44 Scotland Street: The planning of happiness

The planning of happiness

Volume 9, Episode 35

While Marjory made Big Lou a cup of coffee they continued their conversation.

“I’ve never understood this bonus system,” said Big Lou. “Don’t they pay these people salaries?”

“Of course they do,” said Marjory. “They pay them handsome salaries.”

“So what are these bonuses?”

“That’s a good question,” said Marjory. “It amounts, in my view, to a skimming off of a substantial part of the profits by the staff.”

“Aye,” said Big Lou. “That’s what it sounds like to me.”

“And the problem is that they’re all at it. The shareholders can’t control it because the boards are all packed with institutional shareholders. Turkeys don’t vote for Christmas, as they say. They’re not going to stop a system which they tend to have a stake in themselves.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” said Big Lou.

Marjory handed Big Lou her cup of coffee. “Instant, I’m afraid.”

Big Lou said nothing.

“Of course,” continued Marjory, “they argue that they have to give these big bonuses in order to attract the talent. They say that they wouldn’t get the best people if they couldn’t offer bribes of millions. But that’s rubbish. People would be lining up for those jobs – lining up; and there are people already working in banks who could do the job every bit as well as the bonus-merchants. There are bags of people who are hungry and who would go for that work like a shot. And be able to do it, too. They’d do it for a salary that was a fraction of what these greedy individuals are paying themselves.”

“I can imagine that,” said Big Lou. “I get some of the more junior staff of one of the banks coming into my café. They’re hard-working people, and good at their job. They don’t get these bonuses at all.”

“They could do those jobs just fine,” said Marjory. “They would do them for one fifth, on sixth of the pay – and still be happy with it.”

“The world is in a gae fankle,” mused Big Lou.

“The world isn’t,” said Marjory. “Just bits of it.”

They sipped at their coffee.

“These bairns,” said Big Lou. “The brother and sister: what happened?”

“The mother couldn’t look after them properly,” said Marjory. ‘She tried again after the grandmother – her mother – died, but it was no use. We had to take them into care when the school discovered that they hadn’t had a proper meal for two days. Mother handed them over quite happily – she couldn’t be bothered. So they’ve been with us. They had a spell of fostering with a very good couple we have off the Easter Road, but that was always going to be short term. The children aren’t easy, I’m afraid.”

Big Lou frowned. “Who can blame the pair wee things?”

“No, one can’t blame them at all. You can’t ever blame the children, as far as I’m concerned. If a child behaves badly, then it’s because of what’s been done to him. And if he behaves badly in spite of being treated well, then it’s the genes, I’m afraid, and you can’t blame a child for his genes either, can you?”

Big Lou supposed not.

“There’s no violence, or anything like that, so …”

“Would a bairn be violent?” interrupted Big Lou.

“Oh yes,” said Marjory. “We had a six-year-old the other day who threatened to kill somebody. Threatened to throw him downstairs. What can you expect? The child had been dumped in front of the television set for six hours a day and seen images of non-stop violence and aggression. Watch six hours of television, and that’s what you’ll see.”

“But these bairns …”

“Their problem is silence,” said Majory. “They’re very withdrawn. They’ll hardly speak, I’m afraid. Mind you, they haven’t really been spoken to very much. Their mother certainly didn’t speak to them.”

“That’s bad,” said Big Lou.

“So they’re very withdrawn,” said Marjory. “They’re not autistic, as far as we can make out, because there have been spells of perfectly normal social interaction in the past. We hope that with time they’ll come out of their shell.” She paused. “I hope I haven’t put you off.”

Big Lou shook her head. “It would take more than that to put me off. No, you send me these bairns and we’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.”

“There was a boy like that at school when I was a wee girl,” said Big Lou. “He had been bullied a lot. He was a muckle great lad, but he wouldn’t stand up for himself. His father had been killed in a road accident. He never said anything. He just looked at you and then looked away.”

“What happened?”

“He joined the Boy’s Brigade. There was a good man there and he took him under his wing. He saw him through. He works in Dundee now, that boy. He has a landscape gardening business and has done well enough. He married and has a family – I saw him at the Highland Show last year.”

“It doesn’t always work out like that,” said Marjory.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“But when it does, it makes everything we do seem so worthwhile.”

Big Lou put down her cup. “These bairns – what are their names?”

“Luke and Jenny. Luke is ten; Jenny is eight.”

“I like those names,” said Lou.

Marjory handed Lou a photograph from her drawer. “That’s them,” she said. “That was taken about six months ago.”

Big Lou looked at the picture. The boy was standing; the girl was sitting. They were in what looked like a living room. There was a small fireplace in the background and a shelf of china ornaments. Neither of the children was looking at the photograph. Jenny was looking down at the floor, and Luke was staring at the wall. Neither was smiling.

“They look very unhappy,” said Big Lou. “What a pity.”

“You’re right: they are unhappy,” said Marjory.

“Then we’ll change that,” said Lou.

Marjory grinned. “That’s what I like to hear,” she said.

THE STORY SO FAR

UP TO EPISODE 13

The sight of Cyril apparently dancing an Irish jig doesn’t impress one of the customers at the bar – an animal welfare officer. Despite assurances from both Angus and Matthew that no dog in Edinburgh is better cared for, the man asks for Angus’s name and address. He is, he says, going to file a report with a view to taking Cyril into care....

UP TO EPISODE 15

After discussing the merits or otherwise of reincarnation, and in particular how it applies to residents of Edinburgh’s New Town, Big Lou admits to Matthew that her romance with Alex, the pig farmer from Mains of Mochle, has run its course. Worse, her biological clock is ticking particularly loudly these days.

UP TO EPISODE 17

Perhaps it was entirely predictable that Matthew’s casual suggestion that Big Lou could have one of their triplets wouldn’t have gone down well with his wife Elspeth. To a mere man, of course, it seemed to make perfect sense: Big Lou would be an excellent mother, and Elspeth had her hands so full looking after three toddlers that she wanted another au pair in order to give their ultra-capable Danish au pair Anna a break...

UP TO EPISODE 19

The omens aren’t good for Bertie’s seventh birthday party – not just because Olive and her girl friends have invited themselves to it but so have some of Tofu’s more thuggish friends too. As for presents, although he has set his heart on a bicycle and a Swiss Army pen-knife, the chances of his mother Irene buying either are remote. Indeed, as she prepares a talk for her bookclub on hidden meanings children’s literature – a talk that will savage Tintin for its amount of head trauma and Captian Haddock’s anger issues and attack AA Milne for the infantilisation of Winnie the Pooh – she reveals to her husband Stuart that what she really wants for Bertie is that he should be able to face up to the world as a woman does, to see everything through though female eyes.

UP TO EPISODE 21

Convent life in Italy seems to have done surprisingly little to minimise Antonia Collie’s presumptuousness. Or at least that’s what it seems to Domenica and Angus when they read Antonia’s letter not only inviting herself to stay in her flat for three weeks but also to bring one of the nuns from the convent with her. One thing that could be said in reply to such a letter is that Antonia doesn’t have a flat in Scotland Street any more, having sold it to Domenica – but that would be inhospitable.

UP TO EPISODE 23

Oddly, for such an uber-narcissist, Bruce Anderston had never been to the Waxing Studio in Stockbridge before. And though it was always hard to improve on perfection, perhaps his eyebrows DID need a bit of attention. In the studio, his waxologist, Arlene, doesn’t seem to be too impressed by the famous Bruce physique and all-round good looks. Worse, she actually finds some features - nasal hair and warts – that could do with a bit of attention. Not that she seems particularly attentive, being preoccupied by telling Bruce about her divorce and the legal ramifications of a recent waxing accident. So preoccupied, in fact, that she doesn’t see that another waxing accident is about to happen …

UP TO EPISODE 25

Love – or what looks like love - can arrive at any moment and in any place. For Pat Macgregor it happened as she was sitting in the Elephant House cafe on George IV Bridge in Edinburgh, having a coffee to cheer herself up, so downhearted was she by the prospect of leaving university in a month or two. The man who sat at the table next to her introduced himself as Michael. He said he’d seen her before there a couple of times. She’d never noticed him, though, which suddenly seemed very strange, because the more she looked at his face, the more she realised it had the kind of harmonious proportions the Renaissance artists she was studying always looked for in their subjects. What more do we need to know about Michael? That he is handsome, works as a wood carver – and is 23. Exactly Pat’s age.

UP TO EPISODE 27

Angus Lordie hadn’t been looking forward to his appointment in the out-patients department of the Royal Edinburgh Hospital, where he was to be assessed by Dr Macgregor for somnambulism. Worrying over a cup of coffee at a Bruntsfield cafe, he is cheered up by – of all people – Ian Rankin (whom he does not know), who smiles at him and gives him the thumb’s up sign. Not that he mentions any of this to Dr Macgregor...

UP TO EPISODE 29

Meanwhile, in Scotland Street, it’s the morning of Bertie’s seventh birthday, and just as soon as he gets out of bed, he runs into his mother’s bedroom to ask, eagerly but politely, whether he has any birthday presents. He does too: from baby brother Ulysses, a Junior UN Peacekeeping Kit (“A fine gift for those who want to avoid militaristic play”). And from Irene and Stuart, a gender-neutral doll called Jo.....

UP TO EPISODE 31

It’s all very well never knowingly telling a lie, but there are some moments when even someone as innately honest as Bertie Pollock must feel tempted. One of those moments at school that morning, when Mr Cowie the teacher asks him about the presents he has received for his seventh birthday. A lesser boy would have refused to admit that he had received a doll. And a lesser boy wouldn’t have to face the mockery of Tofu and Larch …..

But everything goes badly for Bertie on his birthday. For one thing, his father is prepared to stand up to his mother and insist that Bertie’s Italian lesson should be cancelled and that the two of them should go for a walk down the Water of Leith – where Bertie is told he can dump the doll that Irene bought for him.

UP TO EPISODE 33

One thing about a talking to a seven-year-old boy as widely read as Bertie: you never know what topic is going to come up next. As Stuart and Bertie walk down to the Water of Leith, they cover a whole variety of topics: the possibility of spontaneous combustion, the business acumen of Lard O’Connor, and the merits of Sir David Wilkie’s painting The Letter of Introduction among them. But will any of that register with Stuart quite as much as Bertie’s innocent observation that Irene and his last psychotherapist – the one who looks so much like his younger brother Ulysses - used to go to the Floatarium together?

• Alexander McCall Smith welcomes comments from readers. Write to him c/o The Editor, The Scotsman, 108 Holyrood Road, Edinburgh. EH8 8AS, or via e-mail at  [email protected].