The Bad Book Affair

‘You’re busking,’ said Israel.

‘That’s illegal,’ said Ted, spitting on the pavement.

‘Fund-raising,’ said Pearce. ‘Spare a few coppers, guv’nor?’

‘Not likely,’ said Ted.

‘I didn’t know you were a Green Party supporter,’ said Israel.

‘Isn’t everybody these days?’ said Pearce, breaking into another racking coughing fit, which doubled him over, his slight frame shaking as he stood himself up straight again.

‘No,’ said Ted.

‘Sssh,’ said Israel, staring hard at Ted. ‘Are you all right, Pearce?’

‘Yes,’ coughed Pearce. ‘Fine.’

‘Good,’ Israel said. ‘Good for you.’

‘It’s not good for me,’ said Pearce. ‘Not at all. That’s not the point of it, my dear. It’s good for the planet.’

‘Yes,’ said Israel, soothingly. ‘I meant—’

‘I’ve been planting trees up at the house, you know, carbon offsetting. About a thousand now, I think.’

‘A thousand trees?’

‘Indeed.’

‘That’s a lot of trees,’ said Israel.

‘Hardly,’ said Pearce. ‘You can never have enough trees.’

‘No,’ agreed Israel. ‘They don’t grow on…trees.’

‘Sorry?’

‘They don’t—’ began Israel.

‘Just ignore him,’ said Ted. ‘And he shuts up in the end.’

‘Handbook of the soul,’ said Pearce. ‘A tree.’

‘Is it?’ said Israel.

‘Of course.’

‘Right. Yes. Probably it is.’

‘Irish oak. Native species. Sorbus aucuparia. Sorbus hibernica…I had a friend who grew hurley ash for profit, you know. Nice little business.’

‘Aye, all right,’ said Ted. ‘Let’s get in here for our coffee, Israel, shall we?’

‘Yeah, sure. Pearce, do you want a cup of tea or anything to keep you warm? We’re just going into Zelda’s here—’

‘No, thanks,’ said Pearce. ‘No time for tea. Work to be done. Planet and what have you…Raging against the…’ He hawked up some phlegm and spat it into a polka-dot handkerchief. ‘Dying of the light.’

‘OK. Good to see you,’ said Israel. ‘Look after yourself, OK?’

‘Aye, you enjoy yourself there,’ said Ted.

‘I’ve been measuring my pond at home,’ said Pearce.

‘Right ye are, auld fella,’ said Ted to Pearce. And ‘Let’s get in here, my back’s killing me,’ he said to Israel.

‘One hundred and two feet,’ said Pearce.

‘Very good,’ said Israel. ‘Excellent.’

Pearce raised the viola and the neckerchiefed dogs stirred at his feet, preparing themselves. ‘I’ll see you on Sunday, of course?’ said Pearce.

‘Yes,’ said Israel. ‘Of course.’

‘Sunday?’ said Ted.

‘I visit him sometimes on Sundays.’

‘Very cosy,’ said Ted.

‘Sshh,’ said Israel.

‘Good,’ said Pearce, waving them away with his bow. ‘Now, no time to chat. Must get on. Bach.’

‘Ing,’ said Ted.

‘Sshh!’ said Israel.

‘Bloody header,’ said Ted, as they walked into Zelda’s.

‘I like him,’ said Israel. ‘He’s my favourite person in the whole of Tumdrum.’

‘Aye,’ said Ted. ‘’Cause he’s not all there, an’ a big lump trailin’.’

‘What? What does that mean?’

‘He’s as bloody crazy as you are.’

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