44 Scotland Street: Things improve for Bertie

Nobody was sure how Irene was at that time, although the general view was that she was doing rather well in the desert harem in which she found herself. A letter had been received by the British chargé d’affaires in the region that was unquestionably in her handwriting and that appeared to be written free of duress. No mention was made in this message of any privations or suffering, and there were no pleas for release.

“I wouldn’t be inclined to regard this as in any way distressed,” pronounced the Foreign Office official who passed it on to Stuart. “In fact, your wife appears to be, well-settled, so to speak.”

Stuart did not wish to appear disloyal. “I do hope they release her soon,” he said. He did not sound convinced of his own words, though, and the conversation had been brought to an end.

“Mummy is still busy in the Gulf,” Stuart said to Bertie that night. “I think she has a lot to do there.”

Bertie did not appear at all concerned. “She shouldn’t hurry back, Daddy. Write to her and tell her that everything’s all right here and there’s no hurry for her to come back to Scotland. Tell her that, Daddy, so that she doesn’t worry.”

Overhearing this conversation, Nicola suppressed a smile. She understood the situation perfectly well, and had already noticed now relaxed and happy both Bertie and Ulysses seemed to be. Over the two days that she had so far spent in Edinburgh, Ulysses, in particular, had become much more content and was bringing up his food much less frequently. He had settled to the bedtime she had imposed and slept all through the night, only wakening in the morning when the rest of the household was already up and about.

The patterns of her own day had quickly established themselves. After giving both boys their breakfast, she had prepared Ulysses for the journey on the 23 bus that took Bertie up to Brunstfield. From there they walked the short mile to the Steiner School, where she dropped Bertie off at the gate before making her way home.

There was plenty to fill the morning. She had found Big Lou’s by chance and had decided that this was where she would regularly have her morning coffee. Big Lou prepared foamy milk for Ulysses, and this kept him occupied while Nicola tackled The Scotsman crossword over one of Big Lou’s generous lattes. If there was company, she took advantage of it; she had already had one conversation with Angus Lordie, whom she had met briefly on the stairs, and she had and Matthew had discovered a common interest in Robert Louis Stevenson and, to their mutual surprise and delight, the life and times of Robert the Bruce.

After coffee she wandered up to the National Portrait Gallery or into a bookshop – Ulysses was happy with both these destinations – before returning to the flat for a light lunch. While Ulysses had his after-lunch sleep, Nicola read or did the ironing until it was time for her to collect Bertie from school. It was not a demanding routine, but it had its occasional salience and she took great pleasure in the thought that not only was she helping Stuart in an almost impossible spot, but it was also giving her the time to get to know her grandchildren.

For Bertie, the arrangement was perfect: just as he had hoped she would do, Nicola had cancelled his psychotherapy sessions indefinitely, had contacted the yoga teacher to withdraw him from Yoga for Tots, and had suspended music lessons until further notice. Moreover not a word of Italian had been spoken, although she had taught him the occasional Portuguese expression, mostly ones that could be used to express irritation or to put a curse on somebody one did not like. “Not that we should ever do that, Bertie,” she had warned him. “But it’s good to have these things up one’s sleeve for an emergency, you know.”

There were two highlights of the day, both of which occurred in the evening. One was the bath that Bertie always took after his supper and before bedtime. Under Irene this had been a rather brisk experience, involving only a few inches of lukewarm water and not lasting very long; under Nicola it had been transformed by the addition to the water of a large quantity of Portuguese bubble-bath liquid that she had brought with her. This was so effective that it filled the bath to overflowing with foam, and Bertie was allowed to throw this foam around to his heart’s content. “It’s only foam,” said Nicola. “Foam never harmed anything.”

Ulysses was allowed to join in these baths, shrieking with delight and often disappearing under mountains of foam for several minutes until located again by Bertie. All this was allowed to happen while Nicola made herself a martini in the kitchen and listened to classic recordings of Italian opera. Bertie liked the sound of opera drifting through to the bathroom. “Puccini!” he would cry, tossing foam into the air. “Verdi! Rossini!” He amused himself by transposition: “Puverdi! Versini! Rosscini!” bringing gales of laughter from Ulysses, somewhere under the foam.

After the bath, which often lasted a good three-quarters of an hour, it was time for bed for both of them. Ulysses was settled first, and while this happened Bertie read in his room. Scouting for Boys, previously hidden under the bed to avoid Irene’s censorship, was now openly perused, along with other literary contraband including unexpurgated Enid Blyton and the formerly-banned Just William novels. But this literary fare, compelling though it was, paled beside the story that Nicola began for Bertie once the light was switched out. Sitting on his bed in the dark, she held his hand as she related a story that she had conjured up especially for him, the story of Fersie MacPherson, the Scottish Person.

Bertie listened entranced. Fersie MacPherson, the Scottish Person, lived in Lochaber and earned his living through prize money won at various Highlands Games. He could toss a caber further than anybody in all Argyll, and was adept at other trials of strength conducted at Highland Games up and down the country.

“He was a good man too,” said Nicola. “He would never tolerate any bad behaviour by anybody. If he saw any of that he put an immediate stop to it.”

“How?” asked Bertie. He was thinking of Tofu, who behaved badly and presumably would never be tolerated by Fersie MacPherson.

“Oh,” said Nicola. “He biffed them. Biff! And that put a stop to that.”

Bertie listened open-mouthed and in silence. “I bet they respected him” he said at last.

“Oh they did,” said Nicola. “Immensely.”