'Come, if you're coming,' called the man who was presumably Norman, retreating down a narrow hallway piled up with dozens of empty bottles. 'In here.'

He led the way into a small, spotless kitchen-'Kitchenette,' he said, as if cataloguing his own home, as they entered-the laminated surfaces pristine, the walls free of even a single spot or stain, empty bottles lined up neatly in rows: green glass; clear glass; brown glass.

'I'm preparing my breakfast. You'll forgive me if I continue?'

'Of course. Go ahead.' Israel sniffed. 'Something smells good,' he said encouragingly.

'I'm boiling an egg,' said Norman.

'Ah.'

'Take a seat.'

'Thanks.' Israel sat down on the kitchen's one and only chair, which was next to a small fridge, whose hum was much grumpier than its size. Norman went and stood by the stove.

'I-' began Israel.

'Sshh!' said Norman, raising a finger. 'About to boil.'

He nodded down towards the saucepan and stood with an egg-timer in his hand. Israel remained silent; the sound of the boiling water; the ticking of a wall clock; the humming of the fridge; the steam in the room beginning to mist the windows.

'Right!' said Norman, turning the egg-timer upside down. 'Three minutes.'

Israel wasn't entirely sure whether Norman meant him or the egg.

'Well. I suppose I should say straight away that I hope there's no bad feeling between us.'

'Bad feeling?' laughed Norman, in a not entirely friendly and more than slightly bonkers kind of a way. 'Why should there be bad feeling?'

'Well, you know. You used to be the librarian. And now…well, I'm the librarian.'

Norman snorted.

'Believe me, sir, I bear you no ill feeling. On the contrary. I pity you, actually.'

Norman swept his arm, indicating the room around him and a door leading off to another room-Israel glanced through and saw further dark, depressing depths: an imitation-flame-effect gas fire; piles of books and empty bottles everywhere.

'This,' said Norman, 'is what you've got to look forward to.'

Israel had to admit, it was hardly an encouragement to go into public service.

The egg-timer was running down.

'I worked for the Library Board for over thirty years,' said Norman. 'Did you know that?'

'No. I didn't.'

'I introduced computers. That was me.'

'Very good,' said Israel.

'And who do you think introduced the children's reading hour on Saturday afternoons?'

'Erm…'

'Me.'

'Right.'

'And the refurbishments? Who oversaw the refurbishments?'

'You?'

'Correct. Me. The carpet?'

'You?'

'Correct. Carpet! In a library! And the toilet facilities-who was that?'

'You?'

'Exactly. Me. Me. I did everything they told me to, and more. Do you know that? All their dictates. And their reports. I was in the middle of transferring the last of the card catalogues when they sacked me.'

'I'm sorry,' offered Israel.

'Don't you be sorry,' said Norman, laughing his little laugh again. 'You don't want to be sorry for me. You want to be sorry for yourself, Mr…What did you say your name was?'

'Armstrong. You can call me Israel though.'

'I don't think so.' Norman glanced at his egg-timer. 'See me?'

Israel looked shyly up at Norman standing by the sink.

'See me? I was the top of my year at school, d'you know that? Hmm?'

'No.'

'The Grammar. And this is where it gets you. This where you're heading, Israel Armstrong.' Norman emphasised the Israel with some distaste.

Israel glanced around nervously. Norman noticed his gaze.

'D'you know what I do now?' He nodded towards a box of cleaning products by the front door, and a large industrial vacuum cleaner.

'No.'

'Have they not told you what I do now?'

'No.'

'Contract cleaning. Do you know what that is?'

'Er.'

'Cleaning for businesses, and the middle classes, because they can't be bothered to pick up their own shit.' He pronounced 'shit' with the same emphasis he'd used for Israel. 'Like people who couldn't be bothered to buy their own books.'

'OK.'

'That's what you've got to look forward to.'

Israel remained silent.

'You know what they used to say, when I was at college?'

'No,' said Israel.

'Old librarians never die,' said Norman. 'They just become ex-libris.'

'Right,' said Israel, trying to raise a small laugh.

'It's not true, though, is it? Old librarians never die. They just become cleaners.' He laughed.

As jokes went Israel thought it was pretty poor: Norman probably wouldn't have got his own Friday night sitcom on the strength of that.

'Not fit for anything else, are we? Librarians!' He laughed again. 'Look at us! Look at the two of us. Useless, eh?'

'Yes,' agreed Israel nervously.

Norman looked at the egg-timer. 'Time up.' He turned off the gas.

'Actually, it's the library I needed to talk to you about, Norman.'

'Time up, I said,' repeated Norman. 'Time's up.'

'But…'

'I am not interested in your library, Mr Israel. Do you understand? I don't care about libraries any more. Do you know the last time I stepped into a library?'

'No.'

'The day they sacked me. I vowed I would never again use a library. And I haven't.'

'Right, well, that's, er, a bit sad, isn't it?'

'A bit sad? A bit sad? I dedicated my life to the library service, sir. My life. Do you understand that?'

'Yes, I, er, I think I do.'

'Ach, you're not old enough to understand what's holding up your trousers.'

It was his stomach, unfortunately, that was holding up Israel's trousers.

'No, well,' he said. 'But I do sympathise. And I take your point. But I was wondering if you might at least be able to answer a couple of questions about the library?'

'Answer your questions?'

'Yes.'

'I suggest you take your questions to the town hall. They seem to have all the answers.'

Norman had fished the egg from the pan with a spoon and had placed it carefully in an egg-cup.

'Well, it was more of a, you know, personal kind of a question, actually,' continued Israel. 'Librarian to librarian. It was about the books.'

'What about the books?'

'They've gone missing.'

'Missing?'

'Yes.'

'Ha!' Norman took a knife from a drawer. 'Books go missing all the time. How long have you been a librarian?'

'On and off. A while.'

'Well. You know what happens when you're dealing with the public. Overdue. Lost. Theft.'

Norman took the knife and sliced the top off the egg.

'Actually, we've lost the whole lot,' said Israel.

'The whole lot?'

'Yes.'

'Ha!' Norman laughed. 'Boys-a-boys. The whole lot! All of them?'

'I'm afraid so.'

'Oh, that's good. That's excellent. You must be even more stupid than you look.'

'Erm…' There was no simple response to that.

'How did you manage that then?'

'They were missing before I arrived actually.'

'I see.'

Norman had picked up the saucepan of boiling water and was moving towards the sink.

'And I was,' continued Israel, 'I was wondering maybe if you knew anything…'

Norman stopped in his movements and then slowly turned around.

'Me? Knew anything? Why?'

He was holding the saucepan of boiling water in his hand.

'Well, something's happened to the books. And…'

'Are you insinuating, sir?'

'Insinuating?'

'Are you suggesting I have anything to do with these missing books? Is that your insinuation?'

'No, Norman, no. No, no. I'm not insinuating anything. It's just, you would have had access to the…'

Norman had stepped closer to Israel now and was standing right over him with the saucepan of boiling water. Israel could see his hand shaking slightly with rage. He didn't like the way this was going.

'Norman,' he said nervously. 'I don't like the way this is going…'