She waited. One or two people came into the gallery and one of them bought a painting. That seemed to cheer Matthew up, and Pat decided that the moment had come.
“Matthew,” she began. “There’s something I must tell you.”
338 Wur Planets are oot o’ alignment Matthew stared at her. I should have realised, he said to himself. I should have realised that it could never last. It never does. How long has it been? Three days? Four days?
“I’m going to have to move out of India Street,” Pat said.
“I’m going this afternoon.”
Matthew’s face crumpled. “This afternoon? Today?”
“Yes,” said Pat. “I’m sorry.”
Matthew nodded. Pat noticed that he was looking at the floor, tracing an invisible pattern on the carpet with the toe of his shoe.
“You see . . .” Pat began to say.
Matthew cut her short. “It’s all right,” he said flatly. “I understand.” And he thought: girls just don’t like me. Well, they may not actively dislike me – they tolerate me – but they don’t find me interesting, or exciting, or anything really. And there’s nothing I’ll ever be able to do about that. I really like this girl
– really like her – but she doesn’t like me. And who can blame her?
“I don’t think you do understand,” said Pat. “What I was going to say is that since you and I . . . well, since you and I are an item, then I don’t think that we should be flatmates too.
It complicates matters, doesn’t it? And I need my space, just as you do.”
Matthew stared at her. When people talked about needing space they usually meant that they wanted the maximum space between you and them. This was different. Was it still on?
“You mean that you’re not wanting to get rid of me?” he stuttered.
“Of course not,” said Pat, moving over to his side. “I don’t want that. Do you?’
“No,” said Matthew. He looked at her and thought: I have found myself in you. Bless you. And then he thought: what a strange, old-fashioned thing to think. Bless you. But what other way was there of saying that you wanted only good for somebody, that you wanted the world to be kind to her, to cherish her? Only old-fashioned words would do for that.
108. On the Stairs
Now that Domenica had indicated that she was returning to Scotland within a few days, Antonia Collie took steps to conclude the lease on the flat across the landing – the flat once occupied by Bruce and Pat and which had been sold to a young property developer. This person had developed the property by painting it and by installing a new microwave and a new bath before deciding to offer it for rent. Antonia was indifferent to the fresh paint, the microwave and the bath, but keen on the view from the sitting room and the prospect of having Domenica as a neighbour. Negotiations for the lease had been swift and Antonia now had the keys to the flat and could move in at any time she wished.
Antonia, having gone out to purchase one or two things for the kitchen, returned to No 44 to discover a small boy sitting on the stone stairs, staring up into the air. She had seen this small boy once or twice before. On one occasion she had spotted him walking up the street with his very pregnant mother (he had been trying to avoid stepping on the lines and was being roundly encouraged by his mother to hurry up), and on another she had seen him in Valvona & Crolla, again with his mother, who was lecturing him on the qualities of a good olive oil. She knew that he belonged to No 44 and she thought she knew which flat it was, but apart from that she knew nothing about him, neither his name, nor how old he was, nor where he went to school.
“Well,” she said as she drew level with him on the stairs,
“here you are, sitting on the stairs. And if I knew your name –
which I don’t – I would be able to say hallo whoever you are.
But I don’t – unless you care to tell me.”
Bertie looked up at Antonia. This was the lady who lived upstairs, the woman whom his mother had described as “yet another frightful old blue stocking”. Bertie had been puzzled by this; now here was an opportunity for clarification.
“I’m called Bertie,” he said politely.
“And I’m Antonia,” said Antonia.
Bertie squinted at Antonia. “I think my Mummy must be wrong about you,” he said.
340 On the Stairs
“Oh yes?” said Antonia. “What does Mummy say about me?”
“She said that you wear blue stockings,” said Bertie. “But I don’t think you do, do you?”
There was a sharp intake of breath from Antonia. “Oh really?”
she said. “You’re right. Mummy has got it wrong.” She paused.
“Tell Mummy that you asked me about that, and I said to tell her that I don’t wear blue stockings. Will you tell her that?”
“Yes,” said Bertie. “If she listens. Sometimes she doesn’t listen to what I say. Or what Daddy says either.”
Antonia smiled. “That’s sad,” she said. “But surely somebody listens to you, Bertie. What about at school? Surely your teacher listens to what you have to say.”
Bertie looked down at his feet. “Miss Harmony listens sometimes,” he said. “But not always. She didn’t listen to me when I said that I didn’t want to be Captain von Trapp in The Sound of Music. She made me be Captain von Trapp.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Antonia. “But perhaps there wasn’t anybody else who wanted to play the part. Maybe that’s why you had to do it.”
“But there were plenty of people who wanted to be Captain von Trapp,” said Bertie. “There’s a boy called Tofu. He really wanted to be Captain von Trapp. But she wouldn’t let him.”
“But I’m sure that he would understand.”
Bertie shook his head. “No,” he said. “He didn’t. And there’s a girl called Olive. She wanted to be Maria, but wasn’t allowed to be. She didn’t understand either.”
“Dear me,” said Antonia. “But I’m sure everything will go well in the end.”
“No it won’t,” said Bertie. “And now Tofu and Olive both hate me.”
Antonia stared down at Bertie. He was a most unusual child, she thought; rather appealing, in a funny sort of way, and she found herself feeling sorry for him. These little spats of childhood loomed terribly large in one’s life at the time, even if they tended to disappear very quickly. It was not always fun being a child, just as it had not always been fun being a medieval Scottish saint. Poor little boy!
On the Stairs 341
“Well, cheer up, Bertie,” said Antonia. “Even if things aren’t going well in The Sound of Music, isn’t Mummy going to have a new baby? Doesn’t that make you excited? You and Daddy must be very pleased about that.”
Bertie shook his head. “I don’t think that Daddy is pleased,”
he said. “He said that the new baby is a mistake. That’s what he said. I heard him telling Mummy that.”
Antonia raised an eyebrow. “Oh well,” she said. “Everybody will love him or her. I’m sure they will.”
“And then Daddy said we should call the new baby Hugo,”
went on Bertie.
“That’s a nice name!” said Antonia quickly.
“Because that’s the name of Mummy’s friend,” said Bertie.
“He’s called Dr Fairbairn. Dr Hugo Fairbairn.”
Antonia bit her lip. Oh goodness! One should not encourage this sort of thing, but she could not resist another question, just one more question.
“And Dr Fairbairn,” she asked. “What does he think of all this?”
“He’s mad,” said Bertie. “Really mad.”
“I see,” said Antonia. “Well I suppose that . . .” She tailed off. It was easy to imagine him being angry, he probably did not plan for things to work out this way.