The World According to Bertie

“And where exactly is that?” asked Matthew.

“Duluth?”

“Yes. Where’s Duluth?”

Pat thought for a moment. “Guess,” she said. She had no idea, and could only guess herself. Minnesota?

23. An Embarrassing Trip on the Bus for Bertie When classes were over for the day and the children spilled out, Irene met Bertie at the school gate. This was not an ideal situation from Bertie’s point of view as it gave his mother the opportunity to make the sort of arrangement which had caused him such concern – of which the proposed visit, or series of visits, by Olive was a prime example. He had suggested that they meet further up the road, at the junction of Spylaw Road and Ettrick Road, well away from the eyes of his classmates, but this proposal had been greeted by Irene with an understanding smile.

“Now, Bertie,” she said, “Mummy knows that you’re ashamed An Embarrassing Trip on the Bus for Bertie 75

of her! And you mustn’t feel ashamed of feeling ashamed. All children are embarrassed by their parents – it’s a perfectly normal stage through which you go. Melanie Klein . . .” She paused.

She could not recall precisely what Melanie Klein had written on the subject, but she was sure that there was something. It had to do with idealisation of the female parental figure, or mother, to use the vernacular. Or it was related to the need of the child to establish a socially visible persona which was defined in isolation from the mother’s personality. By distancing himself from her, Bertie thought that he might grow in stature in relation to those boys who were still under maternal skirts. Well, that was understandable enough, but the development of the young ego could still be assisted by saying it does not matter.

In that way, the child would transcend the awkward stage of parental/infant uncoupling and develop a more integrated, self-sufficient ego.

“It doesn’t matter, Bertie,” Irene said. “It really doesn’t.”

Bertie looked at his mother. It was difficult sometimes to make out what she was trying to say, and this was one of those occasions. “What doesn’t matter?” he asked.

Irene reached out and took his hand. They were travelling home on the 23 bus, with Bertie’s baby brother, Ulysses, fitted snugly round Irene’s front in a sling. Bertie liked to travel on the upper deck, but they were not there now as the concentra-tion of germs there was greater, Irene said, than below, and Ulysses’s immune system was not yet as strong as it might be.

Bertie tried to slip his hand out of his mother’s, but her grip was tight. He looked around him furtively to see if anybody from school might see him holding hands with his mother on the bus; fortunately, there was nobody.

“It doesn’t matter that you feel embarrassed about being seen with me at the school gate,” she said. “Those feelings are natural.

But it also doesn’t matter what other people think of you, Bertie.

It really doesn’t.”

Bertie’s face flushed. He looked down at the floor. “I’m not embarrassed, Mummy,” he said.

76

An Embarrassing Trip on the Bus for Bertie

“Oh yes, you are!” said Irene, her voice rising playfully.

“Mummy can tell! Roberto e un poco imbarazzato!”

“Non e vero,” mumbled Bertie. He glanced out of the window; they were barely at Tollcross, which meant it was at least another ten minutes before they reached Dundas Street, ten minutes of agony. Ulysses, at least, was asleep, which meant that he was doing little to draw anybody’s attention, but then he suddenly made a loud, embarrassing noise. On the other side of the bus, a boy only a few years older than Bertie, a boy travelling by himself, glanced at Bertie and smirked. Bertie looked away.

“You see, Bertie,” Irene went on, “Mummy understands. And all I want is that you should be able to rise above the terrors of being your age. I know what it’s like. You think I don’t, because all children think that grown-ups know nothing. Well we know a lot – we really do. I know what it’s like to be small and to be worried about what other children are thinking. All I want is for you to be free of that, to be able to be yourself. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Bertie thought quickly. He found that one of the best strategies with his mother was to distract her in some way, to change the subject, and this is what he now did.

“Olive said that she was going to come to my house,” he said.

“Our house,” corrected Irene. “Bertie lives there with Mummy and Daddy and, of course, dear little Ulysses. And yes, e vero, I have invited Olive. I spoke to her mummy at the school gate and suggested that Olive should come down to Scotland Street one afternoon a week. This will suit her mummy, who is doing a degree course at the university, you see. And it will be nice to have somebody for you to play with. You’ll have a lot of fun.”

Bertie stared at his mother. “I don’t want to play with Olive, Mummy. She’s very bossy.”

Irene laughed. “Bossy? Olive? Come now, Bertie, she’s a charming little girl. You two will get on like a house on fire.”

“I want to play with other boys,” said Bertie.

Irene patted him on the shoulder. “There’ll be time for that

An Embarrassing Trip on the Bus for Bertie 77

later on, Bertie. You’ll find that Olive is plenty of fun to play with – more fun, in fact, than boys. And, anyway, we have agreed and we can hardly uninvite Olive, can we?”