The World According to Bertie - Alexander Hanchett Smith [35]
Bertie thought quickly. He found that one of the best strategies with his mother was to distract her in some way, to change the subject, and this is what he now did.
‘Olive said that she was going to come to my house,’ he said.
‘Our house,’ corrected Irene. ‘Bertie lives there with Mummy and Daddy and, of course, dear little Ulysses. And yes, è vero, I have invited Olive. I spoke to her mummy at the school gate and suggested that Olive should come down to Scotland Street one afternoon a week. This will suit her mummy, who is doing a degree course at the university, you see. And it will be nice to have somebody for you to play with. You’ll have a lot of fun.’
Bertie stared at his mother. ‘I don’t want to play with Olive, Mummy. She’s very bossy.’
Irene laughed. ‘Bossy? Olive? Come now, Bertie, she’s a charming little girl. You two will get on like a house on fire.’
‘I want to play with other boys,’ said Bertie.
Irene patted him on the shoulder. ‘There’ll be time for that later on, Bertie. You’ll find that Olive is plenty of fun to play with – more fun, in fact, than boys. And, anyway, we have agreed and we can hardly uninvite Olive, can we?’
Bertie said nothing. Long experience of his mother – all six years of it – had taught him that there was no point in arguing. He looked at Ulysses, who had now woken up and had opened his eyes. The baby was staring at Bertie with that steady, intense stare that only babies can manage. Bertie looked back at his little brother. Poor little boy, he thought. Just you wait. Just you wait until she starts on you. Mozart. Yoga. Melanie Klein . . .
Ulysses’ gaze drifted away from Bertie and up towards Irene. Immediately, he began to cry.
‘He’s hungry,’ said Irene. And with that she loosened the sling and began to unbutton her blouse.
‘Can’t he wait, Mummy?’ whispered Bertie. ‘Please let him wait.’
‘Babies can’t,’ said Irene, now exposing her breast. ‘Here, darling. Mummy’s ready.’
Bertie froze. He dared not look across the aisle to where that boy was sitting, but then he snatched a quick glance and saw the boy staring at the scene, his face full of disgust. Bertie looked away quickly. I want to die, he thought suddenly. I just don’t want to be here.
Ulysses was making guzzling sounds, and then burped.
24. Slip/lapse Errors
Angus Lordie, of course, did not yet know of his apparent good fortune. Had he known, his mood might have lifted, but then again it might not: Cyril was still detained, and life without Cyril was proving hard.
Cyril had been a constant presence in his life for the last six years. When he was working in his studio, Cyril would be there, lying in the basket provided for him in a corner, watching Angus with half an eye, ready to respond to the slightest sign that it was time for a walk. And when he went down to the Cumberland Bar to sit at his usual table and pass the time in conversation, Cyril would accompany him, lying under the table, guarding the small dish of beer which was his ration for the night. Cyril did not disagree with anything that Angus said or did; Cyril would wait for hours for the slightest acknowledgement of his presence by his master, wagging his tail with undisguised enthusiasm whenever his name was uttered. Cyril never complained; never indicated that he wanted things to be otherwise than they were as disposed by Angus. And now that Cyril was gone, there was a great, yawning void in Angus Lordie’s life.
Ever since Cyril’s arrest, on suspicion of biting, Angus had done his utmost for him. He had immediately contacted his lawyer, who had been extremely supportive.
‘We’ll get him out,’ the