At which point big blind John Feely Boyd came blundering out of the dark towards them.

'Ted!' he called. 'Ted!'

'John!' called Ted. 'Look out!'

Bullimore turned with the standard lamp, wielding it in front of him like a sword, but because John couldn't see he just kept coming forward, which unnerved Bullimore, who hesitated in his thrust and John quickly disarmed him, grabbed him and got him in a head-lock.

'That's the relief o' Derry, John, I tell you,' said Ted.

'Come on! Let's go,' said Israel, adrenaline pumping. 'Before the police get here.'

'Wise up,' said Ted.

'We called the police,' said John.

'Oh,' said Israel.

'You're going to have some explaining to do, boyo,' said Ted.

20

People afterwards liked to talk about what really happened, but no one really knows apart from those who were there, and those who were involved.

It was the farewell dinner at Zelda's. Linda Wei was there in her middle-management evening wear of trouser suit and character scarf. Ted was there in a black suit and a black shirt and a black tie, and he seemed also to have shaved his head specially, which doubled the usual menace: classic henchman chic. Minnie was there, in a sparkly cardigan. And George, with her red hair down; Brownie; Mr Devine; the Reverend Roberts; Rosie; the cream of Tumdrum society. Mayoress Minty had been invited but had had to decline; she was at the launch of the council's nude charity calendar, which featured photographs of dinner ladies with strategically placed Yorkshire puddings and lollipop men with their giant lollipops; the Impartial Recorder had run a full-colour centre-spread preview the week before and it had caused uproar. Mayoress Minty had come out strongly in support: if Northern Ireland had had more nude charity calendars, she'd told the paper, maybe it wouldn't be in the state it was in today, a characteristically provocative and utterly nonsensical statement which had caused more uproar, but the mayoress was sticking to her guns; she'd ordered a hundred copies of the calendar to send out to friends and family; and her own personal favourite, she was telling anyone and everyone who cared to listen, was March, which featured the council caretakers with mops atop their dignity.

The real star of the show at Zelda's meanwhile was the food-they had really pushed the boat out with the food. There wasn't a drop of coronation chicken in sight. It was a meat- and poultry-free feast that would have warmed the heart of even the most red-in-tooth-and-claw of carnivores, let alone a short, chubby, vegetarian librarian from north London.

Israel was seated, broken-nosed and puffy-eyed, at the head table overlooking the vegetarian proceedings, Minnie on his left, George on his right. He'd polished his brown brogues and had borrowed Mr Devine's three-piece tweed suit again, and he was wearing Ted's purple tie. He liked to think he had a certain rakish charm. He didn't, in fact, but he had the glow of someone who knew that the end was near. His old brown suitcase was already packed.

Dishes kept arriving before them, as if by magic, although actually served up by the raggedy-nailed and not entirely clean hands of a troop of fat and miserable-looking schoolchildren in their white school shirts and blouses, employed specially for the evening by Zelda. There was more couscous and fried aubergine than Israel had ever seen.

'It's like the Satyricon,' he said jokingly.

'Surely,' said Minnie. 'Wasn't that on the telly? We had to send to Belfast for those,' she said, indicating a plate of deep-fried sweet potatoes. 'And the…Och, what do you call this stuff?' she asked George.

'What stuff?' said George irritably.

'Och, the whitey stuff there that looks a wee bit like tripe?'

'I don't know.'

'Come here, Israel,' said Minnie, even though Israel was already there. 'What's those sort of wee lardy lumps?'

'Tofu?'

'Aye, right. That's from Derry, that is.'

'Londonderry,' said George.

'Och, don't be so silly,' said Minnie. 'One of them healthy food shops up there.'

'Right,' said Israel, heading off an argument. 'Well, thank you anyway.'

'Don't thank me. Thank Zelda,' said Minnie. 'It was her idea. She wanted to give you a big send-off. Sure, it's not been easy for you.'

'I'm sure he can't wait to get back home,' said George, grinning unpleasantly at Israel.

Well, yes, Israel had to admit…It had been a busy couple of days.

Unfortunately it had turned out that P. J. Bullimore was not responsible for the theft of the missing library books: the police had searched his premises thoroughly but to no avail, so Israel's hunch, like just about all his other notions, had turned out to be entirely wrong. But then again it appeared that Bullimore was responsible for having stolen numerous items of furniture from Pearce Pyper and other locals: his Antiques and Collectables Treasure Trove was a trove of other people's treasure. Bullimore was currently helping police with their enquiries.

So Israel may not have recovered the stolen library books and there was still the small matter of the ongoing investigation into his suspected breaking and entering of Bullimore's premises, but he was a local hero, the most famous librarian, probably, in Tumdrum's history. He'd had his picture in the Impartial Recorder again, this time with Pearce Pyper, handing back an Art Deco clock that Pearce thought he'd merely mislaid and which in fact P. J. Bullimore had stolen, along with dozens of other priceless items. People had been queuing up to reclaim their fancy reupholstered chairs and their stripped farmhouse pine dressers which had been painted in green gloss the last time they'd seen them and which Bullimore had been selling off at prices they'd never have been able to afford. In recognition of his services to the community, Linda Wei and the Department of Entertainment, Leisure and Community Services had decided that Israel should be released immediately from his contract. He was free to go.

There was a distinctly festive spirit then that night at Zelda's. Christmas was only a week away, and there was a tree, and decorations and much sipping of Shloer and wine and beer and at the point at which the desserts were being served-a range of pavlovas and banoffee pies to rival those in any mid-range provincial pub or bistro-Zelda swept out of the kitchens and through the room as if on the crest of a wave, hair high and erect, chatting to guests, laughing with them, dangling mistletoe as she went.

Minnie leant over to Israel, mid-pavlova.

'She's kept her ankles, you know,' she said.

'Her ankles?' said Israel.

'Aye. In the old days you couldn't have beat her legs in County Antrim. Look.'

Israel tried to catch a glimpse of Zelda's ankles between the tables: he couldn't quite make them out.

'See?'

'There's lots of ankles, Minnie, I can't see them.'

'She was a mannikin, you know, when she was young.'

'A mannikin?'

'A model,' said George.

'Can't you tell?' said Minnie.

Israel looked and for a moment he could tell, he could tell what men might have seen forty or fifty years ago-a slight sway of the hips as she moved, and a certain way she had of fanning her dress out behind her to best advantage, a way of holding attention by using her body, the way the hair had been carefully arranged. He could tell that many, many years ago Zelda must have been fiercely, bitingly beautiful, even though the edge of that beauty was now concealed and obscured by the effects of age, and also by blusher, and concealer, and eye shadow, and eyeliner, and mascara, and lipstick, and powder. Zelda was still a beauty, but now she was a pantomime beauty.

'She's mink, you know. Upstairs. Mink coats. And pearls. She was amazing when she was young,' said Minnie. 'She was like our own local Katharine Hepburn, wasn't she, George?'