The Delegates' Choice aka The Book Stops Here

14

When Israel and Ted arrived back at the site the following day the travellers had gone-disappeared, vamoosed, packed up, beat a retreat and headed for the hills. The only evidence that they'd ever been there were a few black patches of bare earth where their fires had been, and some big rug-flattened patches of grass. Everything else was gone: no litter, no mess, no trace.

'Bloody Gypsies!' roared Ted, as he stomped around the clearing, like a bear without his honey. 'Bloody lying Gypsies! I told you! I said we should never have trusted those bloody Gypsies. Ach!'

'Is this the right place?' said Israel, looking around. 'It looks different, without the-'

'Of course this is the right place!' said Ted. 'They've scarpered, the blinkin' Gypsy-'

'Travellers,' said Israel. 'They're travellers, Ted. And at least they've left the place nice and-'

'When I get hold of them they'll feel-'

'Take only photographs, leave only-'

'My boot up the arse,' said Ted.

'Yeah. Fine,' said Israel. 'So now what?'

'I don't know,' said Ted. 'I just don't know. Ach! I can't believe this. We should never have come to England in the first place. The whole country's a f-'

'Yes, all right. I've heard it before, Ted. You're getting as bad as me on Northern Ireland. We just need to think logically and work this out. Maybe we should hunt for clues, should we?'

'Aye, Tonto,' said Ted, with a wave of his hand. 'That's right. You hunt away there.'

'Well. I just thought. You know. When we were in the Scouts we used to do this thing where we had to follow people's tracks.' Israel knelt down and began sniffing the ground. 'It had something to do with animal spoors, and…bent twigs, and…'

'Holy God,' said Ted.

'What?'

'I tell you what. I've got a much better idea, Kemo Sabe.'

'Really?'

'Aye, you get off of your knees and ring your mother.'

'Why?'

'Because she'll have a better idea of what to do than you, you eejit. Sniffing the ground, for goodness sake! God give me strength! I'm away here for a smoke.'

'I thought you were giving up?' said Israel, getting up off his knees.

'Until I came to England I was giving up. You, and the…Gypsies…and the homolosexuals…This whole flippin' country's gonna have me away to Purdysburn, d'ye know that?'

While Ted paced up and down and smoked in a furious, you'll-have-me-away-to-Purdysburn sort of a manner, Israel rang his mother on his mobile. She was preparing for a mobile library fund-raising coffee morning back at the house.

'It's the Ladies Guild,' she said, 'they'll be here in five minutes! What is it now?'

Israel explained that the trail had gone cold and that they were standing in a field in the middle of Essex, and they had no idea what to do next.

'Ah, dear, that's not good,' said Israel's mother.

'Any ideas?' said Israel.

'Can you get back for lunchtime?'

'I don't know. Why?'

'You might find it easier to think if you've had something to eat. And you could maybe brief the ladies on the latest developments in the case.'

'No, Mother! We can get a sandwich or something. We just need to-'

'Get other people involved, no?' said Israel's mother. Israel could hear her gesticulating. 'That's what we need to do at this stage. It's completely ridiculous! We should ring the police.'

'Ted doesn't want the police involved,' said Israel, lowering his voice. Ted was glowering with his cigarette.

'Well, he's not going to have much of a choice now, is he? Israel, put him onto me. I'll talk to him.'

'No. I'll deal with him,' said Israel.

'I like talking to him,' said Israel's mother.

'Yes. I know. That's why I'm going to deal with him.'

'And what is that supposed to mean?'

'Nothing.'

'Well, anyway, look, I'll ring Deborah, and see what she and Ari are doing tonight; we can meet with them. He's very clever.'

'I'm clever,' protested Israel.

'I didn't say you weren't!' said Israel's mother. 'Don't be so sensitive. I just mean Ari's professionally clever.'

'What, and I'm an amateur?'

'He'll have lots of ideas.'

'No, Mother! Don't get him involved!'

'Hold on. Just let me check the calendar here, let me see how we're fixed for tonight.'

'Mother, no!'

'Here we are.' Israel could hear her peering at the calendar. 'Oh, look. It's your uncle Bernard's birthday tomorrow.'

'Who?'

'In Montreal? He was married to the woman who was divorced, from Hendon? I must give him a ring. I always forget, but it's the same every year. Summer solstice. And National Aboriginal Day in Canada.'

'Mother! Mother! Hold on! That's it!' said Israel.

'What's it?'

'They follow the ritual year.'

'Who do? Your uncle Bernard and the divorcée from Hendon? No. They're Reform, I think.'

'No, not them,' said Israel.

'The Aboriginals?'

'No!' said Israel. 'They must have gone to Stonehenge.'

'Who? Stonehenge? What are you talking about? Hold on, there's someone at the door, Israel.'

'Fine. Okay, Mum. Look. Got to go. Bye.'

'She have any ideas?' said Ted, finishing his cigarette and grinding out the stub.

'Don't leave any litter,' said Israel.

'It's not litter!' said Ted. 'It's a cigarette butt, but.'

'That's litter,' said Israel.

'Anyway?' said Ted.

'They're at Stonehenge.'

'And where's that when it's at home?'

'It's down in Wiltshire,' said Israel.

'And ye're sure they're there?' said Ted.

'No,' said Israel. 'But it was in Mother's calendar.'

'Stonehenge?'

'Yes. It's the summer solstice, and you remember the travellers saying they followed the ritual year?'

'No.'

'Well, they did. So, I'm guessing they're going to be at Stonehenge for the solstice.'

'What, like druids?'

'Exactly.'

'Ye think they've taken the van down to be with the druids at Stonehenge?'

'Yes.'

'Ach. That's it? That's the best ye can come up with?'

'Yes.'

'What does your mother think?'

'She agrees,' lied Israel.

Ted sighed. 'When I get a hold of those blinkin' hippies…' he said. 'Does she want to come with us?'

'Who?'

'Yer mother?'

'No, she does not!' said Israel. 'My mother come with us! Honestly, Ted. And you can just stop your sniffing around her, please.'

'What do ye mean, sniffing around her?' said Ted, drawing himself up to his full shaven-headed height. 'What are ye blerting about now, boy?'

'Come on. You know exactly what I mean. I've told you once to leave her alone, and I mean it. Stop it. Just stop…chatting her up, or whatever it is you're doing.'

'Chatting her up?'

They were walking back towards the Mini.

'Well, that's what it bloody looks like,' said Israel. 'Staying up late every night, listening to music together. I can hear you, you know, from upstairs.'

'Ye think I'm a sort of o' belly bachelor after yer mother?'

'I have no idea what a belly bachelor might be, Ted. I'm just saying I want you to keep away from her.'

'Aye, well, and I'm telling you to mind yer own blinkin' business, or I'll-'

'Don't be threatening me, Ted!'

'I'm not threatening ye, ye eejit!'

They arrived back at the Mini.

'Well, that's what it sounds like to me. Now, anyway'-they got into the car, ready to go-'so. To be clear. We're going to find the van-without doing any harm to anyone!'

Ted huffed.

'And we'll get this whole thing over and done with. And without my mother! Do you understand?'

'Ach.'

'Do you understand?'

'Aye, and who made you the head bombardier all of a sudden?'

'Head bombardier?'

'Aye, ye're all the same.'

'Who?'

'People.'

'Right.'

Muhammad barked at them approvingly.

'Stonehenge?' said Ted, as they set off, unable to let it go. 'Jesus!'

'Have you got a better idea, Ted?'

'I have not,' said Ted, as if the mere suggestion that he might have an idea was an offence.

'So,' said Israel. 'As far as I'm concerned that's the end of the discussion. That's what we're doing. It's a long shot, but it might just work.'

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

It was 6.00 p.m. by the time Ted and Israel eventually arrived at Stonehenge; they'd stopped off in a pub on the way for lunch, which was definitely not a good idea. ('I tell you what I'm going to have,' Ted had announced, hungrily, as they pulled off the motorway and onto an A road, and then onto a B road and into the pub forecourt. 'What?' 'A ploughman's. Nice fresh bread and cheddar cheese. A real traditional English pub lunch. You can't get that back home.' He was right. 'Your ploughman's, sir,' the barman had said. 'A ploughman's? That's not a ploughman's,' Ted said. 'It's…' 'It's sourdough bread, sir, with melted goat's cheese, and a cranberry and sweet chili coleslaw, and baby gem lettuce.' 'Has this whole country gone completely mad?' said Ted. 'No,' said Israel, 'it's just gone gastro.') And then on round the M25, and on and on, on the M3, and the A303, and onto the A344, in the hot, steaming summer's night, and the approach to Stonehenge, which was like the approach to Lakeside, except this time instead of people being there for their actual shopping, they were there for the spiritual shopping, which is cheaper, admittedly, although some actual shopping was also available; as they approached the car park, there were young men and women wearing eccentric floppy rainbow-coloured hats going from car to car, offering juggling balls, and tarot cards, and giant Rizla papers and novelty lighters. There were also stewards in fluorescent bibs, and policemen with dogs, and barriers, and fences, and burger and hot dog stalls, and vegetarian burger and hot dog stalls, and everywhere you looked, cars, and vans, and more cars and vans. It felt more like a motor show than anything else-a second-hand motor show, at which hippies jeered at the drivers of SUVs.

Israel had never seen Stonehenge before, and he could barely see it now; you just caught a glimpse of it from the car park. From a distance, in the shimmering heat, it looked like big heaps of old moulded plasticene.

'Nice job,' said Ted, as they got out of the car.

'What is?' said Israel.

'The stones. Probably some sort of mortice and tenon at the top.'

'What?'

'Some sort of wee joggle joint. Must be.' Ted peered at the stones in the distance, as if surveying the quality of a roof on a new-build bungalow. 'Carpentry, basically, isn't it, applied to stones?'

'Right.'

'They're like lintels, if you look,' said Ted. 'Not bad. Must have been a job to do.'

'Right. Okay,' said Israel. 'I think it's more the spiritual significance that most people are interested in, rather than the ancient building techniques.'

'Ah'm sure,' said Ted.

'So, anyway,' said Israel. 'I guess now we just look for the van.'

'Aye, it'll take some doing, mind,' said Ted. 'Look around ye. It's like Coleraine on market day.'

They agreed to split up, and went walking up and down the rows of parked cars and vans, which spread out as far as the eye could see, with crowds of people milling around, flying kites, playing Frisbee, playing the bongos; people hugging each other; people cheering and shouting; people crying; stumbling drunks. Occasionally, Israel would stop a sober-looking person and ask them if they'd seen the van.

'I'm looking for a van,' he'd say. 'An old Bedford?'

'Yeah. Nice vans. Good conversion.'

Or, 'Have you seen an old Bedford?'

'D'you want to buy a kite?'

And 'Excuse me, have you seen an old-'

'Could you give me fifty pounds?'

And, 'Have you seen-'

'Dope? Skunk? Crack?'

And, 'Have you-'

'Make Homebrew, Not War.'

And, 'Hello, I-'

'Waaalllly!'

Ted had fared no better.

'Any luck?' asked Israel, when they met up again, half an hour later.

'Ach,' said Ted. 'No. Not at all. Look at the place. Disgusting.' There was rubbish everywhere. 'It's like an outdoor bloody loony bin. All these sorts, all scunging about.'

'Scunging?'

'That's right. Load a thugs and auld hippies stocious with drink, playing the drums.'

'Bongos,' said Israel.

'Exactly,' said Ted. 'Completely blinkin' bongos, the lot of 'em.'

'I saw a nice-looking falafel stall, though, if you fancy something to eat,' said Israel.

Ted stared at him and tutted.

'Well, maybe you're right,' said Israel. 'Maybe later?'

A man came striding past then, wearing a yellow fluorescent vest with the word 'STEWARD' printed on it, front and back. He carried a satchel, and had a walkie-talkie, and a long, greying goatee beard, down almost to his chest, and his hair was in a ponytail, and he was wearing frayed denim shorts, and walking boots and a stained leather cowboy hat; he looked like a municipal Gandalf.

'Excuse me?' said Israel.

'Yes, brother?' said the man, halting abruptly, officially, and more than a little ironically, in his stride.

'Brother!' exclaimed Ted.

'Erm. I wonder if you might be able to help?' said Israel.

'That's what I'm here to do,' said the man. 'I Am Here to Help.'

'Good,' said Israel.

'You may call me Lancelot,' said the man.

'Right,' said Israel.

'I'll call ye something,' muttered Ted.

'And this might perhaps answer your questions, gentlemen.' He handed them a leaflet from his satchel, announcing 'SUMMER SOLSTICE: CONDITIONS OF ENTRY AND INFORMATION'. 'No dogs!' the man announced, pointing to Muhammad. 'Sunrise at 4.58 a.m.,' he said, 'pre-cisely,' and went to stride off again.

'Erm. Thanks. That's…lovely, Lancelot,' said Israel. 'But, actually, we're looking for a van.'

'Okay,' said Lancelot, turning back. 'A van? Uh-huh.'

'Which has been…we have lost.'

'I see.'

'It's been painted. It has…What's it got painted on it, Ted?'

'Black,' said Ted.

'Yeah,' said Israel, 'and over the front there's a sort of big eye, and it says-'

'The Odyssey,' stated Ted, with distaste.

'Yeah, that's it,' said Israel. 'The Odyssey. And down the side it says-'

'The Warehouse of Divine Jewels,' said Ted, with disgust.

'Yeah.'

'Okay,' said Lancelot.

'And on the back it says-'

'Follow Us Towards Enlightenment,' said Ted, his voice beyond emotion.

'Yeah,' said Israel. '"Follow Us Towards Enlightenment", with a rainbow painted above it.'

'Sounds like quite a van,' said Lancelot.

'Yeah. It belongs to…some friends of ours.'

'I see.'

'We were going to meet them here. You've not seen it?'

'No. No. I don't think so,' said Lancelot. 'But I could check with the other stewards, if you'd like?'

'Right, well, that'd be great actually,' said Israel. 'And this is where all the travellers meet, is it?'

'No, young man,' said Lancelot, 'oh, no, no, no, no, no. These'-he emphasised the word 'these' as though indicating his own wayward offspring-'these are mostly tourists.' He lowered his voice. 'To be honest with you, they're only here for Fatboy Slim.'

'Oh? Really? Is Fatboy Slim playing?' said Israel.

'No!' Lancelot laughed, as if this were the funniest thing he'd heard in a long time. 'He was on a few years ago-and very good, actually, I should say, though I'm more of a Steely Dan man myself-but now of course everybody expects a rave when they come. This is your first time, I presume?'

'Yes,' said Israel.

'And last,' said Ted.

'Henge virgins,' mused Lancelot, stroking his beard. 'I remember when I was a Henge virgin myself. Seventy-four,' he mused. 'Nineteen seventy-four.'

'Anyway, I'm sorry I missed Fatboy Slim,' said Israel.

'There were rumours this year that Snoop Dogg was going to play,' said the steward. 'I ask you!'

'Snoop Dogg!' Israel laughed. 'As if!'

Ted looked perplexed.

'A lot of your old-style New Agers,' continued the steward, 'they go up past Amesbury there, into the hills.'

'Ah, that'd be where our friends are then, I would have thought,' said Israel. 'Do you think, Ted?'

Ted shrugged.

'Do you still want me to check with the stewards for you?' asked the man.

'No, it's all right, thanks, erm, Lancelot,' said Israel. 'I think our friends'll probably be with the other…people. But thanks anyway.'

'Peace,' said the man.

'Off,' said Ted, as they got into the car. 'Lancelot! What sort of a name is that supposed to be? Lancelot? And Fat Boy Jim?'

'Slim. You've Come a Long Way, Baby?'

'Aye. And the Soup Dog?'

'Snoop Dogg,' said Israel. 'He's a rapper. Doggystyle? D'you not know it?'

'Israel. Let's just find the van and get home, can we?' said Ted. 'Because, I'm telling ye, everyone in this country's on the loonie soup, as far as I can tell. The whole blinkin' lot of ye…'

It took them even longer driving away from Stonehenge than driving towards it-diversions, single-lane traffic-but eventually they made it back onto the open roads and into the country.

'So?' said Israel. 'We are looking for-'

'Hippies,' said Ted. 'Gypsies. Troublemakers. Thugs. And ruffians.'

'Right. All of the above?'

'And rappers,' added Ted. 'Find one, we'll find ' em all. All together like Brown's cows.'

Which indeed they were, whatever it meant. Over on the other side of Amesbury, as dusk was turning to dark and they'd almost finished listening to the Da Vinci Code audiobook all the way through for the umpteenth time ('This bit, in the film, with Tom Hanks, is brilliant,' said Ted again and again), they saw lights in the distance; not house or street lights, but what appeared to be fiery streaks and haloes shooting down the hillsides.

'What the hell's going on over there?' said Ted.

Israel peered through the windscreen. 'Well, from a distance it looks to me like it's people burning tyre wheels and rolling them down the hill.'

'That's what I thought,' said Ted. 'But why in God's name would anyone do that?'

'No idea. Some sort of pagan ritual?'

'Burning car tyres?'

'Well, maybe a sort of…reinterpretation of some…pagan ritual.'

'Aye. That'll be our lot then.'

Israel parked the Mini carefully in a lay-by and then they clambered over a stile and began walking down across a field towards the tyre burners.

It was dark now, but still warm, and there was the sound of birdsong, and suddenly, here, just for a moment-a tiny moment; just a half even, maybe, or a quarter-in a field somewhere in England, for the first time since being back, Israel felt, for a piece of a moment, at home.

He felt overcome by the intensity of his own existence, and yet at the same time completely disembodied from it, as though he were observing his own experience. He thought for a moment of Robert Browning, and of Robert Bridges, and Thomas Hardy, and Ray Davies, and T. E. Lawrence, and Tim Henman, and of hedgerows, and cricket, and is there honey still for tea? He did not think, for a moment, of Gloria. He felt idyllic.

He decided not to mention this to Ted.

'Get down!' said Ted suddenly, as they approached a hedge. 'Down on yer hunkers.'

'Mywhatters?'

'Hunkers. Quick! Down. Get down! Quick!'

Israel did not get down on his hunkers quick enough, so Ted pushed him down flat into the damp mud.

'Ted!'

'Sshh!'

'What? Why?' whispered Israel. 'Have they seen us?'

'Look. There,' whispered Ted.

'Where?'

'Ahint the hedge there.'

'A hint?'

'Aye.'

Israel looked ahint the hedge there.

It wasn't the travellers.

It was a long line of policemen, wearing dark blue boiler suits. And protective helmets. And carrying shields. Shoulder to shoulder. In total silence. And behind them, just over the hedge, piled up, were shovels and picks and spades.

'Oh, shit!' said Israel. 'I don't like the look of this, Ted! What are the police doing here?'

'The same thing we're doing here,' whispered Ted. 'Come on, we need to get out of here,' and so they wriggled along on their bellies beside the hedge, as quietly as they could, away from the police, taking a much longer, snaking, circuitous route through fields of wheat towards the travellers and their burning tyres.

Eventually, having successfully evaded the police, and down towards the bottom of the hill, safely hidden in among some trees, they were close enough to observe.

'Travellers in their natural environment,' whispered Israel, putting on his best David-Attenborough-observing-the-gorillas voice.

'Sshh!' said Ted.

Men and women, stripped to the waist, were leaping over fires. Someone was playing bongos, and people were dancing barefoot, and there were jugglers, and fire-eaters, and people were being tattooed, and there was a child dancing around in a luminous skeleton suit, while other people lay around on the ground, wrapped in rugs, passing bottles and joints. And there, among them, sprawled out, were Stones and Bree, locked in-'Sweet Jesus!' said Ted-an intimate embrace. And behind them, parked at the top of the hill, among the camper vans, old coaches, horseboxes and ambulances, was the mobile library, resplendent, glowing in the firelight, in all its repainted glory, its Eye of Horus keeping watch over the proceedings.

'Got 'em!' said Ted.

'Keep your voice down!' said Israel.

'The dirty lying thieving bastards!' continued Ted. 'Look at 'em. Totally scunnered, the lot of them. Bloody bunch of scoots.'

'So what do we do now?' said Israel.

'We're going to wait here until they're all well away from the van,' said Ted.

'And then what?'

'We're going to steal her back.'

'Steal her?' whispered Israel. 'That's-'

'How else d'ye think we're going to get her?'

'Well, couldn't we just go and talk to them first?' said Israel. 'And then we could maybe talk to the police, and explain what's happened and-'

'It'll all be happy ever after?' said Ted.

'I'm sure the police would help us.'

'Aye, well, I've never met a policeman before who wanted to help me, and I very much doubt I'm going to meet one now.'

'Well, I don't know about that,' said Israel, 'the police can be'-and then he recalled a number of recent incidents in Tumdrum, including his being accused of robbery and the kidnap of Mr Dixon, of Dixon and Pickering's department store, for example-'a little unpredictable,' he admitted. 'But stealing the van back is quite a risky strategy, isn't it?'

'A risky strategy?' said Ted. 'It's justice, ye eejit. What is it you people say?'

'Which people?'

'You.'

'Vegetarian Jewish librarians from north London?'

'Ach, no! "An eye for an eye."'

'"A tooth for a tooth"?'

'Aye.'

'"A hand for a hand"?'

'Exactly.'

'"A foot for a foot"?'

'There you are.'

'Exodus, you mean?'

'Rebritution,' said Ted.

'Retribution,' corrected Israel.

'That's right,' said Ted. 'That's what you lot believe, isn't it?'

'Your use of the term "you lot" is not entirely helpful, I must say,' whispered Israel. 'And I think you'll find that in Jewish law, in fact-'

'Ach, well, all I mean is, they stole the van from us, and so we're perfectly entitled to steal her back.'

'Well, that may sound perfectly reasonable,' said Israel, mouthing the words rather than speaking them, 'but I hardly think it would stand up as an argument in a court of law.'

'We're not in a court of law, you eejit! In case you hadn't noticed, we're in a bloody field in the middle of bloody nowhere!'

'Yes, that's right,' whispered Israel, 'and how would you suggest we go about getting the van back, seeing as the obvious obstacles in our way in this bloody field in the middle of bloody nowhere include several hundred travellers, and at least the same number of riot police? Huh?'

'I don't rightly know at the moment,' said Ted. 'I'm thinking. First thing we need to do is lure them away from the van.'

'Well, that's not difficult, is it?' said Israel. 'Four fifty-eight a.m.'

'What?'

'Is the time of sunrise, didn't the steward say? They'll all be up and worshipping the sun then, or something. That'll certainly distract them.'

'Brilliant,' said Ted, patting Israel hard on the back-too hard. Israel almost fell over. 'Brilliant! Ye know what, that's the only sensible thing you've said all day.'

'Thank you,' gasped Israel.

'That'll do us rightly. So all we need to do is keep watch, wait for them to start the auld slaughtering of the sheep and the goats-'

'I don't think they slaughter sheep and goats on the solstice, Ted.'

'Or whatever it is they do, and then we slip in and take the van. We'll take it in turns to keep watch. Right. You bed down there. I'll take the first shift.'

'Bed down where?'

'There.' Ted pointed at the ground.

'On the ground?'

'Aye.'

'I'm not sleeping there.'

'Well, unless you brought a wee blow-up feather bed with you, that'll be exactly where you're sleeping.'

'Couldn't I go back to the car?'

'Of course you can't go back to the car,' said Ted.

'Why not?'

'Because we're on reconnaissance. We've got to keep a lookout.'

'Well met by moonlight!' came a voice then, and suddenly, from out of nowhere, Israel's mother was squatting down among the trees with them. She was wearing a highly visible bright red Gore-Tex jacket-which matched, worryingly, the colour of her lipstick-and a pair of long brown boots, with heels, with velvet trousers tucked into the top.

'Jesus Christ, woman!' gasped Ted. 'You scared the crap out of me there!'

'Sorry, boys,' she whispered.

'Mother! What are you doing here?'

'I could hardly let you two handle it yourselves, could I?'

'How did you get here?'

'Ari gave me a lift down. In his Mercedes,' she added significantly.

'But how did you find us?'

'You said Stonehenge. Travellers. It's not that difficult, is it? We used to do an annual treasure hunt for the PTA when you were at school. Do you remember? That was much more difficult. People used to get lost on Hampstead Heath. They're not exactly hidden away here, are they? So, what's the crack?'

'You're an abstrakerous old so-and-so when you want to be, aren't ye, Mrs Armstrong?' said Ted admiringly.

'Am I?'

'Ye are.'

'Is that a bad thing?'

'I didn't say that.'

'Good.'

'All right, you two,' said Israel. 'Enough already. They're up to something else there now.'

The travellers seemed to be preparing for some kind of ritual involving poles and sticks.

'It's quite a nice little setup they've got there, actually, isn't it?' whispered Israel's mother.

'Bloody headers,' said Ted.

'What are they doing?' asked Israel. 'Is it some sort of pagan ritual?'

'It looks to me like they're preparing to do limbo dancing,' said Israel's mother.

'Ah!' said Israel. 'You're right.'

'They're all on drugs, sure,' said Ted.

'How can you tell?' said Israel's mother. 'I've often wondered.'

'Aye, well…I have spent a bit of time smoking dope meself, like.'

'Really?' said Israel's mother.

'Aye.'

'What?' said Israel.

'I am surprised to hear that,' said Israel's mother. 'Man like yourself, Ted.'

'Well.'

'And when you say a bit of time, you mean what? Days? Weeks?'

'Years, actually.'

'Years?'

'Aye. In Australia.'

'What the hell were you doing smoking dope in Australia for years?' said Israel.

'Better than painkillers,' said Ted, gazing off into the distance. 'Sometimes a man needs to forget.'

'Right.'

'I'd lost the run of meself entirely,' said Ted.

'I did smoke a funny cigarette once,' said Israel's mother. 'At a party, it was. In Crouch End, I think. Somewhere like that.'

'All right, let's not get into a game of truth or dare here, Mother, shall we, please.'

'You are a dark horse, Ted,' said Israel's mother, snuggling up close to him in the dark.

'Oh God. I'm going to have a lie down here,' said Israel. 'You two keep quiet, all right? Wake me up when something interesting happens.'

Israel's sleep, when it came-muddy, twiggy, to the sound of Ted and his mother whispering and distant bongos-was utterly wretched.

First, he dreamt he was wandering through the streets of Tumdrum with a seven-flamed candelabrum, with people trying to blow it out. Then he dreamt he was outside a locked door, and there were people inside, laughing. And then he dreamt of Gloria.

Vivid, terrible dreams of Gloria. He was somewhere waiting for her. He called out to her, but just as he caught her she reached the front door of their flat. He grabbed her by the arm and swung her around. And it wasn't her. It was another woman. And she stood still, this other woman, terrified, looking at him. It wasn't Gloria. She had her mobile phone raised to her mouth. And she started to scream at him. 'I'm so sorry,' he was saying, in his dream. 'I thought you were…' The woman was yelling at him. 'I'm calling the police,' she was screaming. He was running through the streets.

They were not pleasant dreams.

He woke with Ted poking him sharply in the ribs. His throat was parched. He was sweating and shivering. His body hurt all over.

'Wake up! This is us!' said Ted.

'This was me,' said Israel, wiping away dry mud from his face.

Even though he was awake, what happened next seemed to take place in dream time rather than in reality: the whole thing was complete chaos, lit by a weird, looming blue and pink dawn light.

'This is like a film by Peter Greenaway,' he mumbled.

'Peter O'Toole,' said Ted. 'Zulu Dawn.'

'Mary Poppins,' said Israel's mother. 'The bit at the fair.'

The travellers had formed themselves into a series of concentric circles. They stood holding hands in silence. Some kind of totem had been erected in the middle of the field, with brightly coloured ribbons pinned to it. They began circling the totem, chanting. They closed their eyes. The chanting grew louder. The sun was rising.

'What are they saying?' whispered Israel's mother.

'I couldn't care less,' said Ted. 'But I reckon this is our chance. Come on. Israel, any trouble, anyone approaches ye, ye land a quick right under the ribcage, and then a left behind the right ear, and they'll go down.'

'What?'

'A wee short un under the ribcage and then a left round the butt of the ear!'

'I'm not punching anybody,' said Israel.

'Well, let them punch you then. See how you like that,' said Israel's mother.

They stepped quickly from the cover of the trees, and Ted began shambling up alongside the hedge, Israel's mother following, up the hill, towards the van.

'Ted!' gasped Israel, behind him. 'Wait!'

'Come on, Fatboy Slim,' said Ted. 'Let's go.'

Somehow, stumbling, hugging the hedge, they made it to the van without being seen by the travellers, who remained absorbed in worship.

Ted had the keys. They clambered inside.

'Home!' said Ted.

'Hello, van,' said Israel.

'So this is the van?' said Israel's mother. 'It's quite cosy, isn't it?'

'Ah!' said Ted, opening up the glove compartment. 'Me Sudoku. Good.'

'Now what?' said Israel.

At that moment the sun rose decisively above the treetops, yellow light flooding the scene before them-the travellers circling and chanting-and the sound of the chanting was joined by the sound of distant drumming.

'What's that?' said Israel.

'I don't know.'

Israel ran to the back of the van and peered out.

It was the police, advancing in a line, banging their riot shields.

'Shit! Ted! I don't like the look of this, Ted.'

'What?'

'It's the police! I think the police are on to us, Ted.'

'They're not on to us. They're after these crazies. Just stay calm, we'll be fine.'

As Ted spoke, the police began beating on the sides of the vans with their truncheons.

'Ted!' said Israel's mother, who seemed frightened for the first time. 'This isn't good, Ted.'

'Sshh! Just stay down. We need to pick our moment.'

'For what?' said Israel. 'Ted? Pick our moment for what?'

The police had reached the mobile library and began banging on its sides-the sound like earth being piled upon a coffin-and then they passed on by, and then, when he could safely see the backs of the police officers moving down the hill towards the travellers, Ted turned on the ignition, slammed the van into reverse, and in one movement managed to pull the van out of its tight spot and started gunning up across the field.

'Oh shit!' said Israel. 'Ted! What are you doing?'

'We're going home!' said Ted.

'Yee-ha!' said Israel's mother.

'Ted! Stop!'

'I'm not stopping!'

'This is fun!' cried Israel's mother.

'Look! Stop! I'm serious! Stop! Up ahead there. There's a ditch! The police have dug a ditch! That's why they had all the-'

'We'll be fine,' said Ted.

'Ted, we're not going to be fine. We're going to die!'

'Shut up!' yelled Ted. 'And put your bloody seatbelt on. We need to take this at speed!'

'Oh God!'

Israel fumbled with his seatbelt as Ted steered the van as close to the hedge as possible, so that at least two wheels were still-just-on solid ground when they hit the ditch.

'Brace yerselves!'

The van went down-and down-on Israel's side, knocking Israel, mid-seatbelt-fastening, forwards against the windscreen and sideways against the door.

'Aaaghhh!'

But somehow it came up again-'All right?' said Ted. 'Fine,' moaned Israel. 'Never better!' said Israel's mother-and now they were heading for the gate. Two policemen started dragging it closed.

'Oh my God! Ted, no! No! Ted, we're never going to make it through that. We're going to die!'

'We're not going to die. They drove it through, we must be able to drive it out.'

'Yeah, but, Ted, they weren't…'

Israel's mother was staring, transfixed, in the wing mirror. 'There are people chasing us,' she said.

'Who?'

'Half-naked men and women!'

'The travellers, Ted!'

'Good.'

'And the police!'

'Even better.'

They were hurtling towards the gate.

'Ted! They're going to shut the gate on us.'

'Hippies!' yelled Ted.

'They're not hippies!' shouted Israel. 'They're the police!'

'They're all the same!' yelled Ted as they reached the gate, the police still struggling to drag it closed.

They just made it through and onto the road. Ted wrenched the van left.

'Oh God, that was close,' said Israel.

'Aye,' said Ted. 'We're all right now.'

'That was great!' said Israel's mother. 'It's like Thelma and Louise!'

There was the sound of a police siren behind them.

'Oh shit!' said Israel. 'Ted!'

'You take the wheel,' said Ted.

'What?' screamed Israel.

'You take the wheel.'

'Why?'

'I'm going to sort the peelers out.'

'What are you going to do? Don't shoot at them!'

'Of course I'm not going to shoot at them! I've not got a gun!'

'Good!'

Ted got up out of the driver's seat, and Israel slid across, while Ted went to the back of the van with Israel's mother and began opening the disabled access door.

'Ted!' yelled Israel. 'What the hell are you doing?'

'We're going to give the hippies their furniture back!'

'What?'

The door came open, and Ted and Israel's mother began throwing stuff out of the back: rugs, appliquéd cushions, scented candles and, with a final heave, the frayed sofa, which fell-thunk!-and effectively blocked the road.

They drove on, as inconspicuously as they could, out of Amesbury, away from Stonehenge, sticking to B roads.

'Now where?' said Israel.

'I don't know,' said Ted.

'Well, you've come this far. How far to your Mobile Meet?' said Israel's mother.