The World According to Bertie - Alexander Hanchett Smith [72]
They had once gone through to Glasgow together on the train, and that had been such a success; or at least the journey itself had been. The meeting in Glasgow with that dreadful Lard O’Connor had been a bit of a nightmare, Stuart recalled, but they had emerged unscathed, and Irene and Bertie’s subsequent encounter with Lard, when he had shown up unannounced in Scotland Street, had been mercifully brief. It was important that Bertie should know that such people as Lard O’Connor and his henchmen existed, that he should not think that the whole world was like Edinburgh. There were people who did assume that, and who were rudely surprised when they travelled furth of the city; going to London, for example, could be a terrible shock for people from Edinburgh.
Stuart wanted to spend more time with Bertie and – the awkward thought came unbidden – less time with Irene. That was a terrible thought, and he suppressed it immediately. He loved and admired Irene, even if she was sometimes a bit outspoken in her convictions. Then another awkward thought intruded: if he wanted to spend less time with Irene, Bertie probably wanted exactly the same thing. But should I, a father, he asked himself, try to save my son from his mother? Was there a general answer to that, he wondered, an answer for all fathers and all sons, or did it depend on the mother?
48. Bertie and Stuart go Out
‘Ask Lewis Morrison when he thinks Bertie will be ready for his Grade Eight exam,’ said Irene, as Stuart helped Bertie into his coat.
‘But he’s just done his Grade Seven,’ Stuart pointed out. ‘Two months ago.’ He looked down at Bertie and patted him on the shoulder. ‘And we got a distinction, didn’t we, my boy?’
‘The sight reading was a very easy piece,’ said Bertie modestly. ‘Even Ulysses could have played it. If his fingers were long enough.’
‘There you are,’ said Irene. ‘Bertie’s obviously ready for the next hurdle.’
Bertie listened to this solemnly, but said nothing. He did not mind doing music exams, which for the most part he found very easy, but he wished that he had slightly fewer of them. He had thought that Grade Eight of the Associated Board of the Royal Schools of Music was the highest examination available, and he had been dismayed when Irene had pointed out that it was possible to do examinations beyond that – in particular the Licentiate. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to fail Grade Eight, deliberately, and continue to fail it at every resitting. But he had tried that technique with his audition for the Edinburgh Teenage Orchestra and had only succeeded in getting himself accepted into the orchestra immediately. He looked up at his father. ‘Why all these hurdles, Daddy?’ he whispered.
‘What was that, Bertie?’ his father asked.
Bertie glanced at Irene. She was watching him.
‘He said he enjoys hurdles,’ said Irene. ‘So just ask Lewis for the details – set pieces and all the rest. Then Bertie can get cracking.’
‘People who do Grade Eight are usually much older,’ said Bertie. ‘Sixteen, at least.’
Irene reached forward and ruffled his hair fondly. ‘But you’re exceptional, Bertie,’ she said. ‘You’re very lucky. I don’t wish to swell your little head, Bertie, but you are not the average boy.’
Bertie swallowed hard. He wanted so much to be the average boy, but he knew that this would forever be beyond his reach. The average boy, he knew, had