The Delegates' Choice aka The Book Stops Here

13

'This is madness,' said Ted.

'This,' said Israel, fingers thrumming on the steering wheel, 'is the "Road to Hell".'

'What?'

'"The Road to Hell", Chris Rea? It's a song, isn't it, about the M25?'

'I've never heard of it,' said Ted.

'Of course you have! "This ain't no…something something something,"' sang Israel, uncertainly, in his best unfiltered-cigarettes-and-alcohol kind of voice, '"This is the road to hell."'

'No, never heard of it,' said Ted, gazing out of the window. 'Doesn't sound like much of a song to me.'

'Well, it is.'

'Aye. Right. What do you call this road? The M5?'

'The M25,' said Israel. 'It's famous. Like Route 66.'

'Aye. Well, it might be famous where you come from, but I tell ye, word of it's not reached us boys in County Antrim.'

'I'll bet it was built by Irish navvies,' said Israel.

'Aye, and you'd know, would ye?'

'No, I'm just saying. A lot of roads in England were built by Irishmen, weren't they? They all lived in Kilburn?'

'Aye. And they all wore shamrocks in their hair and carried shillelaghs and played harps and rode in donkey carts.'

'No! Don't be silly, I didn't say that.'

'Ach, you and your blinkin' stereotypes.'

'Me?'

'Yes, you.'

'Me and my stereotypes? What about you and your homophobic-'

'I'm not getting into the whole homophonic thing again!' said Ted.

'Homophobic,' corrected Israel.

'Aye. I've got nothing against 'em. And anyway you're the one always going on about poster modern identity-'

'Postmodern, Ted. Postmodern! God!'

'Aye, right. Well, He's of the same opinion as me.'

'Who?'

'The Good Lord.' Ted shook his head. 'Homophonic! And you think all the Irish do is sit around playing bodhrans and building your English roads?'

'No.'

'You racist English b-'

'Ted! I'm just saying, it's a fact. A lot of English roads were built by Irishmen.'

'Aye, well,' said Ted, looking out of the window of the Mini at the solid traffic. The M25 was full; as far as Ted could tell, England was full. 'Fat lot of good it's done ye. Look at it. I don't know how you cope with all this.'

'Coffee, actually, mostly,' said Israel, taking a sip from his insulated vacuum cup, which he'd had the foresight to bring when they'd set off from his mum's in the Mini early that morning. 'Speaking of which, if it's all right with you, I thought, seeing as we're, you know, down this way, I might just pop in and see some of my old friends at work.'

Israel was determined to find someone left in England who might want to talk to him.

'Oh, no, no, no,' said Ted. 'We're not mucking around here, boy. We're going to get the van and go. Where is it, anyway, Ongger?'

'Ongar,' said Israel. 'It's in Essex. I looked it up.'

'Sounds African to me,' said Ted. 'Anyway, it's the van we're after here, not a trip down memory lane. You can do that on your own time.'

'It's not a trip down…Lakeside is sort of on the way.'

'What is Lakeside?'

'It's the shopping mall place where I used to work in the bookshop. I've told you about it loads of times.'

'I don't think so,' said Ted.

'Yes, I have. The Bargain Bookstore? Where I used to work? I thought I might just pop in and say hello to people.'

'Waste of time,' said Ted.

'It's not a waste of time,' said Israel. 'It's…Something I'd like to do. You know, reconnect with people.'

'Ach,' said Ted. 'Reconnect!'

'Yes. Meet up with some of my old colleagues. We had some great times there. Honestly.' Israel sighed, remembering when he had a life in England. 'There was once, right, when it was a Harry Potter night-I think it was The Goblet of Fire-and we were doing a late opening, and we'd all gone to the pub, and we did this prank call to our manager, Simon, pretending we were from the police? Saying that there'd been a riot in the shop! And someone had stolen our whole consignment of Potters! Oh, God, that was fun.'

Ted did not deign to comment.

'Just ten minutes'll do it,' pleaded Israel. 'Pop in, say hello, we'll be back on the road again before you know it.'

'It's a bad idea,' said Ted.

'Well, I'm driving,' said Israel.

'In a manner of speaking,' said Ted.

'So I'm making an executive decision,' said Israel.

'Ha!' said Ted.

Israel indicated off left.

The road off the M25 and into Lakeside was like a merry-go-round, traffic being sucked in and down into a vast, empty, busy place that wasn't really a place at all.

'Now this is like hell,' said Ted, as Israel parked the car in a car park that stretched for miles.

'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.'

'Gypsy wagons and that,' said Ted.

'I don't think it'll be Gypsy wagons as such,' said Israel.

'The big old wooden wheels and the wee stove, and the jangling horse brass.'

'What d'you know about travellers exactly, Ted?'

'Gypsies?'

'I don't think they're the same as Gypsies, no. These are more like…travellers, according to the second-hand-car bloke.'

'Well, he was a…Gypsies, I'm looking for.'

'I don't know if you're actually allowed to say Gypsies these days, Ted.'

'Why not?'

'Because, it's not…you know. They're all called travellers now, I think.'

'I call them Gypsies.'

'Well, a Gypsy is…'

'I know what a Gypsy is,' said Ted. 'Sean's a Gypsy.'

'Who?'

'In Tumdrum. Drinks in the First and Last.'

'Oh, him, right, yes. You wouldn't call him a Gypsy, though, would you?'

'No. I'd call him a tinker.'

'I don't think we call them tinkers these days either, Ted.'

'Lot of nonsense,' said Ted.

Willingale came and went, and they searched the horizon, looking out for signs of an encampment.

Then, 'Smoke!' called Ted suddenly, as they passed a little wooded area. 'Pull over! Pull over!'

Israel pulled the car drastically over to the verge.

'Where?' said Israel.

'Two o'clock!' said Ted, jumping out of the car.

'Hold on! Where?' said Israel, following him.

'There!' Ted pointed out a thin wisp of smoke.

'I can't see anything.'

'There! Up yonder, past them big oak trees.'

'Is that smoke?'

'Of course it's smoke.'

'Do you think that's them?' said Israel, who was starting to feel a little nervous.

'Gypsies love a fire.'

'They're not Gypsies, Ted.'

'I reckon that's them all right.'

'Really? D'you think?'

'Only one way to find out,' said Ted, who was already bounding up the lane towards the smoke. 'Bloody thieving Gypsies!'

The encampment was shaded by oak trees. There were about a dozen vehicles-buses, coaches, caravans-parked in a sort of horseshoe arrangement around a large fire. Everywhere on the ground there were tarpaulins, and paint pots, and scraps of wood, and engine parts, and despite the mess it all felt curiously prosperous and festive. There was washing strung up between trees and children running around.

'And lots of dogs,' Israel whispered, mostly to himself.

'Can I help you?'

'Aaaghh!' Israel gave a little yelp and twisted round in shock. There was a man standing directly behind him. He had a long plaited beard, multiple face-piercings and was dressed in a black vest, black combat trousers and wore no shoes.

'Ah! God, you gave me a fright.'

'Are you okay?' said the man.

'Yes, thanks, I'm…fine. Thank you. Just a bit of a…'

'You're lost?' The man had a warm, welcoming voice, curiously at odds with his fierce bepierced appearance.

'Yes, no, thanks. Erm. We're just looking for…are you the travellers?'

'Who are you?'

'Well, sorry, yes, very impolite of me. I'm Israel,' said Israel, putting out his hand to shake.

The man touched his forehead and bowed towards Israel.

'Peace, Israel.'

'Yes. Right. Peace, absolutely. And you're…?'

'You can call me Rabbit.'

'Rabbit?' said Israel. 'Okay. Right, Rabbit; what, as in the John Updike novels?'

'No,' said Rabbit.

'Right. Yes. I read, erm, Watership Down, actually, long time ago now, but…'

Israel always talked nonsense when he was nervous.

And not only when he was nervous.

Other men and women had now appeared from the encampment and come to stand alongside Rabbit.

'This is Israel,' said Rabbit. 'And Israel, this is Bingo, and Bev, and Boris, and Scarlet.'

'Hi,' said Israel.

'Peace,' they said. 'Peace.' 'Peace.' 'Peace.'

'Right. Yes. Same to you.'

'Hello?' Another woman came walking towards them; she was taller than the others, distinguished-looking, with a Pre-Raphaelite, flute-playing sort of look about her. She had long, jet-black hair swept back from her face, with a flash of grey at her temples. She wore tiny gold earrings, and no makeup, and a long bright red skirt and an emerald green shift; she looked as though she might recently have been modelling for John Everett Millais or a Scandinavian shampoo advertisement.

'This is Bree,' said Rabbit.

'Named after the cheese?' said Israel nervously.

'No,' said Bree. 'Named after the fire goddess, Bridgit.'

'Oh. Yes. Of course.'

'Also known as Brizo of Delos, the Manx Breeshey and Britomartis.'

'Gosh. Yes. That's…'

'And that's Spirit,' said Rabbit, referring to the large white dog that accompanied Bree and which was now licking Israel's left hand.

'Ah! Right. Hello, Spirit.' Israel lifted his hand away. Spirit leaped up towards him. Israel put his hand back down. 'Good dog! Good dog! Good dog!'

'Are you here to see us?' asked Bree.

'Actually, to be honest, I'm not-ahem-entirely sure,' said Israel. 'You see, we're two librarians. And our…'

He looked round and realised that Ted had wandered off.

'Ted!'

He looked towards the encampment. There, by the little old camper vans, and the big old converted public service disability vehicles, Ted was standing in front of a brightly painted van.

'Ted?'

Ted did not reply.

'Sorry,' said Israel, addressing his new friends. 'That's my friend Ted.' He walked over towards him, followed by the travellers. 'Ted, are you all right?'

'The van,' said Ted, mesmerised, nodding at the vehicle before him.

'What?'

'The van.'

'What about the van?'

'It's our van.'

Israel glanced at the vehicle. 'It's not our van, Ted. Come on, these people, we need to-'

'It's the van.'

'Ted, it's not the van. It's doesn't look anything like the van.'

'I know my van, and that is my van.' He pointed at it.

Israel went up and peered inside the windscreen.

The shelves inside were still intact. The skylight. The little issues desk.

It was the mobile library.

Fitted out inside with a sofa, and some rugs, and knickknacks on the shelves.

'Oh, my, God!' said Israel. He walked slowly around the whole van, following Ted. 'Oh, my, God.'

Over the cab, where it used it read 'The Mobile Library' there was now a brightly painted eye, which made the vehicle look like it had just woken up. Above the eye were painted the words 'The Odyssey'. Down the side of the van were painted the words 'The Warehouse of Divine Jewels'. Along the side, the lovely red and cream livery had been replaced with images of children playing. On the back, where it used to say 'The Book Stops Here' were painted the words 'Follow Us Towards Enlightenment', with a rainbow painted above it.

They wandered around again, astonished, to the front.

'My van,' said Ted. 'Look what they've done to my van!'

'Well, it's…It's certainly quite colourful, isn't it? I quite like it actually,' said Israel. 'It's rather well done. Is that a Cyclops eye on the front there?'

'It's the Eye of Horus.'

'Is it?'

'Yes. Horus was the Egyptian sky god.'

'Uh-huh.'

Israel turned to face the speaker, who had joined the crowd that had gathered around them. The man wore a bright red sarong and was bare-footed, and bare-chested, and tattooed up across his muscular arms, and he had his hair in dreadlocks, like fat hanks of wool, and silver bangles around his wrists.

'And you are?' said Israel, clearing his throat, just about managing not to say, 'Have you ever seen that Mel Gibson film, Apocalypto?'

'I'm Stones,' said the man.

'Sorry?' said Israel.

'Stones.'

'Right. Named after the Rolling Stones, eh?' ventured Israel.

'Named at Stonehenge. And you are?'

'Israel.'

'Named after the fascist state oppressing the Palestinian people?' said Stones.

'Erm…' said Israel.

'And you're the feckin' arse responsible for this…abomberation?' said Ted, coming over and squaring up to Stones.

'Abomination?' said Stones. 'I cannot claim responsibility for that, no. It's been a joint project.'

Ted and Stones eyed each other up and down, the small crowd watching them intently: the children with long hair, the men with shaven heads, the women wearing head scarves. And the dogs.

Stones was not quite as tall as Ted, but he was definitely younger and fitter, and he had the clear advantage of popular support; Israel wouldn't have liked to have bet on Ted coming out on top in a fight under those particular circumstances. This, however, didn't seem to have occurred to Ted.

'Well, you tell me which one of yous dirty scroungers painted my van and I'll feckin-'

'Did you hear him, children?' said Stones, appealing to the crowd. 'Who painted the van?'

A dozen long-haired children put up their hands.

'I'll-' continued Ted.

'The children did it?' said Israel.

'Under supervision,' said Stones.

'D'you like it?' said Bree. 'We only finished it yesterday.'

'It's…Well, it's very colourful. It's just. It's our van, actually,' said Israel.

'Your van?' said Stones, chuckling to himself. 'It's our van, actually. We bought it only recently, and perfectly legally.'

'You bought it?'

'That's right.'

'From Barry Britton at Britton's Second Hand Van Sales, Lease and Hire, by Wandsworth Bridge?' said Israel.

Stones did not reply.

'Well, we'll take that as yes then, shall we?' said Ted.

'Mr Britton has helped us source many of our vehicles.'

'Source?' said Ted. 'Source? Stolen, more like. You bloody-'

'That is something you'll have to take up with Mr Britton, I'm afraid.'

Ted was still staring at Stones. And Stones was staring back. Stalemate.

'Erm, look,' said Israel, appealing to Stones. 'We need the van,' he said soothingly. 'You see, we're going to the Mobile Meet, which is a big mobile library convention sort of thing, and-'

'No,' said Stones. 'Sorry. I don't wish to appear cynical, obviously, but your arriving here unannounced and claiming that this vehicle once belonged to you is hardly proof of either current or past ownership, is it? And you expect us to just hand it over? You could be anybody.'

'We're librarians,' explained Israel. 'We're over from Ireland.'

'You don't sound Irish.'

'No. No. No, God, I'm not Irish. I'm from London. He's from Ireland.'

'Northern Ireland,' said Ted.

'Ah!' said Bree, as if this explained something.

'Well, clearly there has been some sort of a misunderstanding,' said Stones. 'But I'm sure we can resolve it.'

'I'll show you how we're going to resolve it!' said Ted, squaring up to Stones.

'Yes,' said Israel, tugging urgently at Ted's sleeve. 'I'm sure we can resolve this. Amicably. Leave it to me,' he whispered to Ted.

'What?'

'The old ba-flum. I can handle this one.' He smiled at Bree and Stones. 'Perhaps we could, er, discuss the misunderstanding somewhere privately?'

Bree looked at Stones, who nodded.

'That's a good idea,' said Bree. 'Come,' she said, ushering Israel and Ted through the crowd and towards another brightly painted vehicle-'Phun! Phun! Phun!' it announced in splashy lettering across the front-that might once have been a horsebox.

Inside the horsebox there was a little miniature wood-burning stove, a wooden bed, rugs, and cushions and wooden shelves fixed to the wall. Wind chimes and pieces of glass on string hung down from the ceiling.

Israel, Ted, Stones and Bree sat down cosily on the floor.

'Can we offer you some tea perhaps?' said Bree.

'I'm not drinking your tea,' said Ted.

'Coffee?' said Israel.

'We don't drink coffee,' said Bree.

'Right. Well. Tea would be lovely, thank you.'

'Nettle?' said Bree.

'Tea?' said Israel.

'Yes,' said Bree.

'Mmm,' said Israel, wishing he'd said no. 'Lovely. Yes.'

'I thought that was for women's problems,' said Ted.

'Sshh,' said Israel. 'So,' he said, trying to think of a friendly way into the discussion. 'Are you actual New Age travellers then?'

'Ha! Some people would call us that, I suppose,' said Stones.

'We call ourselves the Folk Devils,' said Bree, busying herself with a pot on the stove.

'Oh, really? Do you, you know, play music?'

'Yes,' said Bree.

'But we call ourselves the Folk Devils because that's how people regard us,' said Stones. 'As outcasts or scapegoats.'

'Right,' said Israel. 'I've always wondered, actually, what you lot believe in?'

'Us lot?' said Stones. 'What do you mean, us lot?'

'You…sort of…people.'

'We're not a cult,' said Stones.

'We're more like an alliance,' said Bree.

'Yeah. That's right. There is no 'us lot'. Just among us here we've got pagans, and druids, and Crowleyites, witches,' said Stones. 'Personally, I believe in Jesus, and Buddha, and Karl Marx and the Earth Goddess.'

'Aye, right, and what about Mother Teresa and Bono then?' muttered Ted.

'You believe in all of them?' asked Israel.

'Yes.'

'At once?'

'Yeah. If God, as the Christians would have us believe, is great, then surely She is too big to be contained by any church?'

'She?' said Ted. 'Hold on!'

'We don't really believe in God in the way you think,' explained Bree. 'Cosmic energy is what we believe in.'

'Uh-huh,' said Israel.

'We are all daughters and sons of the Sun, and offspring of Mother Earth.'

'Speaking personally, like, I'm the son of a Ted Carson, of Cullybackey, and offspring of Margaret McAuley, from the Shankhill Road.'

'I'm talking about spiritual offspring,' said Bree. 'Obviously. Tea?'

Bree offered Israel a jam jar of what seemed to be warm, murky-looking water.

'Mmm. Great. Thanks.'

He took a sip. It tasted like the brewed floor scrapings of a health food shop.

'And what do you believe in, Israel?' asked Stones.

'Erm. Good question,' said Israel. He coughed. 'A…Higher Being?' Hoping this was the right answer. It wasn't.

'Your Hebrew God is a lie,' said Stones.

'Right. Yes. Uh-huh. Well, I say I believe in a Higher Being-'

'And a lie, when repeated and repeated eventually comes to appear as the truth.'

'Yes, well. Anyway. I would love to talk theology all day with you, but-'

'Money, then?' asked Stones.

'Sorry?' said Israel.

'You believe in money, presumably?'

'Well, no, not exactly,' said Israel.

'Money's not a religion,' said Ted.

'Money,' continued Stones, 'is a religion. People worship money. And yet in reality there is no such thing as money: money is a fiction; it's a symbol.'

'Ach!' said Ted.

He fished into his pocket and produced a pound coin. 'What do you call this then?'

'I call it a curse,' said Stones.

'Aye, right. Well, I call it a blessing,' said Ted.

'That's perhaps where we differ,' said Stones.

'Anyway,' said Israel, desperate to avoid a confrontation. 'How did you sort of…end up, doing…this sort of thing?'

'Bree was with the Dongas,' explained Stones.

'The whatters?' said Ted.

'The Dongas. Road protests? Reclaim the Streets?'

'Oh, right.'

'We met in Seattle in 1999,' said Bree.

'Oh? I've got a friend from school who went to work for Microsoft actually,' said Israel. 'In Seattle.'

'We were at the G8 protest,' said Bree.

'Ah, yes, of course.'

'Bunch of Luddites,' said Ted.

'The modern world is a psychological and spiritual wasteland, Ted,' said Stones.

'Is it now?' said Ted.

'And you've never even lived in Northern Ireland!' said Israel.

'People want to reconnect with the Earth Mother,' said Bree. 'Israel, I sense that you are terrified of the Great Mother.'

'Am I?' said Israel, trying not to sip his tea. 'I mean, my own mother certainly, I-'

'I sense that you've closed yourself off to the creative goddess.'

'Right. Well, possibly, yes, I-'

'Shekinah.'

'Sorry?'

'Gaia, Mother Earth. Whatever you want to call her, that's her. You're denying her force in your life. You've closed yourself off to the cosmic part of the human psyche.'

'Have I?'

'Yes, you have.'

'Ach, Jesus,' said Ted.

'Sshh,' said Israel.

'Ach, come on,' said Ted. 'I have never heard such a lot of crap. I don't know how you can believe any of that stuff at all. It's like astrology. It's a lot of-'

'You believe in the sun and the moon, don't you, Ted?' asked Bree, with an ironic smile.

'Yes, of course.'

'Well, astrology is simply the study of the vibrations sent forth by the sun and the moon and their effect on our psychological makeup.'

'I don't believe in astrology.'

'You're Scorpio, right?'

Ted blinked. 'How did you know that? Did someone tell you that? Did he just tell you that?'

Israel shrugged.

'No!' Bree laughed. She had a phlegmy sort of laugh, which was quite sexy, actually, Israel found, but also suggested that she could have done with sleeping somewhere with cavity-wall insulation and central heating. She reminded him of Gloria. 'It's just,' she continued. 'You're temperamental. You have a tendency to the…' She was teasing him now. 'Tyrannous. Tell me, do you suffer from ulcers, Ted?'

Ted had been taking medication for ulcers on and off for years.

'How did you…?' said Ted.

Bree smiled serenely. 'I can do you a birth chart, if you'd like,' she said.

'I don't think so,' said Ted.

'Ha, Ted!' said Israel. 'She got you!'

'And what about you, Israel?' said Bree.

'Me? Sorry?' said Israel.

'I'd say you were probably…' Bree eyed him up and down. 'Sagittarius.'

'How did you…?'

'Long nose. Full lips.'

'He's Jewish, you know,' said Ted.

'Oh,' said Bree. 'Well, you of all people should understand our predicament here.'

'Well,' said Israel. 'I don't know if…'

'The travellers are the Jews of England,' said Stones.

'Erm. Well. Aren't the Jews the Jews of England?' said Israel.

'Stones often speaks metaphorically,' said Bree.

'Stones often speaks bullshit,' muttered Ted.

'When one of the trilithons went missing back in the eighteenth century, they blamed the Gypsies,' continued Bree.

'We've been hunted down like dogs for centuries,' said Stones. 'My own parents were involved in the Windsor Great Park festivals, you know?'

'Erm. No, sorry.'

'My father was one of the Global Village Trucking Company. I was taken away from my family when I was only three years old, in 1985, after the Battle of the Beanfield. Taken to a children's home. It took them a year to get me back.'

'Really?' said Israel. 'God, that's-'

'All very interesting, I'm sure,' said Ted. 'But all I want is our van back. It's ours.'

'Ah, yes, of course,' said Stones. 'You're very focused on the present, Ted.'

'Aye, that'd be about right.'

'We try to cultivate an eternal perspective.'

'Fine,' said Ted. 'You go ahead and crultivate your pspectre, and give me the van back.'

'Well, as you can perhaps tell, we're not that interested in material possessions. My real interest is in English antiquarianism.'

'Antiques?' said Ted.

'The sacred sites of England. Avebury,' said Stones.

'Stonehenge?' said Israel.

'Yes,' said Stones. 'And we follow the ritual year and the festivals-Imbolc, Beltane, Lughnasa, Samhain.'

'The van?' said Ted.

'I sense you want to talk about the van,' said Bree.

They talked about the van for the best part of an hour, and in the end it was agreed that Ted and Israel would return the following day with any documents and evidence of their legal possession of the van and that Stones and Bree would then accompany them to Barry Britton's in the van to resolve the problem.

'Well,' said Israel, as they drove back to London. 'They seemed very nice.'

'Bunch of flippin' hairy fairies.'

'You can't say that.'

'I can say what I like,' said Ted. 'Bunch of work-shy, drug-using poke-shakings.'

'What?'

'I said-'

'I didn't see any drugs, as such,' said Israel.

'Aye, you could tell, but, the look of them.'

'And it looked quite hard work to me, actually,' said Israel. 'Collecting the firewood, and the cooking, looking after all those children.'

'They'd all a wee tinker tan.'

'A what?'

'A tinker tan. Dirty, like animals, so they were, the weans.'

'I didn't think they were that bad.'

'Like little Arabs, the lot of them.'

'Ted!'

'I'm only saying!'

'Well, don't! You make yourself sound bad.'

'And they were all dressed funny,' said Ted. 'The big fella there had a wee kiltie sort of thing on.'

'That's all right,' said Israel.

'Aye, it would be all right with you. He was full of the smell o' himself. And I didn't trust the big woman.'

'Bree?'

'Aye.'

'I rather liked her. She was very accurate in her astrological readings.'

'Ach, not at all! She was away with the fairies. I wouldn't trust her with one half of a bad potato. And the whole place stinks a' addle,' said Ted.

'Addle?'

'Aye.'

'Is?'

'U-rine, ye eejit.'

'No, I think it was patchouli oil or something.'

'Disgusting,' said Ted.

'I quite liked the smell,' said Israel.

'Aye, ye would.'

'I thought it was an idyllic sort of setup actually. I wouldn't mind doing something like that myself. Get away from it all, life on the road…'

'Aye. Bunch a ill-set good-for-nothings, so they are. They're on the pig's back, the lot of them.'

'The-'

'Pig's back, that's right. And they've stolen our van, remember. Bunch o' bandits…'

'Well, they haven't actually stolen it, have they, it was more, you know…'

'What?'

'They were sold it under false pretences.'

'Aye. From the fella selling stolen vehicles. Caveat emperor,' said Ted.

'Caveat emptor, I think you mean,' said Israel. 'Anyway, this time tomorrow we should have it all sorted.'

'Never trust a hippy,' said Ted.

'They're fine, Ted.'

'Not as long as they've got my van they're not.'

'Well,' said Israel. 'They're clearly not going anywhere with the van at the moment, are they? Let's not panic, eh.'