“Not quite as terrific as Thailand,” said the same person. “But terrific in its own way.”
Bruce was still seeing Sally, the American girl he had met in the Cumberland Bar. The relationship had not progressed as far as he had imagined it might, and he had decided that he most definitely would not ask her to marry him, but it was a convenient arrangement for both of them and they met one another once or twice a week, usually in the Cumberland Bar, and there-after they went to 44 Scotland Street, where they were able to continue their conversation.
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“I find him a bit of a drag,” Sally had written in an e-mail sent to her friend, Jane, who lived in Nantucket. “You don’t know Scotsmen, do you? Well, I’ll tell you a bit about them.
They’re usually quite pale, as if they’ve spent too much time indoors, which they often have (although I must say that Bruce is really good-looking, and a few months in Arizona or somewhere like that could really improve him). They like drinking, and they go on and on – and I really mean on and on – about soccer, even the relatively civilised ones (the ones you meet in the Cumberland Bar – and you should just see the rest!). Bruce doesn’t talk about soccer, but he makes up for it with rugby.
You won’t have even heard about rugby, Jane. It’s this really weird game, a bit like football – the proper football, the one we play – but without the shoulders. It’s very tribal. They run up and down a soggy pitch and bring one another down in hugs. I don’t think that’s the word they use for it – I think there’s some other term – but that’s what they are – hugs. And so it goes on.
“Bruce is all right, I suppose, for a couple of months. (So, OK, I’ve been bored. You can’t blame a girl who’s feeling bored.) But I would love – just love – to meet some nice, normal boy over here – you know what I mean? – somebody like that guy you met at Dartmouth (what was his name again? Remember him?!) But they just don’t exist. So I’ll make do with Bruce a little longer before I give him his pink slip and then it’s back home and we can meet up and you can introduce me to somebody. Agree?”
And Jane had written back: “Don’t worry. I’ve met the cutest guy at a party at the Martinsons’ and I’m saving him just for you! I’ve told him all about you and he’s really interested. So come home soon. You won’t believe your luck when you meet him. His name’s Billy, by the way. Isn’t that cute? Yale.”
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When Sally revealed to Bruce that she was intending to return to the United States at the beginning of September, and that she would only come back to Scotland in November, for her gradu-ation, and for no more than a week at that, she was surprised that he took the news so calmly. There was a reason for his unruffled demeanour in the face of this impending separation: Bruce was, in fact, more than a little relieved that she would be going, as he was beginning to find her company slightly irksome. She’s neurotic, he thought; always probing into his reasons for doing and saying things, as American girls tended to do. Scottish girls were almost always more straightforward and less demanding; they did not ask you to explain yourself at every step, but accepted you for what you were, a man – and let you get on with it.
The roots of the difference lay in the very nature of the two societies: whatever Scotland was, it was not a matriarchy; whereas the United States was a profoundly matriarchal society – and much more feminine than would be suggested by all that male bravado.
That was a front, and a misleading one at that; underneath the male swagger lay a passive acceptance of female dominance – a fact not always appreciated by outsiders. And as a result, such people often fundamentally misread American society and assume that decisions articulated by men are male decisions – a serious mistake.
Although he had not reflected on the general issue of why American women behaved the way they did, Bruce found it very difficult to adjust to the independence which Sally showed in her relationship with him. In his view, it was only natural that the male should take the lead in most matters (“That’s the whole point of being a male,” he had once remarked to a friend who had consulted him about a fraying relationship). Women who did not accept this were, in Bruce’s view, self-evidently unhappy in their gender. They made very unstable girlfriends and were best avoided, even if they were sometimes every bit as enthusiastic as other women were in flinging themselves at him. Bruce knew that he was attractive even to women who were not interested in men 32
at all, although they often fought so hard against it and felt so bad about their feelings towards him. Go with the flow, he might have said. That is how Bruce thought.
The impending departure of Sally, rather curiously, added a zest to the relationship. Although neither would have thought of it in these terms, this was probably owing to the fact that neither now felt trapped, and a sense of freedom in a friendship
– or in a love affair – often adds a certain lightness to what might otherwise weigh heavily. It is not hard to be considerate, or even enthusiastic, towards those who are going away; in fact, they often appear much more attractive and desirable as friends than they did before they announced their intention to go. Now, after the decision to go is taken, the obligation of those who are staying behind is finite; we do not have to be nice to them for much longer – the smile need not be maintained into some distant and unknowable future.
For her part, knowledge of the fact that Bruce was about to be dropped made Sally feel slightly guilty, which caused her to be particularly affectionate towards him. She gave him several small and unexpected presents – a set of cuff links from Jenners, and a silk tie which she bought from Stewart Christie in Queen Street. And Bruce reciprocated with a box of Callard and Bowser nougat and a book of Edinburgh views taken by a well-known soft- focus photographer. “So that you can remember how happy you’ve been in Edinburgh,” he wrote on the title page of the book. “And to remind you of me.”
Sally was touched by this, but when she began to analyse the wording of his inscription, her irritation with Bruce resurfaced. Was he implying that her happiness in Edinburgh was directly attributable to her having met him? If so, that was nonsense. She had been perfectly happy before she had met him; indeed she had even been slightly happier then. So the inscription might more accurately have read: “To remind you of how happy you’ve been in Edinburgh, in spite of memories of me.” But people never wrote that sort of brutally honest thing in books, largely because people very rarely have a clear idea of the effect that they have on other people, or can bring
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themselves to admit it. And Bruce, as Sally had discovered, lacked both insight into himself and an understanding of how somebody like her might feel about somebody like him. I really am wasting my time with him,
