'Ach, Ted!'

'I'm just finding it hard to understand, Michael, that's all.'

'Look, Ted, come on. It's a big wide world out there. You know as well as meself, you come over here, ye're just a Mick to people. It doesn't matter whether you're from the north or the south or orange or green or whatever. Ye play along with it a wee bit, ye're fine.'

'Aye, but the tricolours, Michael. The tricolours! The Republican flag, but.'

'Ach, for feck's sake, Ted, people wouldn't know we were an Irish pub otherwise, would they?'

'What about a red hand?' suggested Ted.

'Ach, Ted, wise up. A red hand!'

'Symbol of Ulster,' said Ted.

'You're having me on now, are ye? We're a business here, Ted, we're not into making sectarian-'

'The red hand is not a sectarian symbol!' said Ted. 'Was it not O'Neill who cut off his hand to claim the kingdom of Ulster?'

'I don't know, Ted. I'm not into the history, like. But I tell you what I do know: that you might as well put a swastika on the front of the pub if you're going to put the red hand up.'

'A swastika?' said Israel. 'Erm. Ahem. I'm not sure the red hand of Ulster is quite the same as a swastika-'

'Shut up, Israel,' said Ted.

'You've got to give people what they want, Ted. And a wee touch of the Irish doesn't do any harm. I tell you, we have the auld diddly-aye music in here once a week, and it's a coupla wee fellas from East Belfast. One of them was in a feckin' flute band, for goodness sake!'

'Ach.'

'It's a wee bit of craic, just.'

'Postmodern identities,' said Israel.

'Shut up, Israel,' said Ted.

'Anyway,' said Michael. 'Are ye's here on holiday, or what?'

'Well,' said Israel. 'Actually we were wondering if you could help us?'

'Really?' said Michael. 'And there was me thinking it was a social call!'

'Ach, it is, Michael, I've been meaning to look you up for years, like. It's just, with work, and-'

'Aye, all right, Ted, I'm only keepin' ye going. Now what sort of help was it ye were looking for?'

'We're in a wee spot of bother, Michael,' said Ted.

'Taxman is it?' said Michael, leaning back in his seat. 'Bloody bastards.'

'Ach, no. It's not the taxman. I pay my taxes, and glad to pay them.'

'That's your prerogative, Ted, your prerogative. So what sort of help would it be that you're looking for?'

'We've had our van stolen.'

'Van?'

'Mobile library van,' said Israel.

'Your what?' said Michael.

'We're librarians,' said Israel.

'Is that the word for it then?' said Michael, laughing. 'Librarian! I've not heard that one before.'

'What?' said Ted.

'Librarians!' said Michael. 'Ah, you're an auld old queen, Ted.'

'What?' said Ted.

'You and your young man here. Librarians! Very cute!'

A few of the things Michael had said now suddenly started to make sense in Israel's mind.

'Hold on,' he said. 'You don't think…You're not implying that we're-'

'Young man?' said Michael.

'We're what?' said Ted.

'Shaved head,' said Michael. 'Leather jacket. And your friend the bear here.'

Ted looked to Israel, who looked to Michael.

'Ye do know what sort of bar this is, don't you?' said Michael.

'Aye, an Irish bar,' said Ted.

'Ha!' said Michael. 'We, Ted, are London's premier Irish gay bar.'

'As in?' began Israel.

'Homosexual?' said Michael.

'Homo…Homo?' said Ted.

Michael raised his eyebrows-which, it suddenly occurred to Israel, were plucked eyebrows-and fingered the ends of his black-and-white polka-dotted silk scarf.

Ted's eyes looked as though they might pop out of his head. Israel glanced around again: the rainbow flags with the tricolours. The poster of ABBA. Barbra Streisand.

'Some of my best friends are homosexual,' he said, trying to think of something to say. 'And I really like Alan Hollinghurst. Queer as Folk? Do you remember that? Tales of the City? I've got a girlfriend though, called Gloria…'

'Ted?' said Michael. 'Are you all right?'

Ted looked as though someone had just punched him hard in the stomach. He shook his head. He'd flushed a deep red.

'Ted?'

'I…Michael?…Ye're not…I mean…'

'I thought everybody knew!' said Michael. 'That was the reason I left back in '69.'

'But…I thought it was because of the Troubles,' said Ted.

'Well, there was that too, of course.'

'I…But…'

'You could have come with me, Ted. You could have made a new life for yerself.'

'I…You're not…'

'I think he maybe needs a drink,' said Michael to Israel.

'Right,' said Israel, pushing one of his three as yet undrunk Guinnesses towards Ted. 'He could have one my-'

'Actually, I think a wee drop of the craythur,' said Michael. 'That'd see you right, Ted, wouldn't it? A wee drop of the craythur?'

'I…' said Ted, who was struggling.

'Let's have a wee look here.'

Michael got up and hobbled over to the bar.

'Ted!' whispered Israel.

'What?'

'Snap out of it. Don't be so rude.'

'Ach. I…'

'Get a grip, Ted.'

'I just can't…He's a…'

'It's fine. He's still your cousin.'

'Yes, but a…'

'There are no buts.'

'I wouldn't have come if I'd have known he was…'

'Sshh!'

Michael came back over to the table with a bottle of clear liquid gripped under his armpit, and three glasses.

'Fella from Dagenham gets it over from Cork, so he does.'

'What is that?' asked Israel.

'Poteen,' said Michael.

'Isn't that illegal?' said Israel.

'Ha!' said Michael, uncorking the bottle, and offering the bottle to Ted and Israel to smell. 'Where'd ye get him, Ted, eh?'

'I…' said Ted.

'Smell all right?' said Michael.

'Aye,' said Ted.

'It is illegal, isn't it?' said Israel.

Michael called over to the man in the suit and hat drinking by himself.

'He says the poteen, Hugh, is it illegal?'

'As far as I know.'

'Hughie says it's definitely illegal.'

'He's your poteen expert then, is he?' said Israel jokingly.

'Aye,' said Michael. 'You could say that. He's…Hold on, what's your official title, Hugh?'

'DCI.'

'The police?' said Israel.

'There you are now,' said Michael. 'You're not going to take us in for the poteen are ye, Hugh?'

'What day of the week is it?' said Hugh.

'It's a Wednesday,' said Michael.

'You're all right, then, Michael. I'll turn a blind eye. But mind you've it drunk by tomorrow.'

'There we are now,' said Michael. 'So, a wee drop of the craythur?'

'No, I don't think so,' said Israel. 'Not for me, thanks.'

'Ye big drink a water. Come on now and have a wee try.'

Michael poured three generous measures of colourless liquid into the glasses.

'Cheers!' he said to Ted.

Ted remained silent and motionless until Israel jogged his arm.

'Ted, cheers!'

'Cheers,' said Ted mournfully, looking down at the table.

Since living in Tumdrum, Israel's taste buds had become accustomed to strong alcoholic beverages. He knocked it back.

'Good, isn't she?' said Michael.

'Not bad,' said Israel, gasping. It tasted like fermented beaver piss. 'You know the policeman there,' he said to Michael. 'Do you think he might be able to pull a few strings and find out who's stolen our van?'

'Hugh?' said Michael, calling over. 'Could you do me a wee favour?'

'Any time,' said Hugh.

'Tracing a stolen van?'

'No problem at all,' said Hugh.

'Thank you, darling,' said Michael. 'There,' he said to Israel and Ted. 'That's you all sorted now, Ted, isn't it?'

'Ach, Michael,' said Ted.

'That went well,' said Israel, when they left.

'We'll never hear any more of it,' said Ted. 'A bunch of homo…' He struggled to say the word.