'Actually,' said Israel, utterly depressed, 'I wanted to ask you about a van. I'm looking for a-'

'A van?' said Mr Krimholz. 'For the business? You're not buying, no? Leasing, I hope. Leasing is much better, tax-wise. But you know that, of course! I'm not telling you anything you don't know, am I? You're your father's son, am I right?'

Israel nodded.

'Do we know anyone who does vehicle leasing? Sarah? What was it the Goldman boy is doing now?'

'That's a car showroom,' said Mrs Krimholz. 'Not vans.'

'Ah.'

'BMWs, I think,' said Mrs Krimholz. 'Or Bentleys.'

'Premium marque vehicles,' mused Mr Krimholz, nodding his head in approval.

'Yeah, sorry,' said Israel. 'It's not…I'm not looking to buy-'

'Or lease?' said Mr Krimholz. 'Lease, remember.'

'No, I'm not looking to buy or lease a van as such. It's more…We've…lost a van.'

'Lost a van? Oh dear.'

'Yes…You've not seen a van?'

'What sort of a van?'

'It was parked here yesterday. It's a-'

'Did your mother tell you Adam has another baby?' said Mrs Krimholz.

'Really?'

'Yes. With his wife? Rachel? And the two girls already. You remember them?'

'Yes.'

'Rachel's father is Mr Solomons. You know, from Hampstead-'

'Israel was at the wedding, Sarah,' said Mr Krimholz. 'He remembers.'

'Ah, yes, of course,' said Mrs Krimholz.

'He drank so much he passed out in the toilets!' said Mr Krimholz, slapping Israel on the back. 'Do you remember, Israel?'

'Er, yes, yes. I…Sorry about-'

'You're not married yet?' said Mrs Krimholz.

'No, not…yet. Not married. No.'

'Children?' said Mr Krimholz, laughing.

'No,' said Israel. 'No children either.'

'We have eight grandchildren now,' said Mrs Krimholz. 'How many does your mother have?'

'Er. I don't know, actually. I've never stopped to count-'

'Three,' said Mrs Krimholz.

'Right, yes,' said Israel.

'Your sister's.'

Israel noticed that when Mrs Krimholz spoke her face didn't seem to move: it was like listening to a recording of someone speaking from inside the body of Mrs Krimholz, as though the mind-body split had actually split, flesh from self, and soul from court shoes, scoop-top, cardigan-round-the-shoulders and slacks.

'Yes,' he said. 'That's right. Anyway, it's about the van.'

'The van?' said Mrs Krimholz.

'Yes,' said Mr Krimholz. 'What is this van?'

'It's a…mobile library van.'

'A mobile library van? Really?'

'Yes.'

'I haven't seen one of those for years,' said Mr Krimholz. 'They're still going?'

'Yes,' said Israel. 'Actually, there are more than five hundred mobile libraries still operational all around the-'

'Really?' said Mrs Krimholz.

'You sound like an expert!' said Mr Krimholz.

'Yes!' said Israel. 'It's just a…' He'd been reading the Mobile Meet brochure.

'You know,' said Mr Krimholz, 'now you mention it, I think there was a thing like a…an old ice-cream van there last night?'

'Yes,' said Israel. 'That'd be it. Did you notice what time it was there?'

'Well, it's funny. When I went to bed, I remember looking out and thinking, There's an ice-cream van.'

'Right,' said Israel. 'What time would that have been?'

'Well, these days, I go to bed the same time every night. Around nine o'clock I like to have a cup of tea-'

'Right,' said Israel.

'And then I maybe check my e-mail.'

'Okay.'

'And then I watch the ten o'clock news. I always watch the ten o'clock news. I feel I've sort of tucked up the world for the night, you know?'

'Right,' said Israel. 'And so you saw the van at what time?'

'You know the trouble in Israel at the moment?'

'Terrible,' said Mrs Krimholz.

'Anyway?' said Israel.

'Yes. I remember thinking to myself, that's an unusual sort of ice-cream van. And then this morning, it was gone.'

'Okay? Time?'

'I don't know. Half past ten?'

'Well, thanks, that's…And you didn't see any sort of suspicious…things, did you?'

'Suspicious?'

'Well, people, or…stuff?'

'No,' said Mr Krimholz. 'No more suspicious than usual!'

'Why are you looking for a mobile library van?' asked Mrs Krimholz.

'It's…I'm…Sorry,' said Israel, reaching into his pocket. 'That's my phone. I need to take this one.'

'Business?' said Mr Krimholz.

'Business,' said Israel. He shook the phone slightly, pretending that it was vibrating. 'I've got it on, er…vibrate.' He shook it slightly again and then pretended to answer it. 'Ah! Yes.' He put his hand over the phone and whispered to the Krimholzes, 'Sorry, have to take this one.'

'Okay,' mouthed Mr Krimholz. 'Business is business.'

Israel backed out of the house, pretending to talk into the phone. 'Really?' he was saying. 'That's a lot. You know, we could maybe try to meet them halfway on that one, and…'

'Strange boy,' said Mrs Krimholz, shutting the door.

'Yes,' said Mr Krimholz. 'I don't think his phone was vibrating. I think he was sort of shaking it…'

And they went back inside to their Louis XIV-style furniture.

By the time Israel, disconsolate, had got back home, his mother had swung into action and set up the kitchen as a centre of operations. There were telephone address books piled on the table. There was paper everywhere. She was finishing a call.

Ted had an apron on and was standing by the counter.

'Bagel?' said Ted.

'What?' said Israel, already disorientated by his encounter with the Krimholzes, and now shocked to be offered a bagel by Ted; Ted might as well have been offering to help him tie on tefillin or suggesting they share a crack pipe.

'You want a bagel?' said Ted. 'They're delicious. Why did you never tell me about bagels before?'

'I…'

'I've never had them before. Muhammad loves them.' Muhammad barked in agreement. 'They're from…what's that place called?'

'Jacob's?' said Israel.

'That's it,' said Ted. 'Great bagel bakery.'

'Yeah.'

'We've got poppy-seed, onion, plain?'

Israel's mother was finishing her conversation on the phone.

'Yeah,' she was saying. 'Sure. Bye. Bye. Ciao.' She turned to Israel. 'So?'

'Can I just say, Mother, that I am never, never going round there again, under any circumstances, for anybody, for anything.'

'Fine, fine,' said his mother. 'But the van?'

'They are the most appalling people I have ever-'

'They're not that bad,' said Israel's mother.

'Well, if you think they're not that bad, then why didn't you go round there?'

'Let's not get into that again, please, Israel. Did you think she'd had work done, Mrs Krimholz?'

'What?'

'Did you think she'd had work done? You know, around the eyes, or…'

'She did look a little strange.'

'That's not just Botox,' said Israel's mother, touching her face, 'let me tell you. Anyway, the van?'

'Mr Krimholz saw it last night. But it wasn't there this morning.'

'What time did he see it last night?'

'He thought about half past ten.'

'Okay, good,' said his mother, who wrote something down in her notebook. 'And did he see anything suspicious?'

'No.'

'Okay. Fine. Good. We're getting there.'

'We're getting where exactly?' said Israel, helping himself to a poppy-seed bagel.

'You've got to try the onion,' said Ted.

'I'm fine with poppy-seed, thanks,' said Israel.

'Well, I've made a lot of calls,' said Israel's mother. 'But so far no one seems to have seen anything.'

'So, who are you calling?' said Israel, taking a bite of bagel.

'Sit down if you're eating, Israel. It's bad for you digestion if you're not sitting down.'

Israel sat down with his bagel.

'Do you want it toasted?' said Ted. 'They're good toasted.'

'No, I'm fine as it is, thanks,' said Israel. 'So who exactly are you phoning, Mum?'