'There's no smoking in here, love,' said a woman, tapping Veronica on the shoulder.

'Oh, really?' said Veronica, smiling. 'I had no idea. I'm so sorry. Shall we?' And she indicated the door to Israel, who followed her obediently outside.

'Ah,' said Veronica. 'That's better. God, I hate those things.'

'Me too,' said Israel.

They stood leaning up against the side of the graffitied wall of the community hall, staring up at the stars.

'No luck then yet in your great book hunt?'

'What great book hunt?'

'Now, now. You know I know.'

'That you know what?'

'About the missing library books?'

'Ah. Well, you'll have to talk to Linda about library provision. I'm just-'

'Doing your job?'

'That's it.'

'Well, I'm sure you're very good at it.'

'I hope so.'

'Well, let me ask you another question then, librarian.'

'Outreach Support Officer.'

'Whatever. Do you have a girlfriend?'

'Erm…'

'I'll take that as a no then, shall I?'

He did not correct her.

Veronica had finished her cigarette.

'Shall we go somewhere we can get warmed up?'

The pub they went to was in a village several miles up the coast from Tumdrum, and it was just like an archetypal English pub, with beams and an open fire, and knickknacks, which was all very nice but which did nothing to calm or reassure Israel, who was now devoutly wishing he hadn't come away with Veronica and had stayed instead with the middle-aged men in suits and women in heels at the gala reception for the new mobile library service. That would have been much safer. But it was too late now: a few glasses of cheap wine and a bellyful of vol-au-vents and here he was with an attractive lady reporter in a pub in the middle of nowhere and no good could come of it, he knew that from the moment he'd got into Veronica's Renault Clio and she'd put on her Dido CD, and they were speeding along the coast road, laughing about leaving everyone behind at the community halls and enjoying a shared sense of adventure. Desire, boredom, guilt and being a long way from home can make a man do strange things. Israel had seen Lost In Translation. Several times. And he suddenly felt as though he was in some kind of parallel Bill Murray universe, where he made witty remarks to good-looking women who laughed at his jokes.

'OK, what can I get you?' he asked, as calmly and filmically as possible, when they entered the pub.

'A gin and tonic, please,' said Veronica, and they went together to the bar, but unfortunately, because Israel kept turning round to smile at Veronica nervously, he had some difficulty in attracting the attention of the bar staff, and eventually Veronica said, 'Shall I?' and Israel admitted defeat.

'Um, yeah, if you like.'

They sat down eventually, Veronica with her gin and tonic, Israel with his pint of Guinness and a packet of crisps.

'Cheers,' said Israel.

'Sláinte,' said Veronica.

And then there was a silence between them, and Israel looked at Veronica and Veronica looked at Israel, and Israel looked back at Veronica looking at Israel.

'Read anything good lately?' asked Israel, breaking his gaze.

And Veronica laughed and laughed.

'Oh, that's original, for a librarian.'

There was another long pause and Israel became suddenly aware that he was desperately in need of some small talk in order to see his way out of things here; that was definitely what he needed at this point, just to calm things down and make things clear. He was currently down to about five conversations a week, maximum, and most of them were with George about animal husbandry and with Mr Devine about young people today, and so he was more than a little bit out of practice when it came to the old low-level chat, and when he did finally think of what to talk about all he could come up with was mostly asking Veronica about her job, and how had she ended up working for the Impartial Recorder, and what was it like, and unfortunately she told him all about it, all about her unhappy childhood and her time on local papers and her ambitions to make it big, and it turned into quite a heavy conversation really. Israel nonetheless thought it had steadied things between them, except that when Veronica got up from the table to go to the ladies, he suddenly realised how closely they had been leaning in towards each other as they spoke, and as Veronica brushed against him in order to get past he felt as though he'd been set on fire.

To calm himself Israel tucked into the crisps-cheese and onion, or, strictly speaking, Tayto Cheese and Onion, crisps unlike he had ever eaten in England, and much better than the average cheese and onion in fact, much stronger somehow, but not in an unpleasant cheesy or oniony kind of a way; they seemed somehow to embody the very essence of cheese and onion crisp, their cheesy yin in perfect harmony with the oniony yang. Israel knew he should probably save some of these absolutely perfect crisps for Veronica but because he was nervous and because generally he ate when he was nervous he finished the crisps in just a few swift mouthfuls, shaking out the final crumbs into the palm of his hand, throwing his head back, and swallowing, and then he cupped his hand and smelt his breath. His breath smelt very bad indeed.

'You're back, then,' said Israel, like an idiot. She had reapplied her make-up.

'Yes, of course I'm back,' said Veronica. 'What did you think I was going to do, climb out the window?'

'No, no,' said Israel.

'It's fine. Why don't you just relax.'

'Sorry I'm a bit tense, it's, you know, the new job and what have you.'

And Veronica reassured him that that was fine and she started asking him questions about his work, and as she lit another cigarette he noticed that she squinted her eyes, like people do, and the conversation took off again.

When they finished their drinks Israel got up to go to the gents and it was then that it happened, that finally he lost all perspective on where he was and what he was doing, in a single moment of madness, in a moment of musth, like a bull elephant during rutting season, when he stopped in front of the condom machine and had a look at the selection available, something he had never done before in his life and was unlikely to do ever again-Gloria had always taken care of that end of things-but the extreme and unusual circumstances in which he found himself seemed to have given him permission to do so. He just couldn't quite believe that he was here, in a pub, with a beautiful woman; it seemed so fantastic that almost anything could happen.

He prodded his glasses and stared at the machine, as if mesmerised, and then he made his decision.

Fortunately, though-for everyone concerned-he didn't have any change. He didn't have any money at all in fact, so that would have been that, except for the middle-aged man with slicked-back hair standing beside him by the machine.

'D'you know what, son?' said the slicked-back-hair man. 'In all my years of patronising these facilities, I have never once seen a soul use that machine.'

Israel didn't know what to say.

'Not once,' mused the man sadly, and Israel felt suddenly emboldened then, by the Guinness, and by the wine, and the vol-au-vents and the best cheese and onion crisps he'd ever tasted, and by this sad admission of a life half lived-never to have bought condoms from a machine in a pub because there was a fighting chance you might end up having to use them-and he asked the man if perhaps he had any change so that he could use the condom machine, in a tone that suggested that unlike this sad middle-aged man, he, Israel, purchased pub condoms all the time, because that was the kind of footloose, fancy-free James Bond existence he lived in his borrowed three-piece herringbone suit, but alas, no, the man did not have any change, and nor did the next man they asked either, who also claimed never to have seen anyone use the condom machine before, and Israel was beginning to wonder what sort of contraception people used around here. But eventually someone came through from the pub into the toilets who did have change and who was happy to see it put to good use, and a small crowd had formed now, waiting for Israel to insert the money in the slot and make his decision: whisky-flavoured, mint-chocolate, multicoloured, or ribbed? The choice was overwhelming. The crowd of onlookers by this time was spilling out of the door.