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the property by painting it and by installing a new microwave and a new bath before deciding to offer it for rent. Antonia was indifferent to the fresh paint, the microwave and the bath, but keen on the view from the sitting room and the prospect of having Domenica as a neighbour. Negotiations for the lease had been swift and Antonia now had the keys to the flat and could move in at any time she wished. Antonia, having gone out to purchase one or two things for the kitchen, returned to No 44 to discover a small boy sitting on the stone stairs, staring up into the air. She had seen this small boy once or twice before. On one occasion she had spotted him walking up the street with his very pregnant mother (he had been trying to avoid stepping on the lines and was being roundly encouraged by his mother to hurry up), and on another she had seen him in Valvona & Crolla, again with his mother, who was lecturing him on the qualities of a good olive oil. She knew that he belonged to No 44 and she thought she knew which flat it was, but apart from that she knew nothing about him, neither his name, nor how old he was, nor where he went to school.

“Well,” she said as she drew level with him on the stairs,

“here you are, sitting on the stairs. And if I knew your name –

which I don’t – I would be able to say hallo whoever you are. But I don’t – unless you care to tell me.”

Bertie looked up at Antonia. This was the lady who lived upstairs, the woman whom his mother had described as “yet another frightful old blue stocking”. Bertie had been puzzled by this; now here was an opportunity for clarification.

“I’m called Bertie,” he said politely.

“And I’m Antonia,” said Antonia.

Bertie squinted at Antonia. “I think my Mummy must be wrong about you,” he said.

340 On the Stairs

“Oh yes?” said Antonia. “What does Mummy say about me?”

“She said that you wear blue stockings,” said Bertie. “But I don’t think you do, do you?”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Antonia. “Oh really?”

she said. “You’re right. Mummy has got it wrong.” She paused.

“Tell Mummy that you asked me about that, and I said to tell her that I don’t wear blue stockings. Will you tell her that?”

“Yes,” said Bertie. “If she listens. Sometimes she doesn’t listen to what I say. Or what Daddy says either.”

Antonia smiled. “That’s sad,” she said. “But surely somebody listens to you, Bertie. What about at school? Surely your teacher listens to what you have to say.”

Bertie looked down at his feet. “Miss Harmony listens sometimes,” he said. “But not always. She didn’t listen to me when I said that I didn’t want to be Captain von Trapp in The Sound of Music. She made me be Captain von Trapp.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Antonia. “But perhaps there wasn’t anybody else who wanted to play the part. Maybe that’s why you had to do it.”

“But there were plenty of people who wanted to be Captain von Trapp,” said Bertie. “There’s a boy called Tofu. He really wanted to be Captain von Trapp. But she wouldn’t let him.”

“But I’m sure that he would understand.”

Bertie shook his head. “No,” he said. “He didn’t. And there’s a girl called Olive. She wanted to be Maria, but wasn’t allowed to be. She didn’t understand either.”

“Dear me,” said Antonia. “But I’m sure everything will go well in the end.”

“No it won’t,” said Bertie. “And now Tofu and Olive both hate me.”

Antonia stared down at Bertie. He was a most unusual child, she thought; rather appealing, in a funny sort of way, and she found herself feeling sorry for him. These little spats of childhood loomed terribly large in one’s life at the time, even if they tended to disappear very quickly. It was not always fun being a child, just as it had not always been fun being a medieval Scottish saint. Poor little boy!

On the Stairs 341

“Well, cheer up, Bertie,” said Antonia. “Even if things aren’t going well in The Sound of Music, isn’t Mummy going to have a new baby? Doesn’t that make you excited? You and Daddy must be very pleased about that.”

Bertie shook his head. “I don’t think that Daddy is pleased,”

he said. “He