'Right. Is that it?'

'I need to box 'em.'

'Box them?'

'Box anchor.'

'Right. Well, first, let me-'

'I've already got the rocks in. I need the Number 8 wire from the box there. There.' She pointed to the box with a long fine finger. 'Can you get it?'

'The what?'

'The Number 8 wire!'

All wire looked the same to Israel.

'Is this it?'

'No! The Number 8!'

'This?'

'Aye, that's it.'

'George?'

George started tying and straining the wire.

'George?' repeated Israel, raising his voice.

'What? What?'

'Listen, I think I'm in trouble, because-'

'Oh, this is the bone you want to pick with me, is it?'

'Yes, it is, actually. If you would just let me explain.'

'Fine. Go on then.'

'Well. It's…You or Brownie haven't mentioned the missing books to anyone, have you?'

'What?'

'The missing books from the library.' Israel looked around to make sure no one could hear him. They couldn't: he was in the middle of a vast silent field. 'You haven't mentioned it to anyone? It's just, we really didn't want rumours getting around.'

'And who's "we" then?'

'The Department of Entertainment, Leisure and Community Services.'

'Oh, right, you're speaking on their behalf now, are you?'

'Well. Yes. I am supposed to be the librarian.'

'Supposed to be. Aye.'

'Right. Anyway, it's just, you know, it wouldn't look good if people knew the library books were missing.'

'We said we wouldn't mention it to anyone.'

'Yes, that's right.'

'So we haven't mentioned it.'

'Not just accidentally maybe, or-'

'We said we wouldn't mention it.'

'But-'

'Is that it? Here, hold this.' She gave Israel the end of a piece of wire. 'Hold it tight!'

He held it tighter. 'So you haven't spoken to anyone at the paper or anything?'

'The Impartial Recorder?'

'Yes. You've not spoken to them-'

'If we said we wouldn't, we haven't. Do you understand that? Unlike some people I could mention, we do have standards in this family, Armstrong.'

'What? What's that supposed to mean?'

'Nothing.'

'I have standards!'

'Aye, right enough: snuggling up like with your lady journalist friend in your love nest, sipping on whiskey at half past four in the afternoon while other people are out working, earning an honest day's wages: that's your standards, is it?'

'What? My love nest! That…place!'

'Coop.'

'Exactly! And I told you, she's not my lady friend. I've only just met her.'

'Aye, well, that makes it all right then.'

'What? No! And anyway, what about you snuggling up with your man friend in the back of the taxi the other night?'

'That's different.'

'Is it? Why?'

'Because. It is.' George stared at him again, hands on hips, eyes blazing. 'Because it's my business.'

'I see. Fine. Right.'

'And I'd be grateful if you kept your nose out of it.'

'I will. And maybe you can do the same.'

Israel turned away as if about to go.

'Hey, Armstrong! Don't you just walk away from me. I've a bone to pick with you, before you go flouncing off.'

'I am not flouncing off.'

'Well, you can call it what you like. I had my aunt on the phone this afternoon.'

'Right?'

'Minnie. At the café? Have you been talking to her?'

'Well, I-'

'Well, don't. Her and that other woman are…'

'What?'

'We don't really have anything to do with them.'

'Why?'

'Because. They're almost as much trouble as you. And I don't want to hear from her or from you about how I should lead my life.'

'Fine.'

'And, just to make it clear, in case it's not, in your twisted little English mind, wild horses would not drag me out on a…date with you.' She spat out the word 'date' as if it were a stone or a pip.

'What? You don't think it was me that suggested that, do you?'

'Well, wasn't it?'

'Of course it was not!'

'Aye.'

'What do you mean, "Aye"?'

'Ach, sure you've your hands full anyway, with your lady friend.'

'She is not my lady friend!' shouted Israel.

George proceeded to tie wire round the fence posts. 'Hold this,' she instructed Israel, and they worked together in silence for some time.

'She told me about your parents,' said Israel, eventually breaking the silence.

'Who did?'

'Veronica. The reporter.'

'What about them?'

'You know. The…'

'What?'

'The way they…How they died.'

George was silent again. Israel could see her bite her bottom lip.

'I just wanted to say how-'

'Listen, Armstrong,' she said, with barely contained rage. 'I am tolerating you around here, and that's all-tolerating just. D'you understand?'

Israel remained silent.

'And I have had just about enough of listening to your nonsense today-do you hear me?-and I would like to be left in peace and quiet, if that's all right? Some of us do have work to do, if you don't mind.'

'Right. It's just…I just wanted to say…'

'Listen! Listen!' She looked at him with something close to hate. 'I don't need you saying anything. All right? Do you understand? Everything's already been said long ago. Do. You. Understand?'

'Yes. OK. All right. All right. Don't-'

'I don't need your interfering. I don't need your pity. I don't need you, or anyone else for that matter. What I do need is to get this field stock-proofed.'

'Fine!'

'Good! The sooner you learn to leave things you don't understand around here well alone, the better for everyone.'

'I'm sure.'

'You can go.' She turned her back on him.

'What?'

'I said, you can go.'

'I thought I was helping you to stock-proof the field.'

'I'll do it myself.'

'But-'

'Go. What are ye, stupit? Can you not see when you're not welcome?'

He could, actually. It was a feeling with which he was becoming increasingly familiar.

11

Israel was not exactly feeling welcome anywhere-not at the farm, not in Tumdrum, not in fact on the whole of the island of Ireland generally, which had not turned out to be the place he had imagined it might be, and if his father had been alive, he'd have called him and told him so. As it was, he'd called his mother a few times, but he didn't like to tell her exactly how he was getting on, in case she said, 'I told you so.' He kept on calling Gloria, but she was always too busy to talk:

'Hello?' he'd say.

'-.'

'It's me.'

'-.'

'Israel.'

'-.'

'Yeah, sure. I'll call you later.'

'-.'

'Yeah. Fine.'

'-.'

'No, that's fine. Yeah. OK. Bye. Bye.'

He missed her. She didn't seem to be missing him.

He was feeling pretty alone, then, in this godforsaken wasteland, and he most certainly did not expect to find himself feeling welcome in church of all places, but it was strange, he didn't have a problem being here now, in Tumdrum First Presbyterian; there was a Second, also, apparently, according to Mr Devine, and a Third and a Fourth, and if they were all like this then Israel felt he could maybe reconsider his position on the Christian Church, if not indeed on Christianity as a whole. Presbyterians might as well have been theosophists as far as Israel was aware, and they may have practised child sacrifice and believed in every kind of impossible thing, but he liked their style.

The big double church doors had been wide open when he arrived in town and wedged the mobile library in the nearest on-street parking space, just nudging the kerb, and there may have been a slight bump with the car behind, but nothing major, no lasting damage, and nobody seemed to notice so nobody needed to know.

And then he checked in his wing mirrors and leapt out of the van and ran inside the church, really sprinted-which was quite a feat, given the state of his old brown brogues and those pinchy combat trousers of Brownie's, and the amount of potatoes he'd been having to eat recently to make up for the lack of any alternative vegetables of any kind or any non-meat protein. He ran as fast as he could, under the circumstances; the last thing he needed was people stopping him and trying to borrow library books; anyone might have thought he was a librarian.