The World According to Bertie

“Sticks and stones may break my bones,” Bertie quoted, “but words will never hurt me. Have you heard that poem, Mummy?

That’s what Tofu said to Larch.”

“Oh?” said Stuart. “And then what happened?”

“Larch hit him,” said Bertie. “He hit him and walked away.”

“The point is,” said Irene, resuming control of the conversation. “The point is that if there was any neglect, it was not on my part.”

This was greeted by silence.

“I’m going to get in touch with our councillor,” said Irene.

“And I’m going to complain about that woman. I’m going to insist on an apology.”

Nothing much more was said during the rest of the journey.

Ulysses was still asleep, and although he opened his eyes briefly when being carried up the stairs, he merely smiled, and went back to sleep.

“He’s had such a traumatic experience, poor little thing,” said

220 It Was Almost Too Terrible to Describe Irene pointedly. “Imagine being left outside Valvona & Crolla in your baby buggy!”

“He wouldn’t have minded, Mummy,” said Bertie. “Ulysses doesn’t really know where he is.”

“Exactly,” said Stuart.

Ulysses was placed in his cot, and the family returned to the kitchen, where Irene heated up the soup she had been making and served out three bowls.

“Such a relief,” said Stuart. “I’m so sorry.”

“Daddy’s sorry,” said Bertie.

Irene nodded. “I heard him, Bertie.”

It was at this point that Ulysses started to cry. Bertie, eager to promote concord, decided that he would offer to change him; he had been instructed in this task, which he disliked intensely, but he felt that such an offer would mollify his mother.

“Thank you, Bertie,” she said. “And call us if you need any help. We’ll give Ulysses a bath later on, and then he can have his tea.”

Bertie went through to the room at the end of the corridor.

He picked up Ulysses, and laid him down on the changing mat.

Then he began to remove the blanket in which he had been wrapped. Underneath was a romper suit, which Bertie carefully peeled off. And then . . .

Speculation on What Might Have Been 221

Bertie stood quite still. Ulysses was very different. Something awful had happened; something almost too terrible to describe.

“Mummy!” Bertie shouted. “Come quickly. Come quickly.

Something’s happened to Ulysses! His . . . His . . . It’s dropped off! Quick, Mummy! Quick!”

There was the noise of a chair being knocked over in the kitchen and Irene came rushing into the room, followed by Stuart. She pushed Bertie aside and looked at Ulysses, who was lying contentedly on the changing mat.

“Oh! Oh!”

It was all she could say. Ulysses was not Ulysses at all. This was a girl.

“The wrong baby!” Stuart stuttered. “They’ve given us the wrong baby!”

Bertie stared intently at the baby, who smiled back at him.

“Do you think we can keep this one, Mummy?” he asked.

66. Speculation on What Might Have Been While the unsettling discovery was being made in the Pollock household that the wrong baby had been handed over at the council holding nursery, Matthew was hanging his back in twenty minutes sign in the doorway of his gallery. This sign, as had been pointed out by numerous people, including Pat, was ambiguous and mendacious. In the first place, it did not reveal when the twenty minutes began, so that the person reading it would not know whether it had been placed there nineteen minutes earlier, or just one minute before. Then, anybody who knew Matthew’s habits would be aware of the fact that he rarely spent less than forty minutes over coffee in Big Lou’s coffee bar, and that anybody choosing to wait on the doorstep of the gallery until his return could face a much longer wait than they anticipated.

It was Angus Lordie who had suggested a different sign, one that said, quite simply: out. That would have the merit of clarity 222 Speculation on What Might Have Been and would raise no false hopes. “There are occasions,” he said,

“when the simple word is best. And that reminds me of the story told by George Mackay Brown, I think it was, about the Orcadian who completely disappeared for eight years. When he returned, simply walking into his house, he was asked by his astonished family where he had been. He gave a one-word answer: ‘Oot.’”

Matthew had found this very amusing. “Funny,” he said.

“That’s really funny.”