The Book Stops Here: A Mobile Library Mystery by Ian Sansom Page A

growling from Muhammad, Ted's little Jack Russell terrier, and then with irritable shushings and hushings as Ted quieted the dog and opened up the door with a scowl. Or, at least, not literally with a scowl. Ted opened the door literally with his hand, obviously, while scowling, but when Ted scowled it was overwhelming; whatever it was Ted did while scowling became an act of scowl; the scowl became constitutive. He scowled often when they were out on the van, and in meetings with Linda Wei, and often unexpectedly and for no good reason at all in mid-conversation. Ted's mouth would be saying one thing—'How can I help you, madam?' or 'Yes, we can get that on inter-library loan'—but his scowl at the same time would be clearly saying something entirely different, something like 'Ach,' usually, or 'Away on,' or 'Go fuck yourself, ye wee runt, ye.' This last was the scowl now facing Israel. He'd been to Ted's bungalow only once before, and Ted clearly wished that Israel weren't here now. Ted did not believe in franertising—his word—with work colleagues. Franertising was extremely frowned—scowled—upon. Ted held the door open only a crack and Israel could just about see the room behind him, with its drab sofa and the yelping dog.
    'Ted,' said Israel.
    'That's correct,' said Ted. 'Quiet, Muhammad!'
    'Are you ready?'
    'No.'
    'Oh. You were supposed to be ready.'
    'Aye,' said Ted.
    'Well, look, hurry up, we need to go, the ferry's at six.'
    'Aye.'
    'We've not got much time. I can wait outside if you'd rather. But we do need to hurry.'
    'Hurry is as hurry does.'
    'What?'
    'It's just a—'
    'Saying, right, fine. Whatever. We need to get going here. Do you want me to load your bags in the van? You're all packed?'
    'No.'
    'No, you don't want me to load your bags, or no, you're not packed?'
    'I'm not packed.'
    'What do you mean you're not packed? We've got only a couple of hours before the ship sails.'
    'I'm not coming.'
    'What?'
    'I'm not coming.'
    'What do you mean, you're not coming? Of course you're coming.'
    'I'm not. Coming.'
    'All right, yeah, stop muckin' about now, Ted. We've got to go.'
    'I'm not coming.'
    'But we've a bet on.'
    'I've changed my mind.'
    'You said you couldn't change your mind once you'd made a bet.'
    'I've changed my mind.'
    Well, no.
    On this occasion Israel could not afford to have Ted change his mind. He had already had just about enough of Northern Irish intransigence and stubbornness and self-righteous inconsistency for the past eight months, and now he was pumped and ready to go, and Ted was holding him back.
    So, no. No, no, no.
    'No,' he said, using his considerable weight to push against the door. 'No. That's it. I'm not having this, Ted.'
    Israel stood staring up at Ted's scowl, wedged between the door and some old green cans containing peat.
    'You've mucked me about with this enough already,' he said. 'I'm getting on that boat to England this evening whether you like it or not.'
    He was trying to squeeze into the bungalow. Muhammad was going crazy. Israel was a bona fide intruder.
    'Aye, right, you go on ahead, son,' said Ted, pushing Israel back out the door, with little effort. 'Because I'm not going. You.' Shove. 'Can.' Shove. 'Go.' Shove. 'Yerself.'
    Israel was back out on the doorstep.
    'I can't go myself, Ted,' said Israel, furious, pushing back against the door with his shoulder.
    'Don't you lean against my flippin' door!' said Ted. 'You'll scratch the paintwork!'
    Muhammad was barking himself demented behind Ted's legs.
    'Ted. I need you to come with me,' said Israel, sighing, giving up on force and trying calm, quiet negotiation instead.
    'Why?'
    'Because. I can't drive the van all that way, without some…It needs two of us. We're like…Butch Cassidy and the—'
    'Ach, Israel, wise up.'
    'Wise up' was probably Ted's second favourite phrase, after 'Ach', though 'Catch yerself on', 'Ye eejit', and 'What are ye, stupit?' were also extremely popular.
    'No, you wise up, Ted, for a