rule,’ said Ted. ‘Like Johnny Cash.’
‘What?’
‘Oldest swinger in town.’
‘You’re losing me, Ted.’
‘That’s why you’re depressed. The birthday, and breaking up with the girl—’
‘I am not—’ said Israel.
‘The beard. The diet.’
‘I’m not on a diet!’
‘Have it your way.’
‘I will. Thank you. I think thirty is a fine age.’
Ted finished his scone. Israel looked around Zelda’s.
Thirty was an absolute disaster.
At thirty you could no longer pretend that you might have lived a different, more extraordinary life, because you’d already lived a large part of your life—thirty useless years, for goodness’ sake!—and it was utterly ordinary and straightforward and dull, dull, dull. Ted was right. At thirty you have lost touch for ever with the great and the good and the rich and the famous—the simple fact is, you do not move and you do not shake. At thirty there’s no way you’re going to start behaving like…whoever the hell you are, it doesn’t matter, because in fact you’re just a half-decent butcher, or a baker, or a candlestick-maker, or even a librarian, let’s say, for the sake of argument, a mobile librarian named Israel Armstrong, on the northernmost coast of the north of the north of Ireland, and your whole life—let’s just pretend, for who could possibly imagine a life of such inanity and nullity?—is preoccupied with cataloguing, and shelving, and making sure you remember to switch off the lights before you go home to the pathetic little converted chicken coop—imagine!—where you live on a farm—oh God—in the middle of the middle of nowhere around the back of beyond, and your idea of a good time is coming here to Zelda’s to drink ersatz coffee with elderly men and women in car coats…
Basically, his life was over.
‘Israel?’ said Ted.
Israel did not answer.
‘Hey?’ Ted clicked his fingers in front of Israel’s face. ‘Wakey wakey.’
‘What?’ said Israel.
‘Ye eatin’ yer scone?’ said Ted.
‘I suppose,’ said Israel, as though a scone were all he deserved in life. ‘What is it today?’
‘Bacon and cheese,’ said Ted.
‘Oh God. Not again. Why do they do that? That’s not a scone!’
‘That’s a scone and a half,’ said Ted.
‘Exactly: that’s lunch,’ said Israel.
‘Ye not having it, then?’
‘I’m a vegetarian! How many times do I have to tell you!’
‘Can vegetenarians not eat scones?’
‘Vege-tarians,’ said Israel.
‘I didn’t know they couldn’t eat scones.’
‘Not with bacon in they can’t.’
‘Aye, well,’ said Ted, reaching across. ‘There we are now.’
Minnie bustled over with the coffee pot.
‘Refill?’
Israel took a hasty sip of coffee.
‘It tastes off,’ he said, grumpily.
‘What does?’ said Minnie.
‘The coffee,’ said Israel.
‘It doesn’t.’
‘Coffee can’t go off,’ said Ted.
‘The milk can.’
‘Our milk is not off,’ said Minnie.
Israel sniffed the milk in the jug.
‘It’s fine,’ said Ted.
‘It must be the coffee, then,’ said Israel. ‘It has a sort of fishy smell. Is this an Americano? Are you using that chicory stuff again?’
‘Ach,’ said Minnie, ‘the machine’s not working.’
‘That machine has never been working,’ said Israel.
‘It has, so it has,’ said Minnie.
‘When?’
‘It’s usually working.’
‘Not since I’ve been living here.’
‘How long have you been living here?’ said Ted, in an accusatory fashion.
‘Long enough,’ said Israel.
‘Aye,’ said Ted.
‘Life sentence,’ said Israel.
‘Ooh, did you see Prison Break, Ted?’ said Minnie.
‘That the one with the tattooed fella?’
‘Aye.’
‘Was it on last night?’
‘Aye.’
‘I think I Sky-plussed it. I was watching this programme last night about the American security services on the History Channel.’
‘Ooh. Really? Was it any good?’
‘In America,’ said Ted, raising his fingers, as though about to conduct. ‘In America, they have sixteen security agencies.’
‘Sixteen?’ said Minnie, impressed.
‘I bet you didn’t know that now, did you?’ Ted said to Israel.
‘No, I must admit, I didn’t—’
‘There’s the CIA,’ said Ted.
‘Oh God,’ said Israel. ‘Are you going to—’
‘The FBI. The NSA.’
‘Never heard of it,’ said Israel.
‘National Security Agency,’ said Minnie.
‘How do you know that?’ said Israel.
‘The Defence Intelligence Agency,’ said Ted, counting on his fingers. ‘And…some others.’
‘Drugs
