The Delegates' Choice aka The Book Stops Here

'Holy God,' said Ted.

'What?'

'I tell you what. I've got a much better idea, Kemo Sabe.'

'Really?'

'Aye, you get off of your knees and ring your mother.'

'Why?'

'Because she'll have a better idea of what to do than you, you eejit. Sniffing the ground, for goodness sake! God give me strength! I'm away here for a smoke.'

'I thought you were giving up?' said Israel, getting up off his knees.

'Until I came to England I was giving up. You, and the…Gypsies…and the homolosexuals…This whole flippin' country's gonna have me away to Purdysburn, d'ye know that?'

While Ted paced up and down and smoked in a furious, you'll-have-me-away-to-Purdysburn sort of a manner, Israel rang his mother on his mobile. She was preparing for a mobile library fund-raising coffee morning back at the house.

'It's the Ladies Guild,' she said, 'they'll be here in five minutes! What is it now?'

Israel explained that the trail had gone cold and that they were standing in a field in the middle of Essex, and they had no idea what to do next.

'Ah, dear, that's not good,' said Israel's mother.

'Any ideas?' said Israel.

'Can you get back for lunchtime?'

'I don't know. Why?'

'You might find it easier to think if you've had something to eat. And you could maybe brief the ladies on the latest developments in the case.'

'No, Mother! We can get a sandwich or something. We just need to-'

'Get other people involved, no?' said Israel's mother. Israel could hear her gesticulating. 'That's what we need to do at this stage. It's completely ridiculous! We should ring the police.'

'Ted doesn't want the police involved,' said Israel, lowering his voice. Ted was glowering with his cigarette.

'Well, he's not going to have much of a choice now, is he? Israel, put him onto me. I'll talk to him.'

'No. I'll deal with him,' said Israel.

'I like talking to him,' said Israel's mother.

'Yes. I know. That's why I'm going to deal with him.'

'And what is that supposed to mean?'

'Nothing.'

'Well, anyway, look, I'll ring Deborah, and see what she and Ari are doing tonight; we can meet with them. He's very clever.'

'I'm clever,' protested Israel.

'I didn't say you weren't!' said Israel's mother. 'Don't be so sensitive. I just mean Ari's professionally clever.'

'What, and I'm an amateur?'

'He'll have lots of ideas.'

'No, Mother! Don't get him involved!'

'Hold on. Just let me check the calendar here, let me see how we're fixed for tonight.'

'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.