'Wow!' said Israel, taken aback at what must have been at the very least the entire children's non-fiction section of Tumdrum Library. 'Hello? Conor? I'm Israel. Your mum said I could come in. I'm a librarian.'

The boy stared at Israel in silence.

'You've got a few books here, mate.'

'You've got a few books here, mate!' repeated Conor, mimicking Israel.

'Conor!' said Rosie, appearing next to Israel, sensing trouble, the now pacified baby in her arms chewing a biscuit. 'Behave!'

'Sorry, Mum,' said Conor. 'That's not fair, he's a biscuit!'

'Conor!'

'Erm. Are these all library books?' asked Israel politely.

'I'm afraid so,' said Rosie.

'How did you…?'

'He loves reading, you see. And so, they…'

Israel sensed that Rosie was searching for an explanation.

'They?'

'They…the old librarian.'

'Norman?'

'Yes, yes, that's right. He…Er. He let Conor take them all out.'

'All these books?'

'Yes, that's right!'

Having met Norman Canning, Israel doubted that very much.

'Conor?' said Israel.

Conor remained silent and looked at the floor.

'Well, we'll have to return all these to the library, I'm afraid.'

'But we'll not be fined, will we?' said Rosie. 'I mean, we couldn't possibly afford to pay the fines on all these.'

'No. We're having a fines amnesty.'

'What's an amnesty?' asked Conor.

'Amnesty?' said Israel. 'Good question. An amnesty is when there's a sort of pardon for some crime or-'

'Like in a war,' explained Rosie. 'When you decide to forgive the other side.'

'Couldn't you and Dad have an amnesty, Mum?'

'Conor!'

'Right,' said Israel, embarrassed. 'Perhaps if we could just gather these up and we'll be out of your hair?'

'Aye, right, of course. I'll get you some bags and Conor can help you.'

'Mum!'

'Conor!'

Rosie went to get some bags.

'Do you like reading, Conor?' asked Israel, with Rosie out of the room.

Conor didn't answer.

'Did you get these books from the library, Conor?'

'"Did you get these books from the library, Conor?"' repeated Conor, speaking with his tongue in his bottom lip, like a monkey.

Israel didn't seem to be getting very far with his line of questioning, but then he remembered the chess.

'Do you play chess, mate?'

'"Do you play chess, mate?"'

'Do you though? And without the funny voices, eh. The novelty sort of wears off, you know, and I've got a terrible headache.'

'Are you drunk?'

'No, I'm not drunk.'

'Are you hung over then?'

'No.'

'Are you an alcoholic?'

'No.'

'You look like an alcoholic.'

'Do you play chess with your mum, Conor?'

'She's rubbish.'

'I'm sure she's not rubbish. I like chess.'

'Are you any good?'

'I'm not bad.'

'I bet I could beat you.'

'Well, I'll tell you what. I'll give you a game if you tell me where you got the books.'

'Here we are, now,' said Rosie, reappearing with bin bags.

'Come on, Conor, you give Israel a hand here, please.'

'I'm going out to play,' said Conor, leaping out of bed and running out of the bedroom.

'Conor!'

There was the sound of the slamming of the front door.

'He's certainly a…boisterous little chap,' said Israel.

'Yes,' agreed Rosie.

'You must be very…proud.'

'Well. Would you mind just collecting them up yourself?'

'Sure.'

Rosie went outside.

'Ted,' she called, 'can you watch those wee ones for me a minute, OK?'

'Sure,' said Ted.

Israel could hear her shouting.

'Conor!' she called. 'Come here, this minute!'

Which left Israel to pack a couple of hundred books into plastic bin bags.

He did half a dozen trips to and from Rosie's home and through the mobile home park and to the Visitors' Car Park and the van, the plastic carrier bags sometimes spilling and splitting, and in the end Ted joined him and they said goodbye to Rosie-although there was still no sign of Conor.

'Where d'you think he got the books, Ted?'

'He's a great reader, the wee fella.'

'He's got enough books to keep him going until he's at university, though.'

'Aye, Rosie'd love him to go to university.'

'I'm sure she would, but the books, Ted-Rosie said Norman had let him have them all from the library?'

'Aye.'

'Well, you know Norman, Ted.'

'I do.'

'And he's not likely to have given an eight-year-old boy unrestricted borrowing rights, is he?'

'I don't rightly know, Israel.'

'Maybe he stole them?'

'Ach, give over, Israel. Wasn't it last week I was your criminal mastermind?'

'Yes, but-'

'And then this week it's a big conspiracy involving the council and the Shinners and the Orange Order and the Ancient Order of Hibernians?'

'No, Ted.'

'Aye, well, the wee fella's probably behind it all, isn't he, I would have thought. He's your Mr Big? D'you want to try a citizen's arrest?'

As they trudged along the grey gravel path towards the reception a man approached them, running steadily, in running shorts and windcheater.

'John!' called Ted to the runner. 'John! Hey! Over here!'

The man stopped in his tracks.

'John, it's me, Ted.'

'Ach, what about ye, Ted?'

'This is Israel, John, the new mobile librarian. Israel, John Boyd.'

'Hello, Israel,' said John, 'pleased to meet you. People call me Feely.'

'Right, well, hello, erm, Feely,' said Israel, who was about to ask the man why people called him Feely as he went to shake his hand, and found his hand engulfed by a massive muscular shake: John was over six foot tall, had a shaven head, and was built like a boxer. He looked like a younger, fitter version of Ted: the only real difference was, John was completely blind.

'What brings you out here then, Ted?'

'We're getting the mobile library up and running. Israel here's rounding up all the overdue books.'

'Right.'

'Have you any, John?'

John hesitated.

'There's a fines amnesty, but, so you're all right.'

'Great, Ted,' said John with relief. 'They were months overdue. Would have cost me a fortune returning them.'

'That's all right,' said Israel magnanimously. 'Happens all the time.'

'I've got audio books mostly.'

'That's OK. An audio book's still a book, in my book,' said Israel jocularly.

'Right.'

'Don't mind him, John,' said Ted. 'He's from England.'

'Oh, aye.'

John led them to his mobile home.

From outside it looked exactly the same as Rosie's, but inside it was done out entirely as a gym: where Rosie had her sofa and her coffee table and the Star Wars chess set, John had a rowing machine, a running machine, racks of free weights, a weights station and a huge contraption like a gibbet hung with punch bags.

'This new, John?' said Ted, patting the big metal contraption.

'The UBS?' said John.

'The what?'

'Universal Boxing System.'

'Aye.'

'Yeah.'

'Speed bag, heavy bag, and double-end striking bag all in one, eh,' said Ted, walking round, admiring the kit.

'Nice, isn't she.'

Ted took a boxing stance and threw a succession of punches into the centre of a heavy bag. There was a lovely soft sound of oofs.

'I've got spare gloves and wraps if you want them, Ted.'

'No,' said Ted, laughing, throwing another couple of punches at the bag. 'I'm too old for that game-beaten docket, me. It's not canvas then?'

'No, it's all this plastic these days.'

'I wish we'd had these little double-end bags when I was younger,' said Ted, moving round to another small bag, suspended between two plastic cords. He threw a punch at it and it sprang back and forwards as he leant his body to the side, ducking and bobbing.

'Good for coordination,' said John.