'Ignore him,' said a dark-haired woman, who had appeared behind the bar.

'Barred!' shouted Elder, from the other end of the bar, wagging his finger at Israel.

'Ignore Elder,' said the barmaid, 'his bite's worse than his bark.'

'Right,' said Israel.

'You're not from round here?'

'No, no. I'm not actually…'

'I like your accent.'

'Oh. Well. Thank you,' said Israel, who was blushing all the way down to the soles of his worn-out brogues: his Estuary English had never made much impression anywhere before; in fact, he hadn't even realised he had an accent; he thought it was all the other people who had the accents.

'So what it is you'll have?'

'A mineral water just?'

'Would you not try a First and Last? It's Elder's liqueur. He makes it here, on the premises.'

'His own liqueur? What's it like?'

'It's…unusual. A bit like Benedictine…'

'Really?'

'And a little bit like mouthwash. Most people take it hot in the winter.'

'Hot?'

'Uh-huh. You know, like a punch-type thing.'

'I don't know.'

'Make a man of you,' said the barmaid, rather playfully. 'At least, that's what they tell me. I couldn't possibly comment.'

'Well, if you put it like that,' said Israel, lowering his voice a little and attempting an international playboy kind of a face, to match his exotic accent, 'maybe I'll try one.'

'Right you are. Jus' to pass yerself, eh? One First and Last coming up.'

She disappeared behind the bar and Israel took in the sights: the traditional Irish TV on the traditional Irish high shelf in the corner; the traditional Irish worn and cracked lino floor; and the traditional filthy Irish bar faced with the traditional Irish red Formica, and a sign above the row of optics which read: SHOW PROPER RESPECT TO EVERYONE, LOVE THE BROTHERHOOD, FEAR GOD, AND HONOUR THE KING.

'She's a fair pup, isn't she?' said the man sitting next to Israel at the bar, as the barmaid reappeared with a tumbler of dark steaming liquid.

'Er. Yes. Indeed. Quite a…pup,' agreed Israel.

'You wouldn't say no, would you?' said the man, who smelt strongly of drink and Tayto cheese and onion crisps.

'Erm. No. I mean yes. Well…'

'There you are now,' said the barmaid. 'Yes to what?'

'Nothing,' said Israel, blushing. 'Just chatting to my, er, friend here.'

'Go on then,' said the barmaid, 'pang it into ye.'

'What?' said Israel.

'Try it-the First and Last.'

It went down smoothly at first-not unlike a hot toddy, though more fragrant and flavoursome, and perhaps a little thicker. Israel could taste cloves, and aniseed, and vanilla, caramel, a hint of toothpaste perhaps: it was pretty good. But then he felt his mouth begin to burn and his throat become enflamed and swollen, as if someone had grabbed him, attacking him from behind by the neck, and was threatening him with his life.

'Good grief!' he gasped.

'It's good, isn't it.'

'It's…'

'Some people prefer it with a pint. Would you like a Guinness with it?'

Israel was speechless.

'Give him a Guinness with it, Rosie, for goodness sake,' said Israel's cheese-and-onion-smelling companion. Israel was clearly in some discomfort. 'Ach, Jesus, here, drink this,' said the man, pushing his half-drunk pint over towards Israel, who drank it down in great gulps.

'Thanks,' said Israel, recovering his powers of speech.

'It's all right,' said the drinker. 'I'll take a pint.'

'Right,' gasped Israel, 'pint, please, for my friend here.'

'Right you are. What d'you reckon?' asked the barmaid.

'Erm,' said Israel, 'it's…unusual.'

'I'll tell Elder you liked it. He'll be delighted. Some people can't stand the stuff. Elder!' she shouted. 'Elder! Look, look! He liked it! Sean, I'll get you your pint.'

Elder gave a thumbs-up sign from the other end of the bar.

Israel excused himself for a moment to use the toilet, and to splash water on his face-the mirror above the hand-basin was helpfully etched with the words, CHRIST DIED FOR THE UNGODLY, just in case anyone had forgotten-and when he returned the barmaid was setting up another First and Last for him.

'There you go. Drinks on the house.'

'No, really, thanks. It's fine. I'm not here to drink as such. I'm just, er, just waiting to see Ted-Ted Carson?-if he comes in tonight.'

'Och, Ted? He'll not be in for ages.'

'Oh, right. Well, I'd rather have a mineral water while I wait, if that's OK.'

'This one's from Elder,' she whispered. 'I don't think you want to upset him.'

Elder waved at Israel from the far end of the bar, pointing his finger at him, and mimicking drinking, and then rubbing his tummy with glee.

'No. Well. Thanks.'

'And a pint,' she said, setting a pint of Guinness before him.

'But I didn't-'

'That's from Sean here.'

'My round,' said Sean, who'd managed to finish a pint in the time it had taken Israel to go to the loo.

'Oh. Really, there's no need…' said Israel.

'You saying my money's not good enough for ye?' said Sean, scowling, breathing out his fierce cheese and onion fumes.

'No,' said Israel, laughing slightly hysterically. 'Of course not. Very kind of you. Thanks.'

'Only joking!' said Sean, patting Israel hard on the back.

'Cheers,' said Sean.

'Cheers.'

The drinks stood on the bar staring at Israel accusingly, like miserable little orphaned children waiting to be taken home, and the raven-haired barmaid and Elder and Sean were looking at him too, and Israel reckoned he'd probably toned up pretty well recently on all the whiskey he was drinking back at the farm, and so he smiled manfully at them all and steadied himself on the bar-stool and tipped back his head, and drank down the First and Last in one gulp-hoping to avoid the throat-scorching-and it worked, his throat was unscathed, and the on-lookers turned away to get on with their business…until suddenly the drink hit his stomach and Israel wished he'd sipped because it felt like something had ruptured or exploded down there, causing havoc, the fumes and the fall-out quickly working its way back up his throat, and once again robbing him of the powers of speech. The second Guinness was a great blessing though, and the third, and by the time Ted arrived Israel was four sheets to the wind, and was treating everyone at the bar to his favourite Jewish jokes.

'No, this is the best bit,' he was concluding. 'You're going to love this!' he guaranteed, barely able to contain his own mirth, 'So she said: "But the chicken was delicious!"' There were gales of laughter. 'Ted!' called Israel. 'Ted! Ted! Ted! Come here, Ted. What'll you have?'

'Ach, Israel, what are you doing in here?'

'Now. Ted.' Israel put a beery arm around Ted's shoulder. 'I'm not ashamed to say this, Ted. I'm just…I just. I wanted to say…I really…Ted…I wouldn't want…'

'All right, Israel.'

'No. Let me finish. Let me finish. Let me finish. I wouldn't want what's been…said. To. Come…And…A beautiful friendship.'

'Has he been drinking?'

The barmaid nodded her head. 'First and Lasts.'

'Ach, Rosie.'

'He seemed all right with them.'

'He's a vegetanarian, Rosie, for goodness sake. He's hardly going to be able to manage a First and Last.'

'No stomach lining,' agreed Sean, sniffing.

'He'd struggle with a pot of hot tea and a fry.'

'Sorry, Ted. I thought…'

'Ted,' said Israel. 'Ted! Ted!!'

'Yes, Israel.'

'I can't do it without you, Ted. I'm like a…rudderless…Ted. Ted! I am a…lonesome…fugitive.'

'All right, Israel,' said Ted.

'No. No. Let me finish. I'm…Feeling. Please. Ted. I need you, Ted. I need…' He put an arm on Ted's shoulder. 'Please, Ted, say you'll. Come back to me…Come! Come! To the mobile library, Ted. Ted? Ted?'

'All right, all right,' said Ted, 'take it easy, Israel.'