The World According to Bertie - Alexander Hanchett Smith [102]
Big Lou shrugged. ‘Well, Prince Charlie didn’t get there,’ she said.
‘If he had,’ mused Matthew, ‘we’d have had more bishops.’
Big Lou looked thoughtful. ‘Robbie . . .’ she began.
‘I know,’ said Matthew. ‘He’s got this thing about them, hasn’t he? He’s a Jacobite, I gather. I suppose that it’s a harmless enough bit of historical enthusiasm. Like those people who re-enact battles. What do they call themselves? The Sealed Knot Society or something. You know, Lou, I was going for a walk in the hills above Dollar once and suddenly a whole horde of people came screaming down the slope. And suddenly I saw this chap in front of me dressed in sacking and wielding a claymore. And do you know who it was? It was an Edinburgh lawyer! Very strange. That’s how he spent his Sundays, apparently.’
67. We All Need to Believe in Something
Big Lou stepped back from the counter and started to fiddle with her coffee machine. ‘Men need hobbies,’ she began. ‘Women are usually far too busy with looking after the bairns and running the home and so on. Men have to find some outlet – now that they no longer need to hunt in packs.’
Matthew smiled. ‘So dressing up in sackcloth and pretending to be some ancient clan warrior is entirely healthy?’
‘Well, it’s not unhealthy,’ said Big Lou. ‘It’s odd, I suppose. But it’s male play, isn’t it? There are all sorts of male play, Matthew.’
‘Such as?’
Big Lou ladled coffee into a small conical container and pressed the grounds down with an inverted spoon. ‘Golf clubs,’ she said. ‘Car rallies. Football. The Masons. The list goes on and on.’
‘And don’t women play?’ asked Matthew.
Big Lou switched on the machine, stood back, and wiped her hands. ‘Not so much, you know. We women are much more practical. We just don’t feel the need.’
‘Very interesting,’ said Matthew. ‘But to get back to Robbie and his friends. Is it play, do you think, or are they serious?’
Big Lou looked up at the ceiling. She was not sure that it was that simple. Play involved a suspension of disbelief, but once that step was taken, then one might imagine that everything was very serious. ‘Do you go to the theatre?’ she asked. ‘Or the cinema?’
‘Yes,’ said Matthew, and he thought: but I don’t really go to anything these days.
‘Well, when you’re in the cinema, you believe in what’s happening on the screen, don’t you? You engage with the actors and with what’s happening to them. You believe in it, although you know it’s not real.’
‘I suppose I do,’ said Matthew. ‘Everyone does. Everyone wants the men in the white hats to sort out the men in the black hats. Or they used to. Maybe it’s different now.’
‘I don’t know about hats,’ said Big Lou. ‘But the point is this. Robbie and his friends know that there are not many of them. They know that there’ll never be a restitution of the Stuarts. But they act as if it’s possible because . . .’ She trailed off.
For Matthew, this was the most interesting part. How could people hold on to so evidently lost a cause, and expect to be taken seriously? ‘Well, Lou,’ he pressed. ‘Why?’
The coffee machine was beginning to hiss, and Lou reached out to operate a small lever that released steam into the jug of milk she had placed below it. ‘Because we need to believe in something,’ she said. ‘Otherwise our lives are empty. You can believe in anything, you know, Matthew. Art. Music. God. As long as you have something.’
Matthew knew that this was true. He would not have expressed the idea in that way, but he knew that what Big Lou said was true. And it was as true of him as it was of Robbie. Robbie believed in something while he, Matthew, believed in nothing,