'Well, perhaps it should be,' said Israel's mother.

'Please, madam,' said the little lady. 'We are trying to concentrate here.'

'Sorry,' said Israel.

'Don't apologise on my behalf!' said Israel's mother.

'I'm not!'

'Yes you are.'

'Please!' said the little lady. 'I shall have to bar you from the competition if this sort of behaviour continues. It is not the sort of thing we expect at all at the Mobile Meet.'

'Don't ye talk to her like that!' said Ted.

'I shall talk to her however I wish, sir!'

'Not on my van, you won't, you rude bisim,' said Ted. 'That's it. Get off! Get out of here! Go on!'

'Ted!' said Israel. 'Don't upset her! Sorry,' he said to the judges. 'Ted, what about the Concours D'Elégance?'

'Ach, they know where they can stick their prizes. Go on, get off, the lot of ye.'

'And take your clipboards with you!' added Israel's mother, unnecessarily, as the judges, cowed and shocked, hurried off the van.

'Oh God,' said Israel.

Israel could hear the judges as they walked away from the van through the crowds.

'Well!' the little lady was saying, again and again. 'Well! Outrageous!'

'They're certainly a wild card,' the suited man was saying.

'Banned,' the little lady was saying. 'Barred! In all my…'

'The van had character though,' the bob lady was saying.

'Bunch of outlaws!'

'Well, that went well,' said Israel's mother.

'I don't think we've got much chance of winning anything now,' said Israel. 'We might as well go.'

'Nonsense,' said Israel's mother. 'We've come all this way. We'll stay to the prize giving. They're not running us out of town.'

'Woof!' said Muhammad.

'Fair play to ye,' said Ted. 'Ye've some spirit, girl.'

'I like to think so,' said Israel's mother. 'You too,' she said, giving Ted a wink.

'All right, knock it off you two, will you?' said Israel.

When the prizes were eventually awarded, in the Nissen hut some hours later, Ted and Israel did not, needless to say, win the prize for State-of-the-Art Vehicle. Or the prize for Best Livery. Or indeed the Driver's Challenge, presented in memory of Noah Stanley, although Ted felt pretty confident that if he'd been there in time he'd have stood a good chance.

And the prize for Concours D'Elégance?…

Went to a van from Bexley with a Maisie the Mouse painted on the side.

'Stitch up,' whispered Israel's mother. 'Bloody bitch.'

'I owe you,' huffed Ted. 'One thousand-'

'I think we'll call it quits,' said Israel.

'And now,' announced the chairman-chair, rather-of the judges, the little brown-and-pink-pashmina-wearing woman with her half-moon glasses perched halfway down her nose, 'we come to the most hotly contested-and often the most controversial-prize, the Delegates Choice. I think you'll agree, we've had-on the whole-a very good turnout this year, and as always there have been so many different vans that are all so distinctive. But the ballot papers are in, they have been counted, I have the result here'-she waved a brown envelope-'and I can tell you that…' And she paused for a moment to open the envelope and then paused again as she read the result, catching her breath. 'We…Ahem…Well…We have an unprecedented unanimous decision by you, the delegates. I think we can certainly all agree that…none of us has ever seen a mobile library anything quite…like it. So, for…originality…the prize this year is awarded to…to our colleagues from across the water in Ireland-'

'Northern Ireland!' yelled Ted. 'We're not Brazil, we're Northern Ireland! Yes!'

'Northern Ireland,' said the little woman, who seemed close to tears. 'Ted Carson and Israel Armstrong, and-'

'His mother!' said Ted.

'-and their…mobile library from Tumdrum.'

'The Delegates' Choice!' said Ted.

Israel hugged his mother. Ted hugged Israel's mother. Israel hugged Ted, almost, and then thought better of it.

And as they got up, triumphant, and walked forward to collect the prize the doors to the Nissen hut burst open and in walked Stones and Bree, closely followed by a dozen armed police officers.

16

The police decided that under the circumstances Israel and Ted could be released without charge, and Ted in return decided not to press charges against Stones and Bree. Israel's mother decided she could maybe do with some more adventure in her life, and that it was time to spread her wings a little.

And Israel had made his decision also: he was going to go and surprise Gloria. Five days after arriving in England, five days without seeing her, five days in pursuit of the van. Now he was going in pursuit of her. He was going to the flat-to their flat.

He'd brought flowers. And chocolates. He was going to do it right.

He caught the bus. There was the little park opposite the flat. He went to sit in the park. To prepare himself. You could see the park from their window. He would sometimes watch people come and go in and out of the park. Parents with little children, how sometimes they'd be arguing or angry. And there was a man he used to see every day, always wearing a suit, the man, not much older than himself and he obviously got home every day and said, 'I'll take the children', and he'd go to the park, and he'd be absorbed in playing with his children: the sight of it, day in, day out; week in, week out. It became part of Israel's routine, coming home from the Bargain Bookstore at Lakeside, waiting for Gloria, watching the man watching his children. And then one day he wasn't there. He must have moved, or moved on.

There was no one in the park today. It was a beautiful London summer's evening. He sat on the bench. If Gloria arrived he'd be able to see her. He could see their window.

He waited. And he waited.

But he couldn't sit waiting forever.

The little patch of front lawn and the flower beds at the front of the flats; Mrs Graham, one of the old women on the ground floor, she kept it nice. Gloria had never liked her; she said she was smelly and weird, and she called her Grumps. But Israel quite liked her; she reminded him of his grandmother: she was balding, she chain-smoked, her hair was vivid with nicotine and she would occasionally post furious letters of complaint-too much noise, people leaving the main door on the snib-addressed to 'OCCUPANTS!' She was harmless.

He stood on the doorstep and could feel himself shivering and shaking with nerves. He was excited also, as though having recently won something, or been awarded a prize. He'd washed his hair specially and shaved. He was wearing his smartest clothes: fresh cords.

He was ready. He'd returned.

Maybe it was a mistake, though, him coming. There was a great weight of the unspoken between them now. Why hadn't she rung? Why hadn't she written? Why hadn't she visited? What was he going to say? He held a hand out in front of him-he was shaking. Not like a leaf exactly. More like jelly on the plate. He felt sick. He'd taken all his Nurofen.

The old entry system to the flats. The porcelain bell buttons.

Should he stay or should he go?

He'd come this far.

He was determined that they weren't going to argue. They just needed to talk.

The cool touch of the bell on his fingers.

No reply.

He rang again.

Nothing.

He checked in his pocket for the keys.

Took a deep breath.

Let himself in.

They'd had it fixed, the main entry door-it used to jam halfway. The communal hallway was completely plain, magnolia, blue-grey carpets, the mirror. He glanced at himself in the mirror, wrinkled his brow, adjusted his glasses. His face was comic: there was nothing he could do about it; he always looked as though he weren't able to take himself entirely seriously, as though he were not entirely in control of his expressions. At best, he thought, you might describe it as charm. At worst…He tried to look sophisticated. He tried to look smart. But he couldn't. He was permanently dishevelled. Too big, too awkward. Not somehow…right. But, if he tried, he could carry it off. Shoulders back, head up-if it worked for Gérard Depardieu…