an idea. They drove on in silence for a few minutes longer, Israel flicking through the programme of events for the Mobile Meet.
‘At the Mobile Meet they have all these competitions, you know.’
‘Hmm,’ said Ted.
‘Driver of the Year.’
‘Hmm.’
‘State of the Art Vehicle.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Best Livery.’
Israel thought he could just detect a slight interest in Ted’s ‘hmm’s. This could be it. He tried to utilise his advantage. Counter-intuitive was the way to go with Ted; there was no point setting out premises and establishing arguments. There was absolutely no point arguing with Ted, or appealing to his better nature. Cunning—that’s what was called for.
‘This old thing probably wouldn’t stand a chance, of course, at that sort of competition level.’
‘Don’t ye get started into the van again now.’
‘No, no, I’m not. I mean, she just wouldn’t, though, would she, realistically, stand a chance of winning a prize at the Mobile Meet? With that, you know, all that competition. Not a chance.’
‘Ach, of course she’d stand a chance.’
‘I don’t think so, Ted. Not up against all those English vans.’
‘Ach,’ said Ted.
‘Not a chance of winning. Not in a million years. If you look at these categories. Concours D’Elégance.’
‘What?’
‘Concours D’Elégance means, you know, the best-looking van there on the day.’
‘Ach, well, if she was there, she’d definitely win that. Best van, no problem.’
‘No?’ said Israel. ‘Do you really think so?’
‘Of course she would!’
‘Well, I suppose if you pimped her up a bit and—’
‘Wee bit of work, no problem,’ said Ted. ‘Definitely she’d win it. She’s a beauty,’ said Ted, affectionately stroking the dashboard. ‘Aren’t you, girl?’
He had found Ted’s Achilles heel; his underbelly; his soft spot; his weakness; his fatal Cleopatra. Pride.
‘I tell you what,’ said Israel. ‘Do you want to have a bet on it?’
‘A what?’ said Ted. ‘A bet?’
‘Yes, a bet, on you winning the Concours D’Elégance at the Mobile Meet.’
‘With you, a bet?’ said Ted.
‘Yes.’
‘Ach,’ said Ted. ‘I’m good living. I don’t gamble.’
‘Oh,’ said Israel. He knew that in fact Ted did gamble; the week of the Cheltenham Gold Cup he’d talked about nothing else. Israel had had to cover for him every day. Then again, Ted also claimed he didn’t drink. And didn’t smoke. And he did. And he did.
‘I don’t gamble,’ repeated Ted. ‘Unless I know I’m going to win.’
‘Ha ha,’ said Israel.
Israel could see a glint in Ted’s eye.
‘A bet,’ Ted said to himself. ‘The van to win the…What did you call it?’
‘Concours D’Elégance.’
‘Concord De Elephants,’ repeated Ted.
‘That’s it,’ said Israel.
‘Are ye serious?’
‘Yes, absolutely I’m serious.’
Israel could see Ted thinking through the proposition. ‘Well?’ he said gingerly.
‘I tell you what, son,’ said Ted, pausing dramatically. Big pause. ‘Seeing as you’ve asked.’ Another pause. ‘You’re on.’
‘No. Really? Honestly?’
‘Yes,’ said Ted.
‘Really?’ said Israel.
‘I said yes.’
‘Great!’ said Israel. ‘How much? A couple of pounds?’
‘Couple of pounds!’ said Ted, bellowing with laughter. ‘Couple of pounds! Ach, ye’re a quare geg. No, no, no. No. If I’m going all the way over to the mainland I want to get my money’s worth out of you. We’ll do it properly. I’ll get JP to open up a book on it.’
‘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
