Espresso Tales - Alexander Hanchett Smith [148]
Bertie felt weak. It would have been impossible to live down a name like that, and he felt immensely relieved at his narrow escape. But if she had been thinking of calling him Papageno, then what would she have called that baby in the dream?
Irene looked at him. “Your father and I had a discussion last night,” she said. “We talked a little bit about you.”
Bertie looked at his mother impassively. She was always talking 312 The Wind Makes the Trains Sound Faint
about him, although it was perhaps a bit unusual for his father to do so too. He reached for his porridge bowl and poured in the milk.
“Yes,” continued Irene. “We talked about you and we thought that you might like to change things a bit.”
Bertie looked up from his porridge. “Really, Mummy?” He thought quickly. Perhaps this was his chance.
“Could I go and live in a hotel, Mummy?” he asked. “There’s one round the corner in Northumberland Street. I’ve seen it. I could go and live there. You could come and see me now and then.”
Irene smiled. “What nonsense, Bertie!” she said. Bertie looked back at his porridge. The milk was the sea and the lumps of porridge were tiny islands. And his spoon, placed carefully down on the surface of the milk, was a little boat. Perhaps he could go to sea. Perhaps he could sign on as a cabin boy in the Navy and make the captain’s tea. Bertie had read one of the Patrick O’Brian books and he made it sound so much fun, although the parts where the ships did battle were rather frightening. However, it wouldn’t be like that these days, he thought, now that the European Union had stopped British ships firing upon Spanish or French ships. Perhaps they just met at sea these days and exchanged new European regulations.
“Yes,” went on Irene. “We’ve been thinking, your father and I, that maybe you should do more of the things you really want to do. Would you like that, Bertie?”
Bertie smiled at his mother. “Very much,” he said. He was pleased, but still rather doubtful. He was not sure whether his mother really understood what he wanted to do. Would he be let off yoga today?
“So, Bertie,” said Irene, “I thought that although today is Saturday, and we normally have double yoga on a Saturday, we might skip it .”
“Oh thank you!” shouted Bertie. “Thank you, Mummy!”
“And instead,” continued Irene, “we shall . . .”
Bertie’s face fell as he wondered what the alternative would be. Double Italian? Or perhaps the floatarium?
The Wind Makes the Trains Sound Faint
313
“We shall get Daddy,” said Irene, “we shall get Daddy to take you up to the Princes Street Gardens. You can climb that bit underneath the castle there and look down on the trains. Would you like that, Bertie?”
Bertie let out a whoop of delight. “I’d love that, Mummy. We could see the trains leaving for Glasgow!”
Irene smiled. “An unusual pleasure, in my view,” she mused.
“But there we are. Chacun à son goût. ”
Bertie finished his porridge quickly and then returned to his room to put on a sweater. It was a warm day for the time of the year, but by wearing a sweater he could cover the top part of his dungarees and people would not necessarily think that he was wearing them. From a distance, and if they did not look too closely, they might even think that he was wearing nothing more unusual than red jeans. That is what he hoped for, anyway. Stuart emerged shortly after Bertie had got himself ready. After a quick breakfast, with Bertie champing at the bit to be out, they left the flat and Scotland Street and began to walk up the hill towards Princes Street. It was a fine morning and when they reached Princes Street the flags on the flagpoles were fluttering proudly in a strong breeze from the west. 314 The Ramsey Dunbarton Story: Part VII – Bridge at Blair Atholl
“It makes you proud, doesn’t it, Bertie?” said Stuart. “Look at the wonderful scene. The flags. The Castle. The statues. Doesn’t it make you proud to be Scottish, to be part of all this?”
“Aye, it does that, Faither,” said Bertie.
They