Dr Fairbairn nodded gravely, and wrote something on his notepad. By craning his neck, Bertie could see that there were two words: Eiffel Tower.
“I do mean the Eiffel Tower, Bertie. You saw the Eiffel Tower, did you?”
Bertie nodded. “Yes, we all went there. The whole orchestra.
We went up the tower in one of the lifts. They have lifts which take you up to the top, or almost.”
“And did you like the Eiffel Tower, Bertie? You weren’t frightened of it, were you?”
Bertie shook his head. Why should he be frightened of the Eiffel Tower? Had Dr Fairbairn been frightened of the Eiffel Tower when he went to Paris?
“Well,” said Dr Fairbairn. “And what else did you do in Paris, Bertie?”
“I went to lunch with some friends I made,” said Bertie. “They were very nice. And then we went to a lecture. There was a man called Mr Francois who gave a lecture. Then I went back to the hotel. And that’s when Mummy came to fetch me.”
Dr Fairbairn looked out of the window. “And were you happy when Mummy came to fetch you in Paris?” he asked. “Or were you sad to leave Paris?”
Bertie thought for a moment. “I would have liked to stay there a little longer. I would have liked to spend more time with my friends.”
Dr Fairbairn turned back from the window. Progress at last.
324
It was quite unlikely that this little boy had gone out and made friends in Paris; these friends, therefore, were imaginary. And that, he decided, was a very promising line of inquiry. Bertie was a highly intelligent little boy and such children frequently created imaginary friends for themselves. And if one could get some sort of insight into these strange, insubstantial companions, then a great deal could be discovered about the psycho-dynamics of the particular child’s world.
“Tell me about your friends, Bertie,” said Dr Fairbairn quietly.
“Do you have a best friend?”
There was a silence as Bertie thought about this question.
He would have liked to have a best friend, but he was not sure that he did. But if he told Dr Fairbairn that he did not have one, then he would think that nobody liked him. So he decided that it would have to be Tofu.
“There’s Tofu,” he said. “He’s my best friend.” He paused, and then added: “I think.”
Dr Fairbairn watched Bertie closely. There had been hesitation, which was significant. That was the internal debate as to whether to take him into his confidence. And then there had been the “I think” added on at the end. That made it quite clear, as did the name. Tofu. No real child would be called that. No: Tofu was one of these imaginary friends. And now that he had been declared, some progress might be made with working out what was going on in this interesting little mind. Dr Fairbairn mentally rubbed his hands with glee. There was a growing literature on children’s imaginary friends, and he might perhaps add to it. There was Marjorie Taylor’s ground- breaking
“Tell me about Tofu,” he asked gently. “Is he always there?”
Bertie stared at Dr Fairbairn. What a peculiar question to ask. Of course Tofu was not always there. He saw him at school and that was all. There was nobody who was always there, except
perhaps his mother, and even she was not there sometimes.
“No,” he said. “He’s not always there. Just sometimes.”
Dr Fairbairn nodded. “Of course,” he said. “But when he is there, you know, don’t you?”
Bertie’s eyes widened. “Yes,” he said. “I can tell when he’s there.”
“But he’s not with us at the moment, is he?” asked Dr Fairbairn.
Bertie decided to remain calm. In his experience, the best thing to do was to humour Dr Fairbairn. If one did that, then he usually quietened down.
“No,” said Bertie. “He’s not here at the moment. But I may see him tomorrow.”
Dr Fairbairn nodded. “Of course. And does he talk to you?”
“Yes,” said Bertie. “Tofu can talk. He’s just like any other boy.”
“Of course,” said Dr Fairbairn. “Of course he is. He’s very real, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” said Bertie. His voice was small now.
“Does Mummy see Tofu too?” coaxed Dr Fairbairn.
“No,” said Bertie. His mother rarely saw Tofu. Sometimes she spotted him at the school gate, but Tofu usually left before Irene arrived, and Bertie did not encourage any contact, as he knew that she had never liked Tofu since he had exchanged his jeans for Bertie’s crushed-strawberry dungarees.
“And do you think that Mummy would like Tofu?” asked Dr Fairbairn. “That is, if she could see him.”
“No,” said Bertie.
Dr Fairbairn was silent. It was classic. This Tofu was a complete projection, and if he could be fleshed out, a great deal would be revealed. But more than that: he could also become a therapeutic ally.
As Dr Fairbairn gazed thoughtfully at Bertie, so too did Bertie gaze at the psychotherapist. When they
