The Bad Book Affair. Ian Sansom

Gaiman.’

      ‘Ah,’ said Israel. ‘Right. Yes! Of course. I think we’re all out actually. Sorry. We could always do an interlibrary loan request.’

      ‘No, that’s OK, I’m not really in for borrowing,’ said the man.

      ‘Right,’ said Israel. ‘You’re not one of our regulars?’ And as he spoke these words Israel almost choked: he knew the regulars; he had become a local; he was mired, inured and immersed in Tumdrum.

      ‘No,’ said the stranger. ‘My parents are originally from here. But I live in Belfast.’

      ‘Well, nice to see a new face,’ said Israel. Oh God.

      ‘My name’s Seamus,’ said the man. ‘Seamus Fitzgibbons. I’m the Green Party candidate for the forthcoming election.’

      Seamus stuck out a friendly hand.

      ‘Oh. Hello. I’m Israel. Israel Armstrong.’

      ‘Look, thanks for coming,’ said Seamus.

      ‘That’s OK,’ said Israel. ‘I work here.’

      ‘Oh, yes!’ Seamus laughed. ‘I’m so busy at the moment with meetings and meet-and-greets it’s difficult to remember where I am.’

      God. Israel would give anything to not know where he was. He knew exactly where he was: stuck. Seamus looked to be about Israel’s age, but while Israel had drifted and gone from job to job, aimlessly, Seamus had obviously set out with a goal and achieved a position of responsibility—prospective parliamentary candidate! A position where he wasn’t sure where he was, and conducted meetings and meet-and-greets! And he was a man who looked as though he enjoyed shouldering the responsibility; it was something in his eyes. If you looked closely in his eyes you could see Atlas with the world upon his shoulders.

      ‘Let me come straight to the point, Israel,’ said Seamus. Israel could never get to the point. That was how people who shouldered responsibility spoke! They got straight to the point. ‘We in the Green Party don’t have a campaign bus.’

      ‘Uh-huh,’ said Israel.

      ‘And so…’

      ‘Yes?’ said Israel, like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

      ‘Well, we were wondering if we could perhaps use the mobile library?’

      ‘Ha!’ said Israel.

      ‘Is that a yes?’

      ‘No!’ said Israel, instinctively. ‘I mean yes…No. I mean no.’

      ‘Oh.’

      ‘No. No. I don’t think so. No, Linda would go mad.’

      ‘Who’s Linda?’

      ‘Linda Wei, she’s responsible for library provision in Tumdrum and—’

      ‘Well, maybe I should speak to Linda directly, if you’re unable to make those sorts of decisions.’

      ‘Well. I…It’s not that I…I mean, I am responsible for the mobile library.’

      ‘But that sort of bigger decision would be out of your hands?’

      ‘Not entirely,’ said Israel, smarting rather from the implication that he was a powerless functionary. ‘I do have some…sway with these things.’ He had no sway with anything: he didn’t even have sway with himself.

      ‘Well.’

      ‘I could probably take it to the mobile library subcommittee,’ offered Israel.

      ‘Well, the election’s in less than a week now, so we would really need to know very soon,’ said Seamus.

      ‘Ah,’ said Israel.

      ‘I don’t suppose it could be justified on the basis of educational benefit?’

      ‘I don’t think so,’ said Israel.

      ‘Look,’ said Seamus. ‘I really didn’t want to put you in a difficult position. It was worth asking, but.’