The World According to Bertie 4ss-4

by Alexander McCall Smith

  Olive Has News of Bertie’s Blood Test 259

  That had been some days ago, and Bertie hoped that Olive had forgotten all about the test, whatever it was, that she was proposing to conduct. He wondered if he could ask for his blood back, and if it could be injected back into him – by a proper nurse this time.

  But he thought that it was probably too late for that, and this was confirmed when Olive eventually trapped him in the playground.

  “No, don’t go away, Bertie,” she said. “I need to talk to you.”

  Bertie looked about him desperately. At the other side of the playground, Tofu and several other boys were engaged in some game; they had not noticed Bertie, and so no help would come from that quarter. Bertie decided to go on the attack.

  “I want my blood back,” he said.

  Olive laughed. “Why? Why do you want it back?”

  “I want it injected back in,” said Bertie. “You didn’t ask me properly before you took it.”

  Olive laughed, screwing up her eyes in amusement. “Oh, Bertie,” she crowed, “you’re so silly! Everybody knows that blood goes dry and hard after a while, especially your yucky sort of blood. You can’t put it back in.”

  Bertie frowned. Every day on the bus he went past the Blood Transfusion Service in Lauriston Place. He had asked his mother about this, and it had been explained to him that blood was taken there and stored until needed for transfusion. Olive, he thought, was clearly lying.

  “What about blood transfusions, then?” he challenged. “Don’t you know about those?”

  Olive, who could not bear to be bettered in any discussion, took a moment or two to compose herself. “Those are different,”

  she said. “I would have thought that you would have known how they do that.”

  Bertie waited for her to continue, but she did not.

  “Well?” he said. “How are they different?”

  Olive waved a hand airily. “I haven’t got time to go into all that,” she said. “I need to talk to you about the tests I did. I did some tests, you see, then I threw your blood away. Into the rubbish bin, in fact.”

  260 Olive Has News of Bertie’s Blood Test Bertie glared at her in anger. But he was experiencing another emotion too – anxiety. One part of him did not believe that Olive had been able to carry out any tests at all, but another remembered advertisements he had seen for various home-testing kits. It was just possible, perhaps, that Olive had got her hands on one of these and had subjected his blood sample to some procedure or other. He shuddered.

  “Worried?” asked Olive. “Well, that’s quite understandable, Bertie. It’s not knowing that’s the worst. That’s what everybody says.”

  “Not knowing what?” asked Bertie. He tried to sound strong and insouciant, but that was not how his voice came out.

  “Not knowing the result of a test,” said Olive calmly. “But you mustn’t worry too much, Bertie – yet. I promise I’ll tell you gently.”

  He gasped. He opened his mouth to say something, but Olive silenced him. “Not very good news, I’m afraid,” she said. “You’ve tested positive for leprosy. Sorry about that, Bertie.”

  Bertie stared at Olive. He looked at her fingers, hoping that he would see them crossed – a sure sign that she was telling lies.

  But there was no sign of that. All he saw was Olive looking at him sympathetically, a concerned frown on her brow.

  “Leprosy is a very serious disease,” Olive went on. “It’s quite rare these days, you know. There’s hardly any at the school.”

  “What happens . . . ?” Bertie stuttered.

  “Well,” said Olive. “Your nose can fall off. And your fingers too. It’s not very nice. That’s why lepers are given a bell. They ring it to warn people to keep away.”

  Bertie reached up and felt his nose. It seemed to be fastened securely enough. He looked at his fingers again; these seemed unaffected.

  “How do you catch it?” Bertie asked.

  “I’ve been reading about it in the encyclopaedia,” said Olive.

  “They say that it’s very difficult to get. You have to have very close contact with somebody who has it.”

  “By shaking hands?” asked Bertie. If that was so, then Tofu Question Time for the Boys – and for Olive 261

  would have it too. He and Bertie had shaken hands the previous day when they had agreed to swap comics. Would this mean that Tofu would have leprosy too?

  As it happened, Tofu was now making his way across the playground to join them.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked.

  “Olive says that I’ve got leprosy,” said Bertie. And then he added, “And if I have, then you might have it too, Tofu. I shook hands with you yesterday, remember?”

  Tofu looked at Olive, who stared back at him defiantly, as would one who had science on her side. “Oh yes?” he said. “And can you get it from the spit of somebody who’s got it?”

  “Of course,” said Olive. “That’s an easy way to get it.”

  Tofu smiled at Bertie, and then turned back to face Olive.

  “In that case,” he said, “you’ve got it too!”

  And with that, he spat at her.

  Olive screamed. It was an extremely loud scream, high and painful on the ear, and although there was a certain amount of background noise in the playground, it carried.

  Inside the building, Miss Harmony, who was enjoying a cup of tea in the staff room, leapt to her feet and looked out of the window before she hurried out to deal with the emergency.

  “Olive!” she cried, as she ran towards the screaming girl.

  “What on earth’s wrong?”

  Olive opened her eyes. “These boys spat at me, Miss Harmony,”

  she said. “I was just talking to them and they spat at me.”

  Miss Harmony sighed. Her task in life was every bit as difficult, she thought, as that taken on by the late Dr Livingstone.

  78. Question Time for the Boys – and for Olive Inside the classroom, while the rest of the class busied itself with an arithmetical exercise, Miss Harmony took Tofu and Bertie to one side.

  262 Question Time for the Boys – and for Olive

  “Now, I don’t think I really need to say how disappointed I am,” the teacher began. “Spitting at somebody is not only a very unkind thing to do, it’s also very insanitary. You know that, don’t you? Both of you know that you should never spit at another person.”

  “I didn’t,” said Tofu. “She’s lying, Miss Harmony. Olive tells lies all the time. Everybody knows that.”

  Bertie drew in his breath. Tofu was telling a bare-faced lie now, and he marvelled at his ability to do so. Surely Miss Harmony would know that he was lying or, worse than that, she might ask Bertie if it were true. That worried Bertie: it was one thing for Tofu to lie to Miss Harmony, quite another for him to do the same thing. In fact, he would never be able to do it.

  “Now, Tofu,” said Miss Harmony. “Why would Olive tell me that you boys had spat at her if you hadn’t? And, anyway, I noticed that there was something on her face.”

  “That was slime,” said Tofu. “That had nothing to do with me.”

  Miss Harmony turned to Bertie. “Now, Bertie,” she said.

  “You’re a truthful boy, aren’t you? You tell me: did you spit at Olive?”

  Bertie thought for a moment. He could answer this question quite truthfully. He had not spat at Olive, and he could tell Miss Harmony that. “No,” he said, with some indignation. “I didn’t spit at her, Miss Harmony. Cross my heart, I didn’t.”

  “And Tofu, then?” asked the teacher. “Can you tell me, Bertie, did Tofu spit at Olive?”

  Bertie looked at Tofu. The other boy had been looking away, but now he shot a glance at Bertie and made a quick throat-slitting gesture with his hand. He did it quickly, but not quickly enough for Miss Harmony not to notice it.

  “I see,” said the teacher. “Ignore that, please, Bertie. Tofu has just confirmed his guilt.”

  T
ofu flushed. “It was her fault, Miss Harmony,” he protested.

  “She told Bertie that he had leprosy.”

  Miss Harmony frowned. “Bertie, did Olive tell you that?”

  Question Time for the Boys – and for Olive 263

  Bertie nodded miserably. “Yes, Miss Harmony. She took some blood of mine, you see, and did some tests.”

  “Blood!” exclaimed Miss Harmony. “Are you making this up, Bertie?”

  Bertie shook his head and began to explain to Miss Harmony about what had happened. He told her of Olive’s visit to Scotland Street and of the junior nurse’s set. When he came to tell her of the syringe and the taking of the blood sample, Miss Harmony winced and shook her head in disbelief.

  “She actually put the needle in, Bertie?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said Bertie. “Then she told me that she had done some tests and that I had leprosy. That’s when Tofu came and . . .”

  “Well, we can pass over that,” said Miss Harmony hurriedly, adding, “in the circumstances. But first of all, Bertie, let me assure you: you do not have leprosy. You positively don’t.”

  Bertie felt a great weight of anxiety lift off him. Instinctively, he felt his nose again: it seemed more firmly anchored than ever.

  “So,” went on Miss Harmony, “you should now forget all about that. Olive had no right to do any of that, and even if we cannot condone spitting . . .” and here she looked at Tofu, “there are some occasions in which a blind eye might properly be turned.

  And so I want you two boys to go and sit down and not to think anymore about all this. No more nonsense about leprosy! And no more spitting either!”

  From the other side of the classroom, Olive had been watching this carefully. Now she saw the two boys sitting down in their seats and she noticed, somewhat to her alarm, that they were smiling. And now, even more to her alarm, she saw Miss Harmony beckoning her over to her desk.

  “Yes, Miss Harmony?” said Olive as she approached the teacher.

  “Olive,” said Miss Harmony. “I want a straight answer. No ifs, no buts. Just a straight answer. Did you take a blood sample from Bertie?”

  264 Question Time for the Boys – and for Olive Olive looked down at the floor. “Maybe,” she said. And then she added, “I was only trying to help him, Miss Harmony.”

  Miss Harmony expelled breath from between her teeth. To Olive, it sounded alarmingly like a hiss.

  “You silly, silly little girl,” said the teacher. “Do you realise how dangerous it is to stick a needle into somebody? Do you realise that?”

  Olive did not have time to answer before Miss Harmony continued. “And then you went and told him that he had leprosy!

  Of all the stupid, unkind things to do, that takes some beating.

  Do you even begin to understand how silly that is?”

  Olive looked up at her teacher. She knew that her position was very difficult, but it was not in her nature to give up without a fight. “Please don’t destroy my confidence, Miss Harmony,”

  she said.

  “What did you say?” hissed Miss Harmony. “Destroy your what?”

  “My confidence,” said Olive.

  It was at this point that Miss Harmony felt her self-control evaporating. She was a graduate of Moray House, the benefi-ciary of a fine training in the Scots pedagogical tradition. She knew all the theory of how to maintain control in the classroom; she knew all the theory about reinforcing positive behaviour.

  She also knew that one should never use violence against children, no matter what the temptation. Yet here, faced with this infinitely irritating child, she felt an almost irresistible urge to do something physical.

  She tried to collect her thoughts. “Olive,” she said, “do you know the test that people used to see if somebody had leprosy?

  They would pinch them on the ear to see if they felt pain.

  The poor people with leprosy didn’t, you see. Look, I’ll show you.”

  She leaned forward and took Olive’s right earlobe between her thumb and forefinger. “There,” she said. “That’s what they did.”

  A Confusion of Daddies at the Dinner Table 265

  She pinched extremely hard, and Olive gave a yelp of pain.

  “Good,” said Miss Harmony. “So you haven’t got leprosy.

  That’s a relief, isn’t it?”

  As Olive made her way back to her desk, Miss Harmony looked out of the window. She knew that the eyes of all the children were on her; they had heard Olive’s yelp; they had seen what had happened. Yes, thought Miss Harmony. I have just abandoned everything I was ever taught, but, oh my goodness, it was satisfying!

  79. A Confusion of Daddies at the Dinner Table Several days had passed since the evening on which Julia and Bruce had made their respective discoveries; or rather, since Julia had made her discovery and Bruce had discovered her discovery.

  For Julia, it had been an exciting and positive moment; she wanted to secure Bruce, and she knew that this might be difficult without a certain amount of leverage. And what better leverage was there than the fact of a pregnancy? He might not like the idea at first, but, with a certain amount of help from her father, she thought that any slight objections that Bruce might have to marriage could be smoothed over. That was her strategy.

  For Bruce, the finding of the instruction sheet for the home pregnancy test had been the cause of immediate panic.

  Fortunately, as he lay in the bath and reflected on what had happened, this panic subsided, and he began to work out the best approach to the problem. What he required was level-headedness; a careful appreciation of just where he stood and where the danger lay would be followed by a few cautious moves, and, with one bound, he would be free. Julia might think herself smart, but she was no match for Bruce, or so he thought. Indeed, as he reflected on it, he realised that he had never once been 266 A Confusion of Daddies at the Dinner Table outsmarted by a woman. That’s not at all bad, he said to himself.

  In all my years of playing the field, I’ve never once, on any single occasion, had any girl get the better of me. Hah! And I’ve known quite a few, he thought, who were considerably wilier than Julia Donald.

  He felt reassured; the situation was awkward, yes, but no more than that. And Julia would get over him quickly enough, even if she decided to go ahead with having the baby. If she did that, of course, Bruce felt that it would be her own decision – and her own responsibility. The baby, no doubt, would be good-looking – just like me, he mused – and would keep her company, would give her something to do other than read those stupid magazines and have her hair styled. So getting her pregnant, really, was an act of kindness on his part, a gift.

  Over the days that followed, Bruce was careful to give no indication that he had found out about Julia’s pregnancy. And Julia, for her part, did nothing to indicate that her situation had changed. They were pleasant enough to one another and they talked about much the same things that they always talked about.

  They went to a party together and had some mutual friends round to the flat in Howe Street. Nothing was said, not a word, to suggest that anything had changed or would change in the future.

  But then Julia announced to Bruce one morning that she had invited her father for dinner that night and that he was looking forward to meeting her new flatmate.

  “He likes you already,” she said. “He told me that on the phone.”

  Bruce smiled. Of course her father would like him, but surely he should have the chance to meet him first. It was typical of Julia, he thought, half-fondly: she was enthusiastic about everything.

  “But he hasn’t met me yet,” Bruce pointed out. “I’m not sure if one can like somebody without meeting him first.”

  Julia laughed. “But Daddy does,” she said. “I tell him all the A Confusion of Daddies at the Dinner Table 267

  things you say, and he says: ‘Seems pretty sound to me.’ So, you see, he knows you quite well already.”

  “Oh well,” said Bruce. “I l
ook forward to meeting him too.

  He sounds a nice guy, your old man.”

  “Oh, he is,” said Julia. “He’s so kind too. He’s always been kind.”

  Bruce was curious about Julia’s mother. She had never mentioned her, as he could recall, and he wondered if there was some difficulty there.

  “And your mother, Julia? Is she . . . ?”

  Julia looked down at the floor. “She’s dead, I’m afraid. Or we think she’s dead.”

  Bruce was puzzled. “You don’t know?”

  “Well, it was fairly awful,” said Julia. “They went to the Iguazu Falls in South America. They didn’t take me – I was quite young then, and I was left with my aunt in Drymen. You know, right on Loch Lomond. And . . .”

  “Nice place,” said Bruce.

  “Yes,” said Julia. “But they were in Argentina, you see, and . . .” She broke off.

  “Oh well,” said Bruce.

  Julia said nothing, and Bruce shifted in his chair. Something had obviously happened at the Iguazu Falls, but perhaps it was better not to go there, he thought, in the metaphorical sense, of course. One could always go to the Iguazu Falls but not . . .

  Julia interrupted his train of thought. “I don’t really like to talk about it,” she said.

  “No,” said Bruce. “But I’m really looking forward to meeting your father. I really am.”

  “I’m so pleased, Brucie,” she said. “Just the four of us.”

  Bruce looked up sharply. “Four?”

  Julia’s eyes widened. “Did I say four? Four? I meant three, of course. Daddy, me, daddy. That’s three. That’s what I meant.”

  Bruce frowned. “You counted your father twice,” he said. “You mentioned two daddies. You did.”

  268 A Confusion of Daddies at the Dinner Table Julia was becoming flustered. “Oh, Brucie, you’re getting me all mixed up. What I meant was you, me, and Daddy. That makes three.”

  “I see.”

  “And I’m going to cook something really nice,” she said. “And you’ll have the chance to chat with Daddy.”

  “About?” asked Bruce casually.

  “Anything,” said Julia. “Rugby. Business. Politics. Anything you like. He’s very easy. In fact, you could talk to him about property things. You know a lot about that, being a surveyor and all. Daddy has quite a bit of commercial property.”