The World According to Bertie - Alexander Hanchett Smith [61]
‘Yes,’ said Bertie. ‘She stuck the needle into my arm – there, just about there – and then she squirted the blood into a little bottle. She said she was going to do some tests on it and would let me know the result.’
‘Well, I’m sorry to hear about that,’ said Angus. ‘She shouldn’t have been playing with needles.’
‘She said that the needle was a clean one,’ said Bertie. ‘It was all wrapped up in plastic and she had to take it out.’
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Angus. ‘But why did you let her do this? I wouldn’t.’
‘I thought that she was just pretending,’ said Bertie. ‘So I closed my eyes. Then the next thing I knew she had the needle in my arm and was telling me not to move or it would go all the way through to the other side.’
Angus extracted a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. ‘How very unpleasant for you, Bertie,’ he said. ‘Did you tell your mother about this?’
‘Yes,’ said Bertie. ‘I ran through and told her, but I don’t think she heard me. She just started to talk to Olive, who was pretending that nothing had happened. She’s very cunning that way.’
‘I can imagine that,’ said Angus. ‘Well, Bertie, I don’t know what to say, other than to suggest that you give Olive a wide berth in the future. But I suppose that’s difficult. And I certainly won’t say to you that you should cheer yourself up by thinking of how many other people are worse off than you are yourself. The contemplation of the toothache of another does very little to help one’s own toothache, you know.’
Bertie nodded. ‘Daddy sometimes says: worse things happen at sea. But when I ask him what these worse things are, he can’t tell me. Do you know what they are, Mr Lordie?’
Angus thought for a moment. Terrible things undoubtedly happened at sea, but he did not think it appropriate to tell Bertie about them. ‘Oh, this and that, Bertie,’ he said. ‘It’s best not to talk about these things.’
Bertie appeared to accept this. He looked up at Angus and asked: ‘Mr Lordie, you said that you were unhappy too. Why are you unhappy?’
‘My dog,’ said Angus. ‘He’s in the pound. He’s been accused of biting people in Northumberland Street.’
Bertie thought for a moment. ‘That’s another dog,’ he said eventually. ‘It looks like your dog, but it’s another one. I’ve seen it.’
Angus hardly dared speak. ‘Are you sure?’ he whispered.
‘Of course,’ said Bertie. ‘There’s a dog who lives in a basement flat in Northumberland Street. They let him wander about. And he’s a very bad dog – he tried to bite me once in Drummond Place Gardens, but I ran away in time.’
Angus could barely contain his excitement. ‘Bertie!’ he said. ‘Would you be able to help me find that dog? Would you?’
‘Of course,’ said Bertie. ‘I can show you where he lives. But you’ll have to ask my mother if I’m allowed.’
‘I most certainly shall,’ said Angus. ‘Oh, Bertie, you excellent boy! You have no idea what this means to me.’
‘That’s all right, Mr Lordie,’ said Bertie. ‘And I’m glad that you’re happy again.’
‘Happy?’ exclaimed Angus. ‘I’m ecstatic!’
41. Blood is Thicker than Whisky
‘I’ve just had the most extraordinary conversation,’ said Angus, as he entered Domenica’s flat. ‘I met that funny little boy from down below. He was sitting on one of the stairs, like Christopher Robin, his head bowed, looking utterly miserable.’
‘It’s his mother,’ said Domenica. ‘She’s a frightful woman. That poor little boy has the most terrible time at her hands. She’s always banging on about Melanie Klein and the like, while all that poor wee Bertie wants to do is to have a normal boyhood. He’s mad keen on trains, I believe, but she, of course, thinks that his time is better spent in yoga lessons. Yoga lessons! I ask you, Angus. What six-year-old boy wants to do yoga?’
‘There might be some,’ mused Angus. ‘In these ashrams, or whatever. Some of the monks are tiny – young boys, really.’
‘Those are Buddhists,’ said Domenica. ‘You really should get your facts right, Angus. Buddhists meditate – there are some Buddhist schools of yoga, but generally the Buddhists don