“In the morning we went out to shoot. Johnny had a keeper who I think was hostile to me from the start, although he was polite to the others. He looked at my shoes and asked me whether I thought they were sufficiently robust for the occasion – I thought that was a cheek and I decided there and then that he could expect no tip from me, and told him as much. He was a Highlander, of course, and these people can be quite resentful when they get some sort of notion.
“We took our places alongside several pegs which the keeper had inserted in the ground. I was right at the end, which I suspected was the worst place to be, as there was a clump of whin bush immediately to my right which kept scratching me. Then they started to drive the birds out of their cover and suddenly people started to point their shotguns up in the air and blast away. I did my best, but unfortunately I did not seem to get any birds going in my direction and so I got nothing. Then quite
206 The Ramsey Dunbarton Story: Part VI – a Perthshire Weekend suddenly a bird flew up immediately in front of me and I jerked up my shotgun and pulled the trigger.
“I only heard the keeper shout when it was too late, and by then the bird, which I noticed was quite black, had gone down into the heather. I realised then that I had shot a blackbird and I felt very apologetic about it.
“ ‘I’m awfully sorry,’ I shouted. ‘I seem to have shot a blackbird.’
“The keeper came storming over. ‘That’s no blackbird, sir,’
he hissed. ‘That was a black grouse.’ Then he added: ‘And you gentlemen were very specifically told that you were not to shoot any black game. Perhaps you forgot yourself, sir.’
“In the meantime, Johnny Auchtermuchty had wandered over. He had a word with the keeper and I overheard what he said. He told him to bite his tongue as he wouldn’t have him being rude to any of his guests. Then he said something about how Mr Dunbarton was from Edinburgh and one shouldn’t expect something or other. I didn’t really hear the rest of it.
“I must say that I was very embarrassed about all this, although I very much enjoyed Johnny Auchtermuchty’s company and the Bertie Receives an Invitation
207
rest of the shoot were very decent to me and said nothing about what had happened. I left the next morning after breakfast, although my departure didn’t go all that well. The Rolls would not start for some reason and they had to push me down the drive to start it that way.
“Poor Johnny Auchtermuchty – I miss him very much. He was the life and soul of the party and the most exciting friend I am ever likely to have in this life. I think that it’s an awful pity what happened and I wish they had found at least some bit of him that we could have given a decent send-off to. But they didn’t. Not even his moustache.”
63. Bertie Receives an Invitation
The invitation from Tofu was solemnly handed to Bertie in the grounds of the Steiner School. “Don’t flash it around,” said Tofu, glancing over his shoulder. “I can’t invite everybody. So I’ve just invited you, Merlin and Hiawatha. And don’t show it to Olive.
I really hate her.”
Bertie looked briefly at the invitation before tucking it into the pocket of his dungarees. It was the first invitation that he had ever received – from anybody – and he was understandably excited. Tofu, the card announced, was about to turn seven and would be celebrating this event with a trip to the bowling alley in Fountainbridge. Bertie was invited.
“Can you come?” asked Tofu, as they went back into the classroom.
“Of course,” said Bertie. “And thanks, Tofu.”
Tofu shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t forget to bring a present,” he said.
“Of course I won’t,” said Bertie. “What would you like, Tofu?”
“Money,” said Tofu. “Ten quid, if you can manage it.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Bertie.
“Better had,” Tofu muttered.
Back in the classroom, while Miss Harmony read the class 208 Bertie Receives an Invitation
a story, Bertie fingered the invitation concealed in his pocket.
He felt warm with pleasure: he, Bertie, had been invited to a party, and in his own right too! He was not being taken there by his mother; it was not a party of her choosing; this was something to which he had been invited in friendship! And bowling too – Bertie had never been near a bowling alley, but had seen pictures of people bowling and thought that it looked tremendous fun. It would certainly be more fun than his yoga class in Stockbridge.
Seated beside him, Olive watched Bertie’s fingers go to the shape in his pocket and move delicately over the folded card.
“What’s that you’ve got?” she whispered.
“What?” asked Bertie, guiltily moving his hand away.
“That thing in there?” insisted Olive. “It’s something important, isn’t it?”
“No,” said Bertie quickly. “It’s nothing.”
“Yes it is,” said Olive. “You should tell me, you know. You shouldn’t keep secrets from your girlfriend.”
Bertie turned to look at her in horror. “Girlfriend? Who says you’re my girlfriend?”
“I do, for one,” said Olive, with the air of explaining something obvious to one who has been slow to realise it. “And ask any of the other girls. Ask Pansy. Ask Skye. They’ll tell you. All the girls know it. I’ve told them.”
Bertie opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.
“So,” said Olive. “Tell me. What’s that in your pocket?”
“I’m not your boyfriend,” Bertie muttered. “I like you, but I never asked you to be my girlfriend.”
“It’s an invitation, isn’t it?” Olive whispered. “It’s an invitation to Tofu’s party. I bet that’s what it is.”
Bertie decided that he might as well admit it. It was no business of Olive’s that he was going to Tofu’s party. In fact, it was no business of hers how he spent his time. Why did girls – and mothers – think that they could order boys around all the time?
“So what if it’s an invitation?” Bertie said. “Tofu told me not to talk about it.”
“Ha!” crowed Olive. “I knew that’s what it was. He invited Bertie Receives an Invitation
209
me to his sixth birthday party last year. I refused. So did all the other girls he invited. He tried to get us to pay ten pounds to come. Did you know that? He tried to sell tickets to his own party.”
Bertie said nothing, and Olive continued. “I heard that the party was pretty awful anyway,” she said. “Vegan parties are always very dull. You get sweetened bean sprouts and water.
That’s all. Certainly not worth ten pounds.”
Bertie felt that he had to defend his friend in the face of this onslaught. “We’re going bowling,” he said. “Merlin and Hiawatha are coming too.”
“Merlin and Hiawatha!” exclaimed Olive. “What wimps! I’m glad I’m not going to that party. I suppose Merlin will wear that stupid rainbow-coloured coat of his and Hiawatha will wear those horrid jungle boots he keeps going on about. They’ll make him take those boots off, you know. They won’t allow boots like that in the bowling alley. And then people will smell his socks, which always stink the place out. Pansy says that she was ill –
actually threw up – the first time Hiawatha removed his boots for gym. Boy, is it going to be a stinky party that one!”
It was clear to Bertie that Olive was jealous. It was a pity that Tofu had not invited her, as if he had then she would have been less keen to run the party down. But Bertie was not going to let her destroy his pleasure in the invitation and so he deliberately turned his back on her and concentrated on the story that was being read out.