted. 'There's nothing wrong with the van.'

'Now, now, Mr Carson,' said Linda.

'That van is perfect,' said Ted.

'Except for the steering,' said Israel.

'It's a wee bit sloppy, just,' said Ted.

'Corrosion in the engine,' added Israel.

'Well? New engine,' said Ted.

'Clutch,' said Israel.

'Needs replacing just.'

'Brakes.'

'Yes, yes, we get the picture, thank you, gentlemen,' said Linda. 'Well, Mr Carson?'

Ted was silent.

'When do we get the new one then?' said Israel. 'What's it going to be like? What colour is it going to be?'

'Well, actually, gentlemen,' said Linda, with a further flourish, 'we would like you to go and choose.'

'What?' said Israel. 'You are joking!'

'No. We are not joking, Mr Armstrong. We're sending you to the Mobile Meet, so you can meet up with some of the manufacturers and—'

'The what?'

'The Mobile Meet,' said Linda, 'is organised by the Chartered Institute of Library and Information Professionals. It's an annual event where mobile librarians can meet and swap experiences and discuss the latest technology. It's a prestige event.'

'Right,' said Israel.

'It's in England,' said Linda.

'No!' said Israel.

'Yes,' said Linda.

'You're joking!'

'No. We are not joking. Again,' said Linda.

'That's fantastic! You're sending us over?'

'Yes,' said Linda.

'Like on a business trip?' said Israel.

'I suppose,' said Linda.

'Wow!' said Israel. 'All expenses paid?'

'Well—' began Linda.

'Whereabouts?' said Israel. He could barely contain his excitement.

'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're 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?'

T
he 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 dehumidifacation.'

'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!'

'Sorry,' said Israel.

'Thank you,' said Ted.

'We are getting a new van, though,' said Israel determinedly.

'We're not getting a new van,' said Ted, more determinedly. 'We are not going to England, we're not going to some daftie wee librarian conference—'

'The Mobile Meet,' corrected Israel.

'And we're not getting a new van.'

'But—'

'They'll not get rid of this van,' said Ted. 'If they want to get rid of this van they'll have to get rid of me first.'

'Don't say that, Ted.'

'The van's staying.'

'Ted!'

'And so am I. Here! In Norn Iron. And we are not getting a new van.'