The best news ever

Stuart took a large sip of wine. He had not expected this. “Glasgow?” he said. And then, “Well, I must confess I hadn’t …” He trailed off.

“No, I’m sure you wouldn’t have,” said Nicola. “And nor would I have contemplated bringing Glasgow into the equation, but then … Well, you know how Bertie goes on about Glasgow. You’d think he was talking about Shangri-la.”

Stuart smiled. “He loves it.” He remembered their earlier visit to Glasgow – the first time that Bertie had been there. They had gone to retrieve the family car, after Stuart had driven over to Glasgow for a meeting and had then, absent-mindedly, returned by train. They had ended up spending time in the company of the late Lard O’connor († RIP), a muchregretted Glasgow gangster, who had been impressed by Bertie and who had taken both him and Stuart to see the Burrell Collection. In Bertie’s mind, Glasgow was a promised land, a shining city upon a hill, and the River Clyde, upon whose sylvan banks the city nestled, was a holy river, as compelling a source of pilgrimage, in Bertie’s view, as any Ganges, Narmada, or Godavari.

“Well,” Nicola continued, “I had a conversation yesterday with Ranald Brave - heart Macpherson’s parents. It was when I went to collect Bertie from his play date with Ranald. And over a cup of tea, Ranald’s mother revealed that Ranald is going on an educational exchange for a month to the Glasgow Academy Primary.” She paused. “And furthermore, she said that they have another place available in the same scheme, and that if we were interested, Bertie could possibly go as well.”

Stuart was silent. Then, “Bertie? Go to school in Glasgow? The Glasgow Academy?”

Nicola inclined her head. “It’s a very good school. The Primary has various branches – this one is at Milngavie.” Stuart gasped. “Milngavie?”

“Yes. Of course, there would be fees involved, but I’d cover those.”

“But he’d have to board? I think he’s far too young to board. I mean, think of Tom Brown’s Schooldays and Lord of the Flies, and all that. I’m no great fan of boarding schools.”

Nicola shook her head. “Lord of the Flies is hardly apposite, Stuart. We’re hardly proposing to send Bertie to a desert island. And he wouldn’t have to board at the school itself. Part of this arrangement is that the children stay en famille with a member of the Academy staff. One of the teachers, who lives in Bearsden, would have them staying with her.” Stuart gasped again. “Bearsden?” “Yes. She has a slightly older daughter. She often takes children whose parents have to be away for one reason or another. Her husband is a cello maker and he works in a workshop at home, and so he’s always in. According to Ranald’s mother, it’s a tried and tested arrangement and is usually a great success. They had a Greek child from Corfu last time and it all went very well – a Greek father and a Scottish mother, so the child spoke quite good English. These exchanges can be wonderful for children – as long as they’re robust enough to be away from home.”

“Well, Glasgow’s not exactly at the other end of the country.”

“No,” said Nicola. “And he could come back for weekends. So he would only be there Monday to Friday.”

“And if he became homesick I could pop over and collect him,” mused Stuart.

“Precisely. And remember – he’ll have Ranald Braveheart Macpherson with him – so that will help.”

“A lot,” said Stuart.

He looked at Nicola. ‘Do you think we should?”

“I see no reason why not,” said Nicola. ‘It’s only for a month and it could be a wonderful treat for him.”

“Of course, he’s likely to discover that Glasgow is much the same as anywhere else,” said Stuart.

“But it isn’t,” said Nicola. ‘You know that, and I know it too, Stuart. Glasgow is not Edinburgh.”

“He’s had his inoculations, though,” said Stuart. He paused. “Shall we ask Bertie?”

“Yes. Will you do it?”

“Right away.”

He finished his wine and then left the kitchen and knocked at Bertie’s half-open door. As he entered the bedroom, Bertie looked up from his book.

“What are you reading, Bertie?” asked

Stuart as he sat down on the bed.

Bertie showed his father the cover of his book, The Lighthouse Stevensons. “It’s about the people who built all the lighthouses,” he said. ‘They were all called Mr Stevenson, and they built all our lighthouses, Daddy. That’s what they did.”

“Very interesting,” said Stuart. “I sup - pose if you find you can do one thing rather well, you should carry on doing it.”

Bertie agreed. “They built a lighthouse called the Bell Rock Lighthouse, Daddy. In the sea off Fife. It was jolly dangerous because it was just on a rock and the sea came up and covered what they’d built every day. They had to wait for low tide before they could start again.”

“They were very skilful,” said Stuart. “And do you know, Bertie, that Robert Louis Stevenson was a member of that family? He wrote books rather than build lighthouses.”

“He wrote Kidnapped, didn’t he, Daddy?”

“He did, Bertie.”

“It’s a bit scary, that book. Ranald said that he doesn’t want to read it, but then he can’t read yet – and nor can Tofu. Tofu says that reading’s old-fashioned and that he’s not going to waste his time learning how to do oldfashioned things. He said you might as well spend your time learning Egyptian hieroglyphics.”

Stuart smiled. “Tofu is wrong on most things, Bertie – as I suspect you’ve noticed.”

Stuart waited a few moments. Then he said, “Well, Bertie, perhaps you might like to spend a few weeks at another school – without Tofu. Or Olive, for that matter.”

Bertie’s eyes widened. “Really, Daddy? Do you think I could?”

“How about Glasgow?”

Bertie dropped his book. “Did you say Glasgow, Daddy? Glasgow?”

Stuart nodded. “There’s an exchange scheme, Bertie. And your friend Ranald Braveheart Macpherson is on it. We wondered whether you might like to join him – and go to school in Glasgow for a month.”

Bertie leapt out of bed, tossing the bedclothes aside. “I can get changed straight away, Daddy. Should I wear my new shoes? What will it be like? Will you write to me?” The questions came thick and fast. “Will it be in the Gorbals, Daddy?”

Stuart caught his wrist. “Hold on, Bertie. I didn’t mean right now. These things have to be arranged, and I just wanted to check up that you would be happy to go.”

Bertie leaped again – this time into his father’s lap. “Oh yes, Daddy. I can think of nothing better. Glasgow!”

“In that case,” said Stuart, “I’ll get in touch with the school – both schools – first thing on Monday, and find out about what needs to be done. I can’t guarantee it, Bertie, but Ranald’s mother said that she thought they’d be happy to take you at the same time that Ranald goes.”

Bertie climbed back into bed. “This is the best news ever,” he said. “And you’re the kindest dad in the history of the world.”

Stuart closed his eyes. For years I failed you, he said to himself. For years.

Bertie reached out to touch his father’s forearm. “Don’t look sad, Daddy,” he whispered. “It wasn’t your fault that you married Mummy.”

‘To Bertie, Glasgow was a promised land, a shining city upon

a hill, and the River Clyde a holy river, as compelling a source of pilgrimage as any Ganges, Narmada or Godavari’

© 2020 Alexander Mccall Smith Available in book form from November as

A Promise of Ankles (Polygon, £16.99). The Peppermint Tea Chronicles – Volume 13 in the 44 Scotland Street series – is now out in paperback (Polygon, £8..9w