Mr. Dixon disappears: a mobile library mystery

by Ian Sansom

  The signs welcomed them to Belfast City Airport.

  'Well, here we are. Give you a wee break just.'

  'Yeah. I need some time to…'

  'And you're spending the night in Belfast and then bringing her up tomorrow?'

  'Yeah. That's the plan.'

  'So you're taking her up to the Causeway?'

  'Well, I wasn't sure, I don't know if it'd really be her sort of thing.'

  'What's her sort of thing?'

  'I don't know. She's more…'

  'What about the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge?'

  'No. I don't think that's quite…'

  'Everybody loves that. Bushmills? The distillery?'

  'Er…'

  'Ballycastle. Has the market.'

  'I'm still thinking, actually, Ted. I haven't quite firmed up the old itinerary yet. We're going to have a lot to…you know.'

  'Aye, well, if you're looking for ideas.'

  'Thanks, Ted. That's—'

  'There's always Portrush, if she fancies the bright lights. She'd maybe enjoy that, you know, being from London.'

  'Yeah…'

  'I tell you what I'd do. I'd go for the full works: Ulster fry; up to the Causeway; Carrick-a-Rede; sticky bun in Portstewart; fish supper in Portrush. Get her warmed up. Pop the question.'

  'Right. Thanks for that, Ted.'

  Ted pulled over into the drop-off area. Israel went to get out of the van.

  'Straighten yerself up then.'

  'What?'

  'Don't be slouching. Look at ye. You're all hunched over. You should be wearing a suit and a tie to meet your girlfriend.'

  Israel had borrowed more of Brownie's clothes: a hoodie, low-slung jeans, the Converse trainers.

  'I'd hardly be putting on a suit and a tie to meet my girlfriend, Ted.'

  'Aye, well you're not going to get far in life looking like that, all dishelvelled.'

  'Dishevelled?'

  'Aye. Lean over.'

  Israel leant towards Ted.

  'And breathe.'

  Israel breathed out.

  'Aye. Thought so. You've breath like a slurry tank. You know, the tragedy of it is, Israel, for someone as highly educated as yourself, you've not a clue.'

  'OK, Ted. Thanks.'

  'And cheer up! You've a face'd turn milk sour.'

  'All right, thanks, got to dash. Bye!'

  The plane was delayed.

  At first it was on time, 9.05. Then expected 10.00. Then expected 10.15. 10.45.

  'Passengers on BMI flight BD96 to Heathrow, please be advised that the new time of departure for this flight is 11.15. This is due to the late arrival of the incoming plane. We apologise for any inconvenience this may cause.'

  Israel barely heard the announcements. He was gazing out at the runway; his reflection in the darkness of the window, the weather outside whipping up to a storm, and the rain lashing down, peeling and splitting his face, his too solid and semi-permeable flesh fast disappearing in the blur.

  He got up and bought a tray bake and a cup of coffee; food is always a great consolation in such circumstances. He might of course have been better off eating a freshly prepared salad, some steamed fish, and drinking some extract of wheat-grass, but unfortunately life is reality rather than fantasy, and the reality is that at half past nine on a Friday evening in the environs of Belfast City Airport, a tray bake and a cup of coffee are about the best that's on offer, just as self-pity–cheap, fattening and bad for the heart as undoubtedly it is–tends to be readily available around the clock and preferable to most alternatives. He took two sugars in the coffee–that faint tickling pain upon his receding gums–and he tried to remember what it was about Gloria.

  He couldn't quite picture her face. When he tried to think about her he found he was thinking about other things, other people. He thought about Rosie. And he thought about his grandmother. He thought about the little Jack Russell pups. And Mr Wilson in his shed. He thought about that French photo, the one where the man wearing a scarf is leaning down to the woman's upturned face. And he thought of the scene in Annie Hall where Woody Allen and Diane Keaton meet outside her apartment and she invites him up and they're drinking wine on the balcony and enjoying pleasant conversation and the little thought bubbles pop up and you can see that Woody Allen is thinking, I wonder what she looks like naked.

  He laughed to himself and sat on at the laminate table, his fingers greasy from the coffee and the caramel slice, just looking out of the window. Usually he'd have read a book.

  At 10.30 he went down the stairs to wait by the exit.

  The flight was announced; the flight arrived.

  He thought for a moment that he recognised someone, but no. They were hurrying through to departures.

  Passengers disembarked. Collected their luggage. And Israel waited. And waited.

  And the airport emptied.

  He had a text. 'SPK,' said the message.

  Acknowledgements

  For previous acknowledgements see The Truth About Babies (Granta Books, 2002), Ring Road (Fourth Estate, 2004) and The Mobile Library: The Case of the Missing Books (Harper Perennial, 2006). These stand, with exceptions. In addition I would like to thank the following. (The previous terms and conditions apply: some of them are dead; most of them are strangers; the famous are not friends; none of them bears any responsibility.) To the editors of The Enthusiast–greetings.

  Caroline Aherne, Arcade Fire, Arctic Monkeys, Tex Avery, David Bailey, Nancy Banks-Smith, Lynn Barber, Daniel Barenboim, Ronnie Barker, Brendan Barrington, Derek Beaven, Captain Beefheart, Catherine Bennett, Ambrose Bierce, St Blaise, Matthijs van Boxsel, Matthew Brady, British Sea Power, Charlie Brooker, Anne Brown, Ken Brown, Frank Bruno, James Lee Burke, Candace Bushnell, Andrea Camilleri, Karel 010Capek, Frank Capra, Simon Carr, Michael Chabon, Martin Chambi, E.M. Cioran, Adam Coates, Rich Cohen, Jackie Collins, Joan Collins, Billy Connolly, Cyril Connolly, Steve Coogan, Tommy Cooper, Sally Cotta, Thomas Cotta, Rob Cowan, Coyle's, Barry Cryer, Tom Dalzell, Jeff Daniels, Geena Davis, Kenneth C. Davis, Eve Dawson, Les Dawson, Mr Dawson, Guy Debord, Jack Dee, Daniel Dennett, Miss Derby, Mrs Dickson, Joan Didion, Norman Thomas Di Giovanni, Barry Douglas, Tim Dowling, St Eustachius, Simon Faithfull, Janet Flanner, George Foreman, St Francis, Nicolas Freeling, Dawn French, Ray Galton, Graeme Garden, James Geary, St Genesius, Boothby Graffoe, Blu Greenberg, Matt Groening, Andy Hamilton, Haruki Hartley, Mami Hartley, John Haskell, Simon Hoggart, Michael Holden, John Hollander, Eric Homberger, Pawel Huelle, Armando Iannucci, St Ignatius, Gary Imlach, Robert Irwin, Kay Redfield Jamison, Tove Jansson, Jack Johnson, Kaiser Chiefs, Dean Karnazes, Andy Kershaw, Florence King, Lizzy Kingston, St Lawrence, Sam Leith, William Leith, Emmanuel Levinas, Bernard Lewis, Victor Lewis-Smith, Walter Love, Humphrey Lyttleton, Emer McAfee, Alexander McCall Smith, Miss McClure, Mrs McCracken, Bill McGuire, Julian MacLaren Ross, Annabelle McNutt, Charles McNutt, Charlie McNutt, Charles McNutt, Mireille McNutt, Madonna, Janet Malcolm, Hilary Mantel, Andrew Martin, Willy Mason, David Matthews, Louis Menand, Andrew Miller, Daido Moriyama, Frank Muir, Arthur Mullard, Eadweard Muybridge, Carl Newbrook, Stephen Nolan, Martha O'Kane, Nicholas Ostler, Pierre Péju, St Pelagia, Peter Perfrement, Bernard Perlin, Polar Bear, Tony Porter, Nicholas Rinaldi, David Rose, Jack Rosenthal, Josh Rouse, Tom Russell, Lorna Sage, Ryuichi Sakamoto, Mrs Sanders, Jennifer Saunders, Arthur Schopenhauer, Scrabo Audiology Unit, Sean, Dr Seuss, DJ Shantel, Neil Simon, Debbie Slater, Timothy Spall, Johnny Speight, Jim Steinmeyer, Alan Sugar, Matthew Sweet, Antal Szerb, Joel Taggart, Mrs Thompson, Paul Tillich, Sherill Tippins, P.L. Travers, Lionel Trilling, Mark Tully, Dubravka Ugresic, James Vanderzee, Terry Victor, Arthur Waley, Harriet Walter, Johnny Weismuller, Louise Welsh, Kanye West, Tim Westwood, Richard Williams, Frances Wilson, Terry Wogan, Steven Wright, Your Place and Mine, Carlos Ruiz Zafón.

  About the Author

  IAN SANSOM is the author of The Case of the Missing Books, The Truth About Babies, and The Impartial Recorder. He is a regular contributor to The Guardian a
nd London Review of Books. He lives in Northern Ireland.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  ALSO BY IAN SANSOM

  The Truth About Babies

  Ring Road

  The Impartial Recorder

  The Mobile Library Series

  The Case of the Missing Books

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  MR. DIXON DISAPPEARS. Copyright © 2007 by Ian Sansom. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  Palm Reader May 2007 ISBN 978-0-06-146109-5

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  About the Publisher

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  Table of Contents

  Cover

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  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  ALSO BY IAN SANSOM

  About the Publisher