Read Online The Book Stops Here: A Mobile Library Mystery by Ian Sansom - Free Book Online
Authors: Ian Sansom
Tags: Fiction, General, detective, Suspense, Fiction - General, Humorous fiction, Mystery & Detective, Mystery, Mystery Fiction, Fiction - Mystery, Mystery & Detective - General, Jewish, Librarians, English Mystery & Suspense Fiction, Northern Ireland
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they stood at the bow of the ship, Ted in his duncher, Israel in his duffle coat, Muhammad in the mobile library stowed safely down below.
Israel was thinking of warm beer, and muffins, and Wensleydale cheese, and Wallace and Gromit, and the music of Elgar, and the Clash, and the Beatles, and Jarvis Cocker, and the white cliffs of Dover, and Big Ben, and the West End, and Stonehenge, and Alton Towers, and the Last Night of the Proms, and Glastonbury, and William Hogarth, and William Blake, and Just William, and Winston Churchill, and the North Circular Road, and Grodzinski's for coffee, and rubbish, and potholes, and a slice of Stilton and a pickled onion and George Orwell. And Gloria, of course. He was almost home to Gloria. G-L-O-R-I-A.
Oh God. He couldn't wait.
Muhammad, down below, was thinking of bones, and scraps and bouncing balls.
And Ted's thoughts went unrecorded.
And Israel felt the chill wind and the spray on his face and waved good-bye to Northern Ireland. He turned to Ted.
'Goodie!' he said.
'Ach, Jesus,' said Ted.
6
I srael vomited continually and consistently for most of the journey, although it was dry vomiting after a while, obviously; retching, voiding, spewing, ructating; stomach turned up and turned overboard; and down, and up, and down again, struck low and lower and down yet again by the ship's gentle toss and heave; beaten down and down in the ship's filthy toilets, down on his knees in other men's yellow filth, clinging to the toilet bowl, face up against white plastic, praying to God for mercy and forgiveness.
Ted spent most of the journey smoking and eating biscuits and sipping tea and worrying about Muhammad.
So it was with great relief to them all when they finally arrived in Liverpool docks and announcements called all passengers to prepare to go back down into the hold and return to the vehicles. Ted stood at the front of the queue, at the top of the steps, and turned solemnly to Israel.
'We're entering your territory now,' he said.
'Well, I don't know about that,' said Israel, extremely queasily.
'England,' said Ted.
'Well, yes, I suppose,' said Israel, swallowing hard.
'So.' Ted took the keys to the van and placed them in Israel's hands.
'No, it's okay,' said Israel, burping. 'I—'
'You're the boss now,' said Ted.
'No, really, Ted. I'd be much happier if—'
'Your country—'
'Needs you?' said Israel.
'I don't know about that,' said Ted. 'But here's the keys anyway.'
When the doors were finally opened to allow passengers down to the hold, Ted strode, Kitchener-like, down the steps to the van. Israel followed gingerly.
He climbed miserably into the driver's seat. He hated driving.
'Ugh! That is disgusting,' he said. 'What's that…?'
Muhammad had left a few little presents for them inside the van.
'Ugh!' repeated Israel. 'Ugh! I think I'm going to be…ugh!' as Ted scraped up what he could from the floor using a spare plastic bag. 'That dog! Is! Ugh!'
'Ach, give over, Israel, will ye? It's only a wee drop of shit, man.'
'A drop! A drop! That's not a drop! It's a…ugh! It's a mound! It's like something out of…ugh! Close Encounters of the …ugh!'
'Well, what d'ye expect? He's been shut down here all by hisself.'
'Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! I can't breathe!' said Israel.
'Don't be so stupit,' said Ted.
'I said we shouldn't have brought the dog.'
'Don't refer to him as "the dog",' said Ted. 'He's a name.'
'Ugh! Look. Let me…argh. Can I be honest with you, Ted?'
'No.'
'I—'
'I said no,' said Ted.
'But—'
'What? What part of "no", do ye not understand?'
'It's just…,' said Israel, holding both hands over his mouth.
'What?'
'I really don't feel very well.'
'Aye.'
'I've got a really bad headache. And I think I might be allergic to dogs.'
'You're not allergic to dogs.'
'But I think I might be though.'
'You're not. You were seasick, ye eejit. You'll be fine.'
'You've not got a hot-water bottle, have you, Ted?'
'Do I look like I've got a feckin' hot-water
Israel was thinking of warm beer, and muffins, and Wensleydale cheese, and Wallace and Gromit, and the music of Elgar, and the Clash, and the Beatles, and Jarvis Cocker, and the white cliffs of Dover, and Big Ben, and the West End, and Stonehenge, and Alton Towers, and the Last Night of the Proms, and Glastonbury, and William Hogarth, and William Blake, and Just William, and Winston Churchill, and the North Circular Road, and Grodzinski's for coffee, and rubbish, and potholes, and a slice of Stilton and a pickled onion and George Orwell. And Gloria, of course. He was almost home to Gloria. G-L-O-R-I-A.
Oh God. He couldn't wait.
Muhammad, down below, was thinking of bones, and scraps and bouncing balls.
And Ted's thoughts went unrecorded.
And Israel felt the chill wind and the spray on his face and waved good-bye to Northern Ireland. He turned to Ted.
'Goodie!' he said.
'Ach, Jesus,' said Ted.
6
I srael vomited continually and consistently for most of the journey, although it was dry vomiting after a while, obviously; retching, voiding, spewing, ructating; stomach turned up and turned overboard; and down, and up, and down again, struck low and lower and down yet again by the ship's gentle toss and heave; beaten down and down in the ship's filthy toilets, down on his knees in other men's yellow filth, clinging to the toilet bowl, face up against white plastic, praying to God for mercy and forgiveness.
Ted spent most of the journey smoking and eating biscuits and sipping tea and worrying about Muhammad.
So it was with great relief to them all when they finally arrived in Liverpool docks and announcements called all passengers to prepare to go back down into the hold and return to the vehicles. Ted stood at the front of the queue, at the top of the steps, and turned solemnly to Israel.
'We're entering your territory now,' he said.
'Well, I don't know about that,' said Israel, extremely queasily.
'England,' said Ted.
'Well, yes, I suppose,' said Israel, swallowing hard.
'So.' Ted took the keys to the van and placed them in Israel's hands.
'No, it's okay,' said Israel, burping. 'I—'
'You're the boss now,' said Ted.
'No, really, Ted. I'd be much happier if—'
'Your country—'
'Needs you?' said Israel.
'I don't know about that,' said Ted. 'But here's the keys anyway.'
When the doors were finally opened to allow passengers down to the hold, Ted strode, Kitchener-like, down the steps to the van. Israel followed gingerly.
He climbed miserably into the driver's seat. He hated driving.
'Ugh! That is disgusting,' he said. 'What's that…?'
Muhammad had left a few little presents for them inside the van.
'Ugh!' repeated Israel. 'Ugh! I think I'm going to be…ugh!' as Ted scraped up what he could from the floor using a spare plastic bag. 'That dog! Is! Ugh!'
'Ach, give over, Israel, will ye? It's only a wee drop of shit, man.'
'A drop! A drop! That's not a drop! It's a…ugh! It's a mound! It's like something out of…ugh! Close Encounters of the …ugh!'
'Well, what d'ye expect? He's been shut down here all by hisself.'
'Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! I can't breathe!' said Israel.
'Don't be so stupit,' said Ted.
'I said we shouldn't have brought the dog.'
'Don't refer to him as "the dog",' said Ted. 'He's a name.'
'Ugh! Look. Let me…argh. Can I be honest with you, Ted?'
'No.'
'I—'
'I said no,' said Ted.
'But—'
'What? What part of "no", do ye not understand?'
'It's just…,' said Israel, holding both hands over his mouth.
'What?'
'I really don't feel very well.'
'Aye.'
'I've got a really bad headache. And I think I might be allergic to dogs.'
'You're not allergic to dogs.'
'But I think I might be though.'
'You're not. You were seasick, ye eejit. You'll be fine.'
'You've not got a hot-water bottle, have you, Ted?'
'Do I look like I've got a feckin' hot-water
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