The World According to Bertie - Alexander Hanchett Smith [75]
Bertie nodded. ‘Most of the time he tells fibs,’ he said. ‘So I don’t really believe him.’
‘Rather wise,’ said Stuart.
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes while Big Lou prepared the order, which she then brought across. Bertie stared appreciatively at the large glass of orange-coloured fizzy drink that was placed before him and the sizeable chunk of rich Dundee cake under its mantle of whipped cream. He looked up at Big Lou and smiled. ‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘Aye, well, that’s the stuff that a boy needs,’ she said. ‘Especially after a music lesson.’ She nodded in the direction of the saxophone case. ‘Is that your trumpet, Bertie?’
‘It’s a saxophone,’ said Bertie. ‘The saxophone was invented by Adolf Sax, who was a Belgian . . .’ He did not finish his explanation. The man who had been talking to Big Lou, and who was still standing at the bar, now turned round.
‘A sax?’ he said. ‘And you play it?’
Bertie looked at his interlocutor. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I can play jazz, and some other things. I used to play “As Time Goes By” a lot, but now I’ve got a new piece from Mr Morrison.’
Big Lou, who was standing nearby, thought it time to effect introductions. ‘This is my old friend, Alan Steadman,’ she said. ‘His cousin married my cousin, up in Kirriemuir. He runs a jazz show on Radio Tay. And a club too. Near Arbroath.’
‘Arbroath?’ said Stuart. ‘Is there jazz up there?’
Big Lou rounded on him. ‘What do you mean, is there jazz up there? Of course there’s jazz in Arbroath.’
‘Hospitalfield, actually,’ said Alan. ‘Do you know it? It’s an art college these days, but, as it happens, we do have a monthly jazz club there. There are lots of people round about who like to listen to jazz. We get great players going up there, you know. Brian Kellock’s coming up in a few weeks’ time. He’s based here in Edinburgh, but comes up to Arbroath now and then. Great pianist.’
‘Aye, he’s that,’ joined in Big Lou. ‘He did a great Fats Waller tribute some time ago. I heard it.’
‘You should come up and listen,’ said Alan. ‘You and your dad. You’d be very welcome, you know.’
‘Aye,’ said Big Lou. ‘I’ll come along with you. It’s about time somebody went up to Arbroath.’
Stuart smiled. Why should he and Bertie not go up to Arbroath with Big Lou and listen to jazz together? He would have to find the car first, of course, but after that . . . Well, why not?
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘We’ll come.’ He looked at Bertie, who was busy drinking his Irn-Bru through a straw.
‘Great stuff, that,’ said Alan Steadman. ‘Made from girders.’
And sugar, thought Stuart.
50. Bertie asks about Ulysses
They walked back to Scotland Street, hand in hand, Stuart and Bertie, father and son. The visit to Big Lou’s had been an unqualified success– in every respect. Two generous pieces of Dundee cake had been followed by three large squares of vanilla tablet, and the whole thing had been washed down with a couple of brimming glasses of Barr’s Irn-Bru. That had been Bertie’s portion. For his part, Stuart had restricted himself to a large cup of café latte and a dovetail-shaped piece of Big Lou’s home-baked shortbread; more modest fare than that of his son, but for both of them it had been perfect.
The invitation extended by Big Lou’s friend, Alan Steadman, had been an agreeable bonus. They would all three of them – Stuart, Big Lou and Bertie – travel up to Arbroath for the next jazz evening at Hospitalfield. Alan wrote out the details on a piece of paper, along with the directions, and scribbled down his telephone number in case they should need to contact him. Everything was satisfactorily arranged. And if they left early enough on the Saturday afternoon, Big Lou promised, they would be able to call in at her cousin’s farm, and Bertie could look at the two retired Clydesdale horses who lived there. That was also agreed, and duly planned for.
‘What will Mummy do while we’re up in Arbroath?’ asked Bertie, as they made their way back round Drummond Place.
Stuart thought for a moment. ‘She’ll stay and look after Ulysses,’ he answered. ‘Ulysses, you