Irene’s mind wandered. It was completely quiet within the tank, and the absence of sensory distraction induced a profound sense of calm. One did not feel confined by the walls of the tank; rather, one felt weightless and without boundary, independent of any physical constraint, freed of the attachment that came with gravity. I could lie here forever, thought Irene, and forget about the world and its trials.
Her sense of detachment was suddenly interrupted by a knocking on the side of the tank.
“Bertie?”
A muffled voice came from outwith. “Irene?”
96
“Yes, I’m here, Bertie. In the tank, as you know. I’m relaxing.
You can have a little go at the end.”
“I don’t want to float. I’ll drown.”
“Nonsense, darling. The specific gravity of the water is such that you can’t sink. You’ll like it.”
“I hate floating.”
Irene moved her hands gently in the water, making a slight splashing sound. This was rather irritating. Bertie was ruining the floating experience.
“Let Mummy float in peace a little longer, Bertie,” she called out. “Then we’ll go and have a latte. You can float some other time, if you want to. Nobody’s
There was silence for a moment and then a sudden shout that made Irene start.
“
“Bertie?” called out Irene. “What was that you said?”
“
Irene sat up, banging her head on the top of the chamber.
Pushing open the lid, she looked out, to see Bertie standing defi-antly in the middle of the room, a ripped-up magazine on the floor before him.
“Bertie!” she exclaimed. “What is this? You’re behaving like a little boy! What on earth is wrong with you?”
“
Irene climbed out of the chamber and reached for her towel.
“This is complete nonsense,” she said. “You’re upset – quite understandably – about what happened. That’s all. You’ll feel better once we’ve had a nice latte. Italian’s got nothing to do with it. And I can’t understand why you should say you don’t like the saxophone. You love your saxophone.”
“
His face was red with rage now, and his fists were clenching and unclenching.
“Bertie, just calm down,” said Irene. “If you want to talk, we can do so over latte. You mustn’t make a noise here in the Floatarium. There are other people floating.”
97
“I hope they sink!” shouted Bertie.
Irene took a deep breath. “That’s a very, very nasty thing to say. What if somebody did sink? How would you feel then? You’d feel very bad, wouldn’t you?”
Bertie did not reply. He was looking down at the ground now, and Irene noticed that his shoulders were heaving. Bertie was sobbing, but in silence.
She reached forward and embraced him, hugging the little boy to her.
“You’ll feel better soon, Bertie,” she said. “That smelly nursery must be very boring for you. We’ll send you somewhere better. Perhaps St Mary’s Music School. You like their Saturday mornings, don’t you? There are some nice boys and girls there.
And you might even get into the choir and dress up, like the rest of the Episcopalians. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”
“No,” sobbed Bertie. “No.”
Barely a mile from the Floatarium, where Bertie was protesting, Sasha Todd, wife of Raeburn Todd ,was sitting down for morning coffee with her daughter, Lizzie. Sasha had chosen Jenners’
tea-room for this meeting, because Jenners made her feel secure, and had always done so. Other shops might come and go, and one or two parvenus had indeed recently set up in the city, but she, quite rightly, remained loyal to Jenners. There was nothing unsettling about Jenners, as she had cause to reflect when-ever she approached Edinburgh on a train from the west and saw the satisfying sign Jenners Depository. This signalled to the world that whatever one might find on the shelves of Jenners itself, there was more in the depository, round the back. This was reassuring in the most fundamental way.
There was nothing reassuring about Lizzie. She was twenty-three now, and had done very little with her life. At school she had been unexceptional; she had never attracted negative attention, but nor had she attracted any praise or distinction.
Her reports had been solid – “might get a B at Higher level, provided she puts in more work”; “almost made it
