Free The Book Stops Here: A Mobile Library Mystery by Ian Sansom Page A

any motorways or—'
    'Do we need to go on the motorways?'
    'Well, it's quite a journey.'
    Israel kept flicking through the book. There were dozens of exquisite line drawings: Bockleton's lych gate, the lake castle built by Sir Edward Dalyngrigge in 1385, High Wycombe's arcaded town hall, the Jewry Wall in Leicester.
    At last, he found Liverpool.
    'The cathedral has notable stained glass,' he said. 'And there are a number of good Georgian houses.'
    'I need directions,' said Ted. 'Not a fuckin' guided tour!'

    * * *
    There was the sound of the hooting of horns from behind.
    'Israel?'
    'Yes?'
    "Just tell me where in God's name we're supposed to be going here?'
    'Right, where are we?' said Israel, starting over again with the book's index.
    'In Liverpool! At the docks! Are ye stupit!'
    'Do you know what road?'
    'No! We're at a junction. There's people up behind us! What do the signs say?'
    'Ah, right, A5036. Okay. A5047. A57. Erm…'
    'Come on! Where do I need to go?'
    'Erm. You sure you don't want me to drive and you can—'
    'Tell me where to go!'
    'I don't know!' said Israel weakly. He had a headache so bad he'd never had a headache like it before. The Nurofen weren't working.
    'You're meant to be telling me!'
    'Ah. Right. Manchester? Is that south of Liverpool?'
    'I don't know,' said Ted. 'You're the Englishman.'
    'Liverpool. Manchester. Manchester. Liverpool. Yes, it is, isn't it? I think it is. Manchester. Yes. Definitely. Let's follow the signs for the M62 then, shall we?'
    'Right. Thank God.'
    Ted pulled out into the heavy stream of traffic, and their journey proper began.
    The pair travelled on in haphazard and argumentative fashion for several miles—'Bear right'; 'I'm trying to bear right'; 'Quick!'; 'I'm going as quick as I can, there's all these lorries up behind me'; 'Road's a bit busier over here on the mainland, eh?'; 'Shut up, Israel'—until at last they safely reached the relative calm of the M62.
    'I think Manchester's south,' said Israel. 'Should we pull over and ask someone?'
    'It's a bit late now, ye fool,' said Ted. 'We're on a motorway.'
    'Yes, but we could…Maybe we should just check our route with someone.'
    'Aye, and what would you be asking them? Excuse me'—Ted adopted here a kind of Cockney–meets–Quentin Crisp imitation English accent— 'how do I get to London?'
    'Well, yes.'
    'What sort of a question is that, ye eejit?'
    'How to get to London? What's wrong with that?'
    'You sound like Dick blinkin' Whittington, that's what's wrong with it. "How do I get to London?" Ye're from London!'
    'Yes, but I've never travelled much up north!'
    'Holy God, man.'
    They drove on for a few moments in silence.
    'Are you hungry, Ted?' said Israel.
    'No.'
    'Not even a little bit?'
    'No.'
    'Not even a tiny, teensy-weensy little bit?'
    'No. Why? Are you hungry? I thought you were feeling sick a minute ago.'
    'Yes. I am. But I wonder if a little something would…You know, settle my…But if you're okay. I was just wondering if you were…'
    'No, I'm fine.'
    'Good. We'll keep on going on then, shall we? We wouldn't stop at the services yet, would we?'
    'No,' agreed Ted.
    'You don't need the toilet or anything?'
    'No.'
    'Don't want to buy anything?'
    'No.'
    'A paper, or a…souvenir, or anything?'
    'No, Israel. We're here working. We're not on holiday.'
    'Yes,' agreed Israel. 'Quite. Lunch though. We'll be stopping for lunch somewhere?'
    Ted gave a huge eloquent sigh. Israel shut up.
    Somewhere down the road, somewhere south, somewhere after the M62, on the M6, just after the Knutsford Service Area—the manifold facilities of which, much to Israel's disappointment, the pair did not avail themselves—Ted started to relax and decided to put on the audiobook of The Da Vinci Code . Again.
    Israel had had to listen to The Da Vinci Code —all six and a half hours of it, repeatedly, narrated by a man who did comedy French accents—for much of the past six months in the van. It was Ted's favourite.
    'No!' he groaned,