44 Scotland Street

boys.”

Stuart looked doubtful. “But boys still want to do boyish things.

If you put them in a room with dolls and toy cars, won’t they choose the cars? Isn’t that what they do?”

Irene sighed. “Only boys who have had no other options will go for cars. Some boys will go for other things.”

“Dolls?”

“Yes, dolls. If you give them the chance. Boys love playing with dolls.”

“Do they?”

“Yes. As I said, if you make the environment right.”

Stuart thought for a moment. “Well, look at Bertie. He loves trains, doesn’t he? He’s always going on about the train set at the nursery school. He loves it.”

“Bertie loves trains because of their social possibilities,” said Irene quickly. “The train set enables him to act out social dramas.

Bertie likes trains for what they represent.”

Matters had been left at that, but doubts about Stuart’s commitment had lingered in Irene’s mind, and she often reflected, as she was doing now on her stroll down Cumberland Street, that raising a gifted child was not easy if one did not have the complete support of the other parent. And this difficulty was compounded, surely, by the absence of support from that nursery school woman, Christabel Macfadzean, that cow, thought Irene, who clearly resented Bertie’s talents and seemed determined to prevent him from developing them – all in a spirit of misplaced egalitarianism. Irene, of course, was deeply committed to egalitarianism in all its forms, but this did not prevent the paying of adequate attention to gifted children. Society needed special people if egalitarian goals were to be met. Unexceptional people – ordinary people, as Irene called them – were often distressingly non-egalitarian in their views.

She reached the end of Cumberland Street and decided not to take the more direct route along Circus Lane, but to make Latte Interrupta

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her way along Circus Place, where she might just treat herself to a latte before the Floatarium. There was a cafe there she liked, where she could read the papers in comfort and occasionally make a start on one of the more challenging crosswords. Irene had thought of teaching Bertie how to do crosswords, but had decided that his programme was probably a bit too full at the moment. What with his Grade seven music theory examination coming up – Bertie was the youngest Scottish entrant for that examination that the Royal College of Music had ever registered

– and with his new course of mathematics tutorials, there would be little time to take him through the conventions of crosswords.

Perhaps he should learn bridge first, although it might be difficult to find partners for a bridge four. Stuart was not keen, and when Irene had raised the possibility of playing the occasional hand with that woman upstairs, that Macdonald woman, she had actually laughed at the thought that Bertie might play.

There was something odd about that woman, thought Irene.

She was a type which one often encountered in Edinburgh. A woman with intellectual pretensions and a haughty manner.

There were so many of them, she reflected; so many.

35. Latte Interrupta

It was while she was sitting in the small cafe in Royal Circus with her generous cup of latte, skimming through the morning newspaper, that Irene’s mobile phone (with its characteristic Stockhausen ring) notified her of the incoming call from the East New Town Nursery. Christabel Macfadzean came right to the point. Would Irene mind coming round to the nursery immediately? Yes, Bertie was perfectly all right, but an incident had nonetheless occurred and it would be necessary to discuss it with her.

Irene thought that she might finish her latte. It was an imposition to be summoned back to the nursery, and she would 90

Latte Interrupta

have to cancel her appointment at the Floatarium. But Christabel Macfadzean would not think of that, of course; in her view, parents had nothing better to do than drop everything and listen to her complaints. Obviously there had been some little spat between Bertie and one of the other children, presumably over that wretched train set. That was no reason to drag her into it.

If Christabel Macfadzean had bothered to acquaint herself with the works of Melanie Klein, then she would have been in a position to understand these so-called “incidents” and she would not over-react – as Irene was fairly certain she was doing right now.

Irene’s growing irritation prevented her from enjoying the rest of her coffee. She folded the newspaper and tossed it onto a side table. Then, having exchanged a few brief words with the young woman behind the counter, she began to make her way to the nursery. As she walked, she rehearsed what she would say to Christabel Macfadzean. She was adamant that she would not allow Bertie to be victimised. An incident, as Christabel Macfadzean called them, required two participants, and there was not reason to imagine that Bertie had started it.

By the time she arrived at the nursery, Irene was ready for whatever conflict lay ahead. So when Christabel Macfadzean’s assistant opened the door and ushered her in, Irene was ready to go on the offensive.

“I’m surprised that you deemed it necessary to call me,” she said to Christabel when she appeared from behind the water-play table. “I was actually rather busy. This is not really convenient.”

Christabel Macfadzean dried her hands carefully on a small red towel.

“There has been an incident,” she said calmly. “It is always my policy to involve the parents when an incident is