'Mother, no!'

'Here we are.' Israel could hear her peering at the calendar. 'Oh, look. It's your uncle Bernard's birthday tomorrow.'

'Who?'

'In Montreal? He was married to the woman who was divorced, from Hendon? I must give him a ring. I always forget, but it's the same every year. Summer solstice. And National Aboriginal Day in Canada.'

'Mother! Mother! Hold on! That's it!' said Israel.

'What's it?'

'They follow the ritual year.'

'Who do? Your uncle Bernard and the divorcée from Hendon? No. They're Reform, I think.'

'No, not them,' said Israel.

'The Aboriginals?'

'No!' said Israel. 'They must have gone to Stonehenge.'

'Who? Stonehenge? What are you talking about? Hold on, there's someone at the door, Israel.'

'Fine. Okay, Mum. Look. Got to go. Bye.'

'She have any ideas?' said Ted, finishing his cigarette and grinding out the stub.

'Don't leave any litter,' said Israel.

'It's not litter!' said Ted. 'It's a cigarette butt, but.'

'That's litter,' said Israel.

'Anyway?' said Ted.

'They're at Stonehenge.'

'And where's that when it's at home?'

'It's down in Wiltshire,' said Israel.

'And ye're sure they're there?' said Ted.

'No,' said Israel. 'But it was in Mother's calendar.'

'Stonehenge?'

'Yes. It's the summer solstice, and you remember the travellers saying they followed the ritual year?'

'No.'

'Well, they did. So, I'm guessing they're going to be at Stonehenge for the solstice.'

'What, like druids?'

'Exactly.'

'Ye think they've taken the van down to be with the druids at Stonehenge?'

'Yes.'

'Ach. That's it? That's the best ye can come up with?'

'Yes.'

'What does your mother think?'

'She agrees,' lied Israel.

Ted sighed. 'When I get a hold of those blinkin' hippies…' he said. 'Does she want to come with us?'

'Who?'

'Yer mother?'

'No, she does not!' said Israel. 'My mother come with us! Honestly, Ted. And you can just stop your sniffing around her, please.'

'What do ye mean, sniffing around her?' said Ted, drawing himself up to his full shaven-headed height. 'What are ye blerting about now, boy?'

'Come on. You know exactly what I mean. I've told you once to leave her alone, and I mean it. Stop it. Just stop…chatting her up, or whatever it is you're doing.'

'Chatting her up?'

They were walking back towards the Mini.

'Well, that's what it bloody looks like,' said Israel. 'Staying up late every night, listening to music together. I can hear you, you know, from upstairs.'

'Ye think I'm a sort of o' belly bachelor after yer mother?'

'I have no idea what a belly bachelor might be, Ted. I'm just saying I want you to keep away from her.'

'Aye, well, and I'm telling you to mind yer own blinkin' business, or I'll-'

'Don't be threatening me, Ted!'

'I'm not threatening ye, ye eejit!'

They arrived back at the Mini.

'Well, that's what it sounds like to me. Now, anyway'-they got into the car, ready to go-'so. To be clear. We're going to find the van-without doing any harm to anyone!'

Ted huffed.

'And we'll get this whole thing over and done with. And without my mother! Do you understand?'

'Ach.'

'Do you understand?'

'Aye, and who made you the head bombardier all of a sudden?'

'Head bombardier?'

'Aye, ye're all the same.'

'Who?'

'People.'

'Right.'

Muhammad barked at them approvingly.

'Stonehenge?' said Ted, as they set off, unable to let it go. 'Jesus!'

'Have you got a better idea, Ted?'

'I have not,' said Ted, as if the mere suggestion that he might have an idea was an offence.

'So,' said Israel. 'As far as I'm concerned that's the end of the discussion. That's what we're doing. It's a long shot, but it might just work.'

'It's a stupit idea,' said Ted.

It was 6.00 p.m. by the time Ted and Israel eventually arrived at Stonehenge; they'd stopped off in a pub on the way for lunch, which was definitely not a good idea. ('I tell you what I'm going to have,' Ted had announced, hungrily, as they pulled off the motorway and onto an A road, and then onto a B road and into the pub forecourt. 'What?' 'A ploughman's. Nice fresh bread and cheddar cheese. A real traditional English pub lunch. You can't get that back home.' He was right. 'Your ploughman's, sir,' the barman had said. 'A ploughman's? That's not a ploughman's,' Ted said. 'It's…' 'It's sourdough bread, sir, with melted goat's cheese, and a cranberry and sweet chili coleslaw, and baby gem lettuce.' 'Has this whole country gone completely mad?' said Ted. 'No,' said Israel, 'it's just gone gastro.') And then on round the M25, and on and on, on the M3, and the A303, and onto the A344, in the hot, steaming summer's night, and the approach to Stonehenge, which was like the approach to Lakeside, except this time instead of people being there for their actual shopping, they were there for the spiritual shopping, which is cheaper, admittedly, although some actual shopping was also available; as they approached the car park, there were young men and women wearing eccentric floppy rainbow-coloured hats going from car to car, offering juggling balls, and tarot cards, and giant Rizla papers and novelty lighters. There were also stewards in fluorescent bibs, and policemen with dogs, and barriers, and fences, and burger and hot dog stalls, and vegetarian burger and hot dog stalls, and everywhere you looked, cars, and vans, and more cars and vans. It felt more like a motor show than anything else-a second-hand motor show, at which hippies jeered at the drivers of SUVs.

Israel had never seen Stonehenge before, and he could barely see it now; you just caught a glimpse of it from the car park. From a distance, in the shimmering heat, it looked like big heaps of old moulded plasticene.

'Nice job,' said Ted, as they got out of the car.

'What is?' said Israel.

'The stones. Probably some sort of mortice and tenon at the top.'

'What?'

'Some sort of wee joggle joint. Must be.' Ted peered at the stones in the distance, as if surveying the quality of a roof on a new-build bungalow. 'Carpentry, basically, isn't it, applied to stones?'

'Right.'

'They're like lintels, if you look,' said Ted. 'Not bad. Must have been a job to do.'

'Right. Okay,' said Israel. 'I think it's more the spiritual significance that most people are interested in, rather than the ancient building techniques.'

'Ah'm sure,' said Ted.

'So, anyway,' said Israel. 'I guess now we just look for the van.'

'Aye, it'll take some doing, mind,' said Ted. 'Look around ye. It's like Coleraine on market day.'

They agreed to split up, and went walking up and down the rows of parked cars and vans, which spread out as far as the eye could see, with crowds of people milling around, flying kites, playing Frisbee, playing the bongos; people hugging each other; people cheering and shouting; people crying; stumbling drunks. Occasionally, Israel would stop a sober-looking person and ask them if they'd seen the van.

'I'm looking for a van,' he'd say. 'An old Bedford?'

'Yeah. Nice vans. Good conversion.'

Or, 'Have you seen an old Bedford?'

'D'you want to buy a kite?'

And 'Excuse me, have you seen an old-'

'Could you give me fifty pounds?'

And, 'Have you seen-'

'Dope? Skunk? Crack?'

And, 'Have you-'

'Make Homebrew, Not War.'

And, 'Hello, I-'

'Waaalllly!'

Ted had fared no better.

'Any luck?' asked Israel, when they met up again, half an hour later.

'Ach,' said Ted. 'No. Not at all. Look at the place. Disgusting.' There was rubbish everywhere. 'It's like an outdoor bloody loony bin. All these sorts, all scunging about.'