went round to the right side and placed the key in the lock, turned, and nothing happened. He looked helplessly at Ted.
‘Jiggle her,’ said Ted.
Israel jiggled as best he could, but he was getting nowhere. He let Ted have a jiggle. That was no good either.
‘Ach,’ said Ted, examining the keys. ‘Rust.’
‘Oh well. Another time maybe.’
‘Not at all,’ said Ted, pointing up at the top of the van. ‘Skylight.’
‘What about it?’
‘Way in,’ said Ted. ‘Catches wore away years ago. Should have got them fixed. Lucky I didn’t. Come on.’ He bent down slightly and clasped his hands together ready for Israel to climb up.
‘Hang on now,’ said Israel. ‘Wait a minute. You want me to—’
‘Come on,’ said Ted, ‘none of your old nonsense now,’ and nodded to him to put his foot on his hands.
Israel hesitated. ‘This is ridiculous.’
‘Set yourself to it. Come on. Quickly. We’re not on holiday, are we?’
‘No.’
‘So then. Come on, you big glunter.’
So against his better judgement – and partly because no one had ever called him a big glunter before – Israel did what he was told and placed a foot on Ted’s big joint-of-meat hands and Ted grunted and puffed and straightened up and Israel scrambled for handholds and footholds up the side of the van, and by grappling and struggling he made it up onto the roof of the van, where there was only a few feet clearance from the roof of the barn, and he knelt down, puffing and scraping dust and rust and chicken shit out of the way.
‘Eerrgh.’
‘Good man you are!’ shouted Ted. ‘Go on then!’
‘All right. Give me a minute,’ said Israel, catching his breath and crawling on his belly towards the skylight. ‘It’s filthy!’
‘Get on with it.’
‘But—’
‘Just pop it.’
‘What?’
‘The skylight. Pop it.’
Israel had a hold of the skylight and was wiggling and wobbling the Perspex from side to side.
‘Got it?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Pop it!’ shouted Ted, like a boxer’s corner man.
‘I can’t pop it!’
‘Go on!’
‘I am going on!’
‘Put some effort in.’
‘I am putting some effort in. It’s stuck.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes!’
‘Might be rusty,’ granted Ted.
‘Might be? It’s all rust.’
‘Just yank her then,’ said Ted.
Israel got a hold of the two sides of the skylight and braced himself, half kneeling and half standing, and put all his weight into pulling up and back and he took a deep breath and then he pulled up and back, and the skylight gave a sound of cracking, and the ancient Perspex came away in his hands.
And Israel straightened upwards and backwards…smashing the back of his head on the roof of the barn.
‘Aaggh!’ he screamed.
‘You done it?’ said Ted.
‘Aaggh!’
‘What?’ said Ted.
‘Aggghh!’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Aaggh, shit!’
‘Will you mind your bloody language!’ shouted Ted.
‘Aaggh!’ shouted Israel back. ‘I nearly brained myself.’
‘Aye. Knock some sense into you.’
‘Ow,’ said Israel, rubbing his head. ‘I’m injured. My head.’
‘Only part of you safe from injury.’
‘I’m in agony here!’
‘Aye, but you’ve not lost the powers of speech.’
‘It hurts.’
‘All right. You got a bump. Now just get on with it.’
‘Get on with what?’
‘What do you think? Your eyes in your arse or what?’
‘What?’
‘Climb in, you fool.’
‘What do you mean climb in? There’s no ladder.’
‘Of course there’s no ladder. Jump!’ said Ted.
‘I’m not jumping in there,’ said Israel. ‘It’s dark.’
‘Of course it’s bloody dark. Just jump,’ said Ted. ‘What’s wrong with ye, boy? Just mind your bap, eh.’
‘My bap?’
‘Your head, you eejit.’
‘It’s quite a drop,’ said Israel, peering down into the dark interior of the van.
‘Get on with it now,’ said Ted. ‘Christmas is coming, and it’ll be here before we are if you keep carrying on.’
‘I don’t like the look of it.’
‘Well, you’re not going to like the look of it when I come up there and throw you down. Now, jump.’
‘I don’t know if I’ll fit.’
‘Of course you’ll fit. What do you want us to do, grease you like a pig? Get in there and stop your yabbering, will ye. Come on.’
‘Ah, God. All right,’ said Israel. ‘But I’m blaming you if I get hurt.’
‘Fine. Just jump.’
‘My head hurts.’
‘It’ll hurt even more if you don’t shut up and get on with it,’ said Ted reasonably. ‘Jump!’
And lowering himself over the gap, supporting himself by his arms, Israel did.
And ‘Aaah!’ he cried, as he landed awkwardly on his ankle inside the mobile library.
‘Ach, God alive, Laurence Olivier, that’s enough of your dramatics now,’ said Ted. ‘Open the door.’
‘I’ve hurt myself,’ called Israel from inside the van.
‘Ah’m sure,’ said Ted. ‘But come and open the door first.’
‘I’ve hurt my ankle,’ shouted Israel. ‘I don’t think I can walk.’
‘Well, crawl.’
‘I think I might have broken it!’
‘If you’ve broken your ankle then I’m the Virgin Mary,’ said Ted.
Israel stood up. ‘I can’t walk!’ he cried.
‘I tell you, if you was a horse I’d shoot you. Now stop your blethering and open this door before I lose the head and batter the thing in on top of you.’
Israel hopped down the bus and, after some fiddling with catches and locks, managed to open up the side door.