The Delegates' Choice aka The Book Stops Here

'JP?'

'The bookie on Main Street. He'll see us right.'

'Erm.'

'Yer bet's definitely on now; ye're not going to back out?'

'No. Definitely. Absolutely,' said Israel. 'Game on.'

'You don't want to change yer mind?'

'Nope.'

'Ye know ye don't back out of a bet, now?'

'Quite.'

Ted reached a hand across. 'Five hundred pounds,' said Ted.

'Five hundred pounds!' said Israel.

'You're right,' said Ted. 'Five hundred's not enough. One thousand says we win the…What did you call it?'

'Concours D'Elégance. But I haven't got one thousand pounds, Ted. The van's not worth a thousand pounds.'

'I thought you wanted a bet?'

'I do, but-'

'Aye, right, that's typical, so it is. You're trying to wriggle out of it now.'

'No, I am not trying to wriggle out of it.'

'Ach, you are, so you are. Ye're not prepared to put your money where your mouth is. Typical Englishman.'

'I am not trying to wriggle out of it, Ted.'

'Well, then, are youse in, or are youse out?'

'All right,' said Israel, trying to suppress a grin. 'One thousand pounds says you won't win the Concours D'Elégance at this year's Mobile Meet.' He knew his money was safe.

The rest of the journey continued in silence, with Israel elated and exhausted from his negotiations and Ted already pla

'Hey!' called Ted, as Israel was about to shut the door. 'Did ye not forget something?'

'No,' said Israel, patting his pockets, patting the seat. 'I don't think so.'

'I think you did,' said Ted.

'What? "Thank you" for the lift?'

'No,' said Ted.

'What? The bet?'

'No. The bet's on-we've shaken.'

'Yes,' said Israel. 'And I am a man of my word.'

'Aye. Exactly. And you remember what you were going to do today, Man of Your Word?'

'Erm. No. I don't remember. Should I?'

'You were going to tell her?'

'Tell who?'

'Linda. That you were resigning.'

'Ah, yes. Well…things have changed since this afternoon.'

'Have they now?'

'Yes. I feel I have a…responsibility to the readers of Tumdrum and District to…'

'And it's not because you're getting a free holiday to England?'

'No! Of course not!'

'You shouldn't ever try to kid a kidder,' said Ted.

'What do you mean?'

'I know your game.'

'I don't…I'm not playing a game, Ted.'

'Aye.'

'No. I just feel very strongly that my responsibility is to books, and to…encouraging the people of the north coast of Northern Ireland to…indulge their learned curiosity and to give them unlimited assistance…by helping to choose a new mobile library van.'

'Aye, tell the truth and shame the devil, why don't ye?'

'What?'

'I don't care what you think your responsibility is,' said Ted. 'My first responsibility is to the van. One thousand pounds, remember.'

'Fine.'

'Pay for some refurbishments, wouldn't it? You'd better start saving, boy!'

'No, Ted, I don't need to start saving, because, alas, very soon we shall be in su

Oh, yes!

Ted had been reeled in hook, line and sinker!

Israel Armstrong was going home!

4

He was packing! Israel Armstrong was packing up and getting ready to go. He had his case out from under the bed, his little portable radio turned up loud, and he was listening to BBC Radio Ulster, the local station; he'd gone over some time ago, had switched from Radio 4, had made the move away from the national and the international, from big news stories about Bush and Blair and the plight of the Middle East and worldwide pandemics and whither the UN Security Council, to local news stories about men beating each other with baseball bats in local bars and pubs, and road closures due to mains-laying down in Cullybackey and good news about the meat-processing plant in Ballymena taking on ten new workers due to expanding European markets and increased orders from Poland for pork. He knew it was a bad sign, but he couldn't help himself; he had grown accustomed to the rhythms and the pitch of local radio, to the shouty-voiced shock-jock first thing in the morning, to the faded country music star at lunchtime who played only Irish country and read out requests for the foot-tappin' welders in Lurgan and all the lovely nurses on the cancer wards down there at the Royal Victoria Hospital, and to the mid-morning bloke from Derry who specialised in trading daring double entendres with his adoring female callers.

Somehow-and how he wished it were not so-Israel could now recognise a tune by Daniel O'Do

He turned up the radio louder to drown out the e

Brownie was back for the summer break from university over in England, so the Devines had moved Israel out of Brownie's room, where he'd been staying, and out of the house and back into the chicken coop in the yard, where he'd first started out when he arrived in Tumdrum. Israel didn't mind, actually, being back in the coop. It was good to get a little breathing space and to be able to put a bit of distance between himself and George Devine-his landlady with the man's name-and the perpetually Scripture-quoting senior Mr Devine, George and Brownie's grandfather, and he'd done his best with the coop; he had put in quite a bit of work doing the place up over the past few weeks. He had a desk in there now, along with the bed, and the Baby Belling and the old sink battened to the wall, and it was a nice desk he'd picked up from the auction down in Rathkeltair (Tippings Auctions, every Thursday, six till ten, in one of the new industrial units out there on the ring road, hundreds and hundreds of people in attendance every week, from as far afield as County Down and Derry, drinking scalding-hot tea and eating fast-fried burgers from Big Be