Irene saw Stuart’s look of puzzlement and sighed. “It’s the roughness, Stuart,” she said. “Surely you’ve seen it yourself. All that aggressive play that goes on. And there’s another thing: have you noticed the rigid segregation which the children down there impose on themselves? Have you noticed how the boys play with the boys and the girls play with the girls? Have you seen it?”
Stuart thought for a moment. Now that Irene mentioned it, it certainly seemed to be true. There were always little knots of boys and girls all playing within the group; one did not see boys 22
Irene’s Doubts Over Bertie’s Friendships and girls playing together. Irene was right. But, he thought, surely this was natural.
“When I was a boy,” he began, “we used to have a gang. It was boys only. But the girls had their own gang. I think everybody was happy enough with the arrangement. My gang was called . . .”
Irene silenced him with her stare. “I think the less said about your boyhood, Stuart, the better. Things have moved on, you know.”
“But have boys moved on?” It was a bold question, and Stuart’s voice faltered as he asked it.
“Yes,” said Irene firmly. “Boys have moved on. The problem is that certain men have failed to move on.” She fixed him with a piercing stare as she made this remark, and Stuart shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“I don’t think we should argue,” he said. “You know that I’m fundamentally in sympathy with the idea of bringing up boys to be more sensitive.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Irene.
“But there’s no reason why Bertie shouldn’t play with other boys from time to time,” Stuart said. “And I don’t mean that he should play in an exclusive sense. I think that boys can be encouraged to play inclusively, but with other boys, if you see what I . . .” He trailed off. Irene was staring at him again.
Irene was thinking of Bertie’s friends. She had met several of the boys in his class, and she had to confess that she was not impressed. Tofu, for instance, was a thoroughly unpleasant little boy, as far as she could make out. There had been that unfortunate incident when Bertie had exchanged his dungarees for Tofu’s jeans, which was bad enough, but when one added to it the fact that this transaction had taken place at a bowling alley in Fountainbridge – of all places – Tofu’s influence hardly appeared benign.
Then there was Hiawatha whom Irene had come across at several school functions. There was something off about that boy, Irene thought. She had asked Bertie about it, and he had Irene’s Doubts Over Bertie’s Friendships 23
replied that Hiawatha was known for never changing his socks and that this explained the smell.
“We get used to it, Mummy,” he said. “Sometimes Miss Harmony opens the window, which helps. But we don’t really mind too much.”
And there were other boys in the class who seemed equally questionable as suitable companions for Bertie. Merlin was decid-edly unusual, even by the standards of Stockbridge, where he lived. Irene had met his mother at a parents’ evening and had found it very difficult to sustain a conversation with somebody who insisted on bringing the discussion back at every opportunity to crystals and their curative properties. If Bertie were to spend too much time with Merlin, then there would be a danger that he would start thinking in an irrational way, and that would be disastrous. No, Merlin was to be discouraged.
That left that very unpleasant boy whom she had seen hanging about the school gates waiting for his father to collect him.
What was his name? Larch. That was it. Irene had heard from Bertie that Larch liked arm wrestling and that nobody dared win because he was known to hit anybody who beat him at anything.
“I’m surprised that Miss Harmony lets him behave like that,”
said Irene. “It’s a very well-run school, and I know they don’t tolerate that sort of behaviour.”
“I don’t think that Miss Harmony knows,” said Bertie.
“You see, Mummy, there are two different worlds. There’s the grown-up world, and then there’s the world down below, where boys and girls live. I don’t think grown-ups really know what’s happening down in our world.”
“Nonsense, Bertie,” said Irene. “We know perfectly well what’s going on. And I’m sure that Miss Harmony knows exactly what Larch gets up to.”
Bertie said nothing, but he was sure that Irene had no idea of anything that happened at school. And he was equally sure that Miss Harmony knew nothing of Larch’s violent tendencies and all his lies too. That was the trouble with Miss Harmony, 24
A Whole New Vista of Dread for Bertie and with most grown-ups, Bertie thought. Grown-ups simply did not understand how children lied. Bertie did not lie – he told the truth – but all the others lied. Tofu lied all the time, about just about everything. Merlin made up stories about some of the things he had at home – a crystal that was capable of killing cats if you pointed it at their eyes; that was one of the lies he had told Bertie. Then, when it came to Hiawatha, he was probably lying too, if only they could make out what he was saying. There were just so many lies.
“I think you should spend more time with Olive,” said Irene.
“She’s a very nice girl, and I know that you like her.”
Bertie shook his head. “I don’t like Olive, Mummy. I hate her.”
“Now, Bertie!” scolded Irene. “That’s simply not true.”
Bertie sighed. When he told the truth, as he had just done, he was accused of lying. But if he lied, and said that he liked Olive, his mother would nod her approval. The world, he thought, was a very confusing place.
8. A Whole New Vista of Dread for Bertie Bertie mused on this as he looked out over Scotland Street.
Life was very dull, he thought, but would undoubtedly improve when he turned eighteen and could leave home to go and live somewhere far away and exotic – Glasgow, perhaps; his friend Lard O’Connor had more or less promised him a job over there, and it would be fun to live in Glasgow and go with Lard to the Burrell Collection and places like that. But that was daydreaming, and Bertie knew that he had another twelve years of his mother before he could get away. Twelve years!
Twelve achingly slow years – a whole lifetime, it seemed to Bertie.
Yes, life was difficult, and it was becoming all the more difficult now that Irene had had her new baby. Bertie had suggested A Whole New Vista of Dread for Bertie 25
that they could perhaps have it adopted, but this suggestion had not been taken seriously.
“But, Bertie, what a funny thing to say!” Irene had said, looking anxiously about the maternity ward in which Bertie, visiting his mother, had made the suggestion.
“But they need babies for adoption, Mummy,” Bertie had said.
“I was reading about it in the newspaper. They said that there weren’t enough babies to go round. I thought that maybe we could share our baby with somebody else. You always said it was good to share.”
Irene smiled weakly. “And of course it is. But there are some things you don’t share, Bertie, and a baby is one of them.”
It was not that Bertie disliked Ulysses, as his mother had insisted on naming his new baby brother. When Irene had first announced her pregnancy to Bertie, he had been pleased at the thought of having a brother or sister. This was not because he wanted the company, but mainly because he thought that the presence of a baby would distract his mother’s attention. Bertie did not dislike his mother; he merely wished that she would leave him alone and not make him do all the things that he was forced to do. If she was busy looking after a baby, then perhaps she would not have the time to take him to psychotherapy, or to yoga. Perhaps the baby would need psychotherapy and could go to Dr Fairbairn instead of Bertie. It was an entertaining thought; Bertie imagined the baby lying in his pram while Dr Fairbairn leaned over him and asked him questions. It would not matter at all if the baby could say nothing in reply; Bertie doubted very much if Dr Fairbairn paid any attention to anything said to him by anybody. Yoga would be more difficult, at least until the baby was a few months old. There were some very young children at Bertie’s yoga class in Stockbridge – one of them just one year old. Perhaps they could try putting the baby into yoga positions by propping it up with cushions; he could suggest this to his mother and see what she thought.