'Abomination?' said Stones. 'I cannot claim responsibility for that, no. It's been a joint project.'
Ted and Stones eyed each other up and down, the small crowd watching them intently: the children with long hair, the men with shaven heads, the women wearing head scarves. And the dogs.
Stones was not quite as tall as Ted, but he was definitely younger and fitter, and he had the clear advantage of popular support; Israel wouldn't have liked to have bet on Ted coming out on top in a fight under those particular circumstances. This, however, didn't seem to have occurred to Ted.
'Well, you tell me which one of yous dirty scroungers painted my van and I'll feckin-'
'Did you hear him, children?' said Stones, appealing to the crowd. 'Who painted the van?'
A dozen long-haired children put up their hands.
'I'll-' continued Ted.
'The children did it?' said Israel.
'Under supervision,' said Stones.
'D'you like it?' said Bree. 'We only finished it yesterday.'
'It's…Well, it's very colourful. It's just. It's our van, actually,' said Israel.
'Your van?' said Stones, chuckling to himself. 'It's our van, actually. We bought it only recently, and perfectly legally.'
'You bought it?'
'That's right.'
'From Barry Britton at Britton's Second Hand Van Sales, Lease and Hire, by Wandsworth Bridge?' said Israel.
Stones did not reply.
'Well, we'll take that as yes then, shall we?' said Ted.
'Mr Britton has helped us source many of our vehicles.'
'Source?' said Ted. 'Source? Stolen, more like. You bloody-'
'That is something you'll have to take up with Mr Britton, I'm afraid.'
Ted was still staring at Stones. And Stones was staring back. Stalemate.
'Erm, look,' said Israel, appealing to Stones. 'We need the van,' he said soothingly. 'You see, we're going to the Mobile Meet, which is a big mobile library convention sort of thing, and-'
'No,' said Stones. 'Sorry. I don't wish to appear cynical, obviously, but your arriving here unannounced and claiming that this vehicle once belonged to you is hardly proof of either current or past ownership, is it? And you expect us to just hand it over? You could be anybody.'
'We're librarians,' explained Israel. 'We're over from Ireland.'
'You don't sound Irish.'
'No. No. No, God, I'm not Irish. I'm from London. He's from Ireland.'
'Northern Ireland,' said Ted.
'Ah!' said Bree, as if this explained something.
'Well, clearly there has been some sort of a misunderstanding,' said Stones. 'But I'm sure we can resolve it.'
'I'll show you how we're going to resolve it!' said Ted, squaring up to Stones.
'Yes,' said Israel, tugging urgently at Ted's sleeve. 'I'm sure we can resolve this. Amicably. Leave it to me,' he whispered to Ted.
'What?'
'The old ba-flum. I can handle this one.' He smiled at Bree and Stones. 'Perhaps we could, er, discuss the misunderstanding somewhere privately?'
Bree looked at Stones, who nodded.
'That's a good idea,' said Bree. 'Come,' she said, ushering Israel and Ted through the crowd and towards another brightly painted vehicle-'Phun! Phun! Phun!' it announced in splashy lettering across the front-that might once have been a horsebox.
Inside the horsebox there was a little miniature wood-burning stove, a wooden bed, rugs, and cushions and wooden shelves fixed to the wall. Wind chimes and pieces of glass on string hung down from the ceiling.
Israel, Ted, Stones and Bree sat down cosily on the floor.
'Can we offer you some tea perhaps?' said Bree.
'I'm not drinking your tea,' said Ted.
'Coffee?' said Israel.
'We don't drink coffee,' said Bree.
'Right. Well. Tea would be lovely, thank you.'
'Nettle?' said Bree.
'Tea?' said Israel.
'Yes,' said Bree.
'Mmm,' said Israel, wishing he'd said no. 'Lovely. Yes.'
'I thought that was for women's problems,' said Ted.
'Sshh,' said Israel. 'So,' he said, trying to think of a friendly way into the discussion. 'Are you actual New Age travellers then?'
'Ha! Some people would call us that, I suppose,' said Stones.
'We call ourselves the Folk Devils,' said Bree, busying herself with a pot on the stove.
'Oh, really? Do you, you know, play music?'
'Yes,' said Bree.
'But we call ourselves the Folk Devils because that's how people regard us,' said Stones. 'As outcasts or scapegoats.'
'Right,' said Israel. 'I've always wondered, actually, what you lot believe in?'
'Us lot?' said Stones. 'What do you mean, us lot?'
'You…sort of…people.'
'We're not a cult,' said Stones.
'We're more like an alliance,' said Bree.
'Yeah. That's right. There is no 'us lot'. Just among us here we've got pagans, and druids, and Crowleyites, witches,' said Stones. 'Personally, I believe in Jesus, and Buddha, and Karl Marx and the Earth Goddess.'
'Aye, right, and what about Mother Teresa and Bono then?' muttered Ted.
'You believe in all of them?' asked Israel.
'Yes.'
'At once?'
'Yeah. If God, as the Christians would have us believe, is great, then surely She is too big to be contained by any church?'
'She?' said Ted. 'Hold on!'
'We don't really believe in God in the way you think,' explained Bree. 'Cosmic energy is what we believe in.'
'Uh-huh,' said Israel.
'We are all daughters and sons of the Sun, and offspring of Mother Earth.'
'Speaking personally, like, I'm the son of a Ted Carson, of Cullybackey, and offspring of Margaret McAuley, from the Shankhill Road.'
'I'm talking about spiritual offspring,' said Bree. 'Obviously. Tea?'
Bree offered Israel a jam jar of what seemed to be warm, murky-looking water.
'Mmm. Great. Thanks.'
He took a sip. It tasted like the brewed floor scrapings of a health food shop.
'And what do you believe in, Israel?' asked Stones.
'Erm. Good question,' said Israel. He coughed. 'A…Higher Being?' Hoping this was the right answer. It wasn't.
'Your Hebrew God is a lie,' said Stones.
'Right. Yes. Uh-huh. Well, I say I believe in a Higher Being-'
'And a lie, when repeated and repeated eventually comes to appear as the truth.'
'Yes, well. Anyway. I would love to talk theology all day with you, but-'
'Money, then?' asked Stones.
'Sorry?' said Israel.
'You believe in money, presumably?'
'Well, no, not exactly,' said Israel.
'Money's not a religion,' said Ted.
'Money,' continued Stones, 'is a religion. People worship money. And yet in reality there is no such thing as money: money is a fiction; it's a symbol.'
'Ach!' said Ted.
He fished into his pocket and produced a pound coin. 'What do you call this then?'
'I call it a curse,' said Stones.
'Aye, right. Well, I call it a blessing,' said Ted.
'That's perhaps where we differ,' said Stones.
'Anyway,' said Israel, desperate to avoid a confrontation. 'How did you sort of…end up, doing…this sort of thing?'
'Bree was with the Dongas,' explained Stones.
'The whatters?' said Ted.
'The Dongas. Road protests? Reclaim the Streets?'
'Oh, right.'
'We met in Seattle in 1999,' said Bree.
'Oh? I've got a friend from school who went to work for Microsoft actually,' said Israel. 'In Seattle.'
'We were at the G8 protest,' said Bree.
'Ah, yes, of course.'
'Bunch of Luddites,' said Ted.
'The modern world is a psychological and spiritual wasteland, Ted,' said Stones.
'Is it now?' said Ted.
'And you've never even lived in Northern Ireland!' said Israel.
'People want to reconnect with the Earth Mother,' said Bree. 'Israel, I sense that you are terrified of the Great Mother.'
'Am I?' said Israel, trying not to sip his tea. 'I mean, my own mother certainly, I-'
'I sense that you've closed yourself off to the creative goddess.'
'Right. Well, possibly, yes, I-'
'Shekinah.'