44 Scotland Street: Today’s news

The twenty-ninth installment of Alexander McCall Smith’s daily novel

Volume 9

Episode 29

ALTHOUGH Bertie had planned to say nothing about his birthday at school that day, the matter was brought up in a daily slot in the class timetable, Today’s News. This was an opportunity for any member of the class to report on events of significance. Pansy, for example, had entertained the class the previous day with an account of her mother’s purchase of a Maltese Terrier, and the day before that Larch had reported on his victory at his boxing class. Boxing was not a sport appreciated at the Steiner School, and the teacher had listened in pained silence as Larch described the bloody nose that he had inflicted upon his opponent.

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Picture: Submitted

“There was blood everywhere,” he said. “On his face. On his shirt. Tons of blood.”

“Gross!” exclaimed Olive. “You’re disgusting!”

“You shut your face, Olive,” warned Larch.

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Their new teacher, Mr Cowie, had intervened. “We’ll have none of that language, please, Larch. And I feel that Olive does have a point, even if her criticism was somewhat personal. I don’t think boxing sounds a very nice sport, quite frankly.”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Pansy. “Olive’s right.”

Tofu came in on Larch’s side. “Boxing builds character,” he said. “That’s what it’s meant to do, isn’t it, Larch? It also teaches you to look after yourself, so that if anybody comes up to you in the street and pushes you around you can break their nose.”

“Yes,” said Larch. “That’s why I do it. And there are lots of girls doing it now. There are three in my group at the sports centre.”

“Those are really sad girls,” pronounced Olive.

Pansy agreed. “Nobody will marry girls like that,” she said. ‘They’re destined for lives of disappointment, Mr Cowie. Just like you. It’s really sad.”

The discussion had proved inconclusive, and the topic had been abandoned. Now, however, a far less controversial matter was being mooted.

“There’s some very important news today,” announced Mr Cowie. “Today, girls and boys, is Bertie’s birthday! Bertie Pollock is seven, and I suggest that we all give him a round of applause! All together now, clap clap!”

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The class clapped, and Bertie looked down at the floor in embarrassment.

“Bertie,” said Mr Cowie, “perhaps you’d like to say a few words.”

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Bertie looked at the teacher. “I haven’t really got much to say, Mr Cowie. I’m just seven – that’s all.”

The teacher smiled. “Perhaps you’d tell us what it feels like to have a birthday. Do you feel any different, do you think, or is it pretty much the same? What difference does a birthday make, Bertie?”

The class looked at Bertie expectantly. “I don’t think I feel all that different,” he said. “But I think it’s better to be seven than to be six.”

“Now that’s very interesting, Bertie,” said the teacher. “Tell me: why is it better to be seven than to be six?”

Bertie thought. “I think you feel a bit bigger inside,” he said. “I think it sounds a bit more important to be seven than to be six.”

The teacher nodded. “Very interesting, Bertie. Do you think that people will listen to you a bit more now that you’re seven?”

“Yes,” said Bertie. “I think they will.”

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“You’re probably right,” said the teacher. “But tell us now, Bertie: did you get any presents this morning?”

Bertie froze. It was exactly the question that he had hoped would be avoided. For a moment he toyed with the idea of saying no, but he was a truthful child and he did not feel that he could lie. If he started to lie, he would be putting himself on the same level as Larch or Tofu, both of whom lied with enthusiasm, and at every opportunity. He would not do that.

“Maybe,” he muttered.

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“Maybe?” said Mr Cowie. “Does that mean yes or no? Surely you received some presents this morning, Bertie?”

Bertie bit his lip. “My baby brother, Ulysses, gave me something,” he said.

“He’s really only your half-brother,” said Olive in a loud stage-whisper.

Mr Cowie looked at Olive with disapproval.

“It’s true,” she said.

“It isn’t,” said Bertie. ‘You’ve got no right, Olive…”

“But its true,” retorted Olive. “My Mummy said that Ulysses looks exactly like your old psychotherapist, Bertie. That stupid psychotherapist who ran away to Aberdeen. My Mummy says that everyone knows that your Mummy got the psychotherapist to help her make Ulysses. Everyone, Bertie. That means all of Edinburgh, and probably one or two people in Glasgow too. I think it was in the newspapers.”

Bertie stared at Olive with outrage. “You mustn’t say things like that, Olive,” he began.

He did not finish. “Olive!” snapped Mr Cowie. “That’s very rude. And it’s unkind. You mustn’t say things like that.” He paused. “Don’t pay any attention to her, Bertie. Now tell us, what did Ulysses give you?”

“He gave me a Junior UN Peacekeeping Set,” said Bertie.

“How very nice!” enthused Mr Cowie.

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“What?” snorted Tofu scornfully. “A UN Peacekeeping Set? That’s rubbish, Bertie. The UN’s just rubbish.”

“The UN is not rubbish, Tofu,” said Mr Cowie. “The UN is a great organisation – our only hope really. But let’s not get bogged down in such matters – tell me, Bertie, what did you get from your parents? They must have given you a present.”

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Bertie was aware that all eyes were on him. He looked out of the window. If only a hurricane would suddenly brew up; if only there were to be a major earthquake, or a bolt of lightning. If only something were to happen to distract attention from this awkward situation.

No natural disaster obliged.

“Well, Bertie?” pressed Mr Cowie. “I’m sure they gave you something nice. What was it?”

He spoke so quietly they almost failed to hear him. “An action figure,” he said.

“Cool!” said Larch. “One of those super-heroes?”

Bertie wondered whether Jo could by any stretch of the imagination be called a super-hero.

“Maybe,” he said.

Tofu was looking at him strangely, as if trying to make sense of something.

“I think Bertie’s fibbing,” he said. “I think it was something else. His Mum’s really weird, you know. I bet she gave him a doll. Was it a doll, Bertie?”

Bertie stood quite still.

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“I think that’s quite enough,” said Mr Cowie. “Thank you very much, Bertie, for sharing all that with us. And Happy Birthday from all of us!”

There were echoed calls of Happy Birthday from the various corners of the room. But Bertie did not really hear those; what he heard was the laughter of Tofu and Larch. What he heard was Tofu whispering to Larch, “Poor Bertie,” he said. “A doll! Imagine getting a doll when you’re a boy! How gay is that?”

THE STORY SO FAR

UP TO EPISODE 3

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Normally, a seventh birthday party is something to be eagerly looked forward to – especially when one is six. And Bertie Pollock, in his last week of being six, would normally be looking forward to his seventh birthday party very much indeed. Unfortunately, his mother Irene, insists on a guest list of gender-equality, and that means that Olive will be invited too. For Bertie, this stirs memories of Olive’s own seventh birthday party, when he discovered to his horror that not only was he the only boy invited, but that he was expected to play a game Olive had devised called Jane Austen. …. in which he was expected to play the role of Mr Darcy...

UP TO EPISODE 5

Psychiatrist’s daughter Pat Macgregor is beginning to worry about her father. There hasn’t been a woman in his life since her mother left him to move in with a woman she met on a botanical course in Dundee. So why is he, all of a sudden, having his hair cut by a woman called Angie at a unisex salon in Bruntsfield? Who is he trying to impress?

UP TO EPISODE 7

Convinced her father is having a mid-life crisis (well, how else do you explain a man who has always only ever worn black socks now wearing striped ones?) Pat sets about trying to find out more. And when her father, having escorted her to the bus-stop and said goodbye, heads off in another direction, she decides to follow him …

UP TO EPISODE 9

Meanwhile, for anthropologist Domenica Macdonald, married life is taking some adjusting to. This isn’t the fault of her new husband, Angus Lordie – or at least not knowingly his fault. All the same, some questions have to be asked – for example, why does he mutter about the Declaration of Arbroath in his sleep? And why, when sleepwalking, does he appear to be looking for it in the kitchen drawers? Time, suggests Domenica, to make a n appointment with a sleep expert at the Royal Edinburgh. There’s a man she knows there who might be able to help. A psychiatrist called Dr Macgregor ...

UP TO EPISODE 11

Depressed at the thought that he might require the attentions of a psychiatrist, Angus heads off to the Cumberland Bar for a ruminative pint. Once there, his dog Cyril is served his customary dish of Guinness. Soon they are joined by Matthew, also out for a ruminative pint after finishing work for the day before returning to face the noise and nappies of his toddler triplets. He clearly isn’t thinking straight, and pours half a pint of lager into Cyril’s dish. Canine drunkenness beckons.

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

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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

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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.....

© 2013 Alexander McCall Smith

• 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]