The World According to Bertie

steamroller over a piece of jewellery that somebody had dropped in the street. One of the men found it flattened and held it up for everybody to laugh at.

But Mags cried instead. She thought that it might have been of great sentimental value to somebody, and there it was completely destroyed. She cried.”

“I can understand that,” said Matthew.

“Well, that made all the difference for Neil,” said Big Lou.

“He operated a pneumatic drill and had been like the rest of them and had treated Mags as one of the boys. Now he started to look at her. A day or two later, he asked her out. That’s how they came to be together. They’re very happy, Mags says.”

Matthew said nothing. He lifted his coffee to his lips and looked down into the detritus of the cup, the scraps of milk-foam. In the interstices of the big things of this world, he thought, were the hidden, small things, the small moments of happiness and fulfilment. People fell in love in all sorts of places; anywhere would do – amidst the noise and fumes of the daily world, in grim factories, in the most unpromising of offices, even, it would seem, amongst the din and dirt of roadworks. It could happen to anybody, at any time; even to me, he reflected, who am not really loved by Pat, not really. And who does not love her back, not really.

11. Bruce Goes Off Flat-Hunting in the New Town Bruce had cut out the advertisement from the newspaper and tucked it in the pocket of his jeans. He was house-hunting, and the earlier part of the morning had been frustrating. He had looked at two flats, both of which had been unsatisfactory. The first, in Union Street, had been promising from the outside but had revealed its unsuitability the moment he had stepped inside the front door and had seen the extent of the subsidence. This was the problem with that part of town, where movement in the ground had resulted in uneven floors and bulging walls. The buildings were safe enough – this movement was historical –

but the impression created from heavy settlement could make one nauseous, as if one were at sea.

“This place is subsiding,” Bruce had said to the employee of the lawyers who was showing the flat.

She looked at him coolly. “There’s a great deal of interest in this flat,” she said evenly. “It won’t be on the market long.”

They moved farther into the hall. The flat had been vacated by its owners and the floor was bare: wide, yellow-stained pine boards, shipped from Canada all those years ago.

Bruce smiled at her. “That so?” he said. “Well, I can tell you that there’s subsidence. Nobody will find it easy to get a mortgage on this place. Bad news.”

The young woman fiddled with the top of her folder. “That may be your view,” she said primly. “Others,” and it was clear that she numbered herself amongst such others, “others obviously think differently.”

Bruce gestured for her to follow him into the kitchen. She did so hesitantly and saw him extract a golf ball from his pocket.

“Know what this is?” he asked.

“Of course I do. A golf ball.”

“Right,” said Bruce. “Clever girl. Now watch.”

He bent down and placed the golf ball on the kitchen floor, giving it a slight nudge as he did so. Then he stood up and smirked.

Bruce Goes Off Flat-Hunting in the New Town 35

The golf ball rolled away from Bruce, gathering momentum as it did so. By the time it hit the wall at the other end of the kitchen, it was travelling quite fast.

“See?” said Bruce. “That ball agrees with me. The floor slopes.”

The young woman bit her lip. “These buildings are very old,”

she said. “The whole town is very old.”

Bruce nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “That’s why one has to be so careful.”

“I take it that you don’t want to see the rest of the flat?”

Bruce caught his reflection in the kitchen window and turned his head slightly. “No,” he said. “I don’t. Thanks anyway for showing me the place. I hope you sell it.”

They went downstairs in silence.

“Coffee?” said Bruce at the bottom of the stairs.

The young woman looked at him. She was, he thought, on the verge of tears. “No,” she said. “No, thank you.”

Bruce shrugged. “Oh well,” he said. “Another flat to look at.

Sorry about that place.”

She had hesitated, he thought. She had hesitated when he had asked her to accompany him for a cup of coffee, which meant that she had been tempted. Of course she was tempted – they all were; they simply could not help themselves.

The next flat was in Abercromby Place, a basement flat that described itself as lower ground-floor. Bruce smiled to himself as he walked along Forth Street. He remembered writing the particulars of flats when he had worked as a surveyor in Edinburgh; he had referred to lower-ground-floor flats before, and had once even described a sub-basement as a pre-lower-ground flat, well-protected from excessive sun exposure. The lighting in that flat, which had to be kept on all day if the occupants were to see anything at all, had been described as imaginative and helpful.

And the atmosphere of damp he had described as cool.

The Abercromby Place flat did not take long.

“You’re not seeing it at its best,” said the owner. “It’s not a very bright day today.”