Thank you for having me

Bertie heard the pebble hit his window. He looked up sharply. A second pebble clattered against the glass, and he caught his breath. His heart raced as he approached the window and stared out into the darkness.

An urgent voice came from below. “Bertie!”

He peered into the darkness. “Ranald? Is that you?”

Now Bertie saw his friend’s face emerging from the shadows. He should never have doubted that Ranald would come. Of course he would come. Ranald had never let him down, even in small things, and now, in this, his moment of greatest need, he was here. Bertie opened his window and reached down to help Ranald clamber up to the sill. Then with a wriggle and a twist, Ranald was in the room, dusting himself off, beaming with pleasure at his achievement.

Bertie stuttered his thanks. His heart was almost too full for him to say very much, but he left Ranald in no doubt as to the intensity of his relief.

“We can go back tomorrow morning,” Ranald said. “I’ve got money for our tickets and I’ve also got a compass and a torch.”

“You think of everything, Ranald,” said Bertie appreciatively.

Ranald accepted the compliment with a nod of his head. “We can set off tomorrow,” he said. “It’s easier to travel by daylight.”

Bertie agreed. He remembered what he

had read in Scouting for Boys, a clandestine copy of which he had secreted under his bed in Edinburgh. Baden-powell had said something about how easy it was to get lost during the night, especially when there was no moon or the moon was obscured by clouds. He knew what he was talking about, thought Bertie, as he must have been lost many times in Matabeleland. And Matabeleland and Aberdeenshire were probably more similar than many people realised.

“You’re right,” said Ranald. “You could end up going in the completely wrong direction if you can’t see where you’re going.”

“You can sleep at the other end of my bed,” Bertie said. “There’s plenty of room.” He paused. His mother usually came in to say goodnight, and Ranald would have to hide until that visit was over. He could go under the bed, Bertie decided. Then, when Irene had switched off the light, he could be made more comfortable.

As it happened, Ranald had just enough time to hide under the bed before Irene appeared and told Bertie it was time to turn off his light. The following day was a Saturday, and although there would be no school, Irene said that she was planning an hour of Italian conversazione after breakfast, and Bertie would need to be alert for that. “We have so much to catch up on, Bertie, troppo ,in fact.” Afterwards, she announced, they would go out to have morning coffee with Dr Fairbairn.

“You remember Dr Fairbairn, don’t you, Bertie? You loved going to talk to him in his consulting rooms.”

Bertie remained tight-lipped. Not wanting to prolong his mother’s presence in the room, he merely made a sound of general assent.

“Dr Fairbairn is so looking forward to seeing you again, Bertie,” Irene said, and then added, “Sweet dreams,” innocent of the irony in such a wish, given Dr Fairbairn’s known and unhealthy interest in the dreams of others.

Irene hesitated in the doorway. Bertie hoped that Ranald would not suddenly sneeze or have a coughing fit, or do anything else that might give away his presence. He thought that he could hear Ranald breathing, and if he could, then presumably Irene could as well. To mask the sound, Bertie decided to hum a tune as loudly as he could.

“Do stop that noise, Bertie,” Irene said. “Humming is such a mindless exercise.”

“But I feel so happy,” Bertie said. “It makes me want to hum.”

“There are other ways of expressing a positive state of mind,” said Irene.

Bertie thought he heard a noise from under the bed. He froze, thinking it inevitable that Irene would hear, but she did not, and now the door was closed and he and Ranald were left alone.

Waking early the next morning, Bertie and Ranald were out of the house by seven. Irene had taken to sleeping in since she moved to Aberdeen, and would not be getting out of bed for another hour.

When she arose, she would find the note left for her by Bertie. “Dearest Mummy, I have had to return to Edinburgh,” he wrote. “I am so sorry. Please say hello to Dr Fairbairn for me. Tell him I have been having lots of interesting dreams and I shall write some of them down for him so that he can think about them. Tell him not to worry. Thank you so much for having me. Love, Bertie.”

It did not take long to get to the railway station, where Ranald used more of his father’s Bank of Scotland notes to purchase two tickets to Edinburgh. Then, after buying themselves a bacon roll and a bar of chocolate, they sat down on a platform bench and waited for the Edinburgh train to draw up for boarding.

‘Their photographs would be on the television news

and the police would be looking for them, perhaps even using dogs to track them down’

In retrospect, neither boy could work out how they made the mistake. Ranald, at least, had the excuse of not being able to read; Bertie had no such excuse, but he still failed to see that the train manifestly proclaimed itself as being bound for Inverurie and not for Edinburgh. And so it was that when, after its short journey north, the train drew to halt at Inverurie Station, both Ranald and Bertie were surprised to find themselves somewhere that did not look at all like Edinburgh Waverley.

“I think we’ve come the wrong way,” said Bertie. “This sign says Inverurie. See? That’s what it says, Ranald. Inverurie is north of Aberdeen – I’ve always known that.”

Ranald tried to put on a brave face. “Oh well,” he said. “It’s better than still being in Aberdeen.”

Bertie had to agree. “We can go and look at the timetable,” he said. “We probably won’t have long to wait to get a train to Edinburgh.”

Ranald looked miserable. “I want to go home, Bertie,” he sniffed.

Bertie put his arm round his friend’s shoulders. “You mustn’t get upset, Ranald,” he said. “We’ll get home eventually.”

Ranald tried to control himself. But soon his shoulders started to heave as the full extent of their plight sunk in. They were far from home, and presumably by now they would have been reported as missing. Their photographs would be on the television news, and the police would be looking for them, perhaps even using dogs to track them down. As he thought this – and shuddered – Ranald imagined he could hear the baying of a bloodhound, although it was not that at all, but the sound of a flock of geese passing overhead, squawking to one another as they dipped and wheeled across the northern sky.

© Alexander Mccall Smith, 2021.

A Promise of Ankles (Scotland Street 14)

is available now. Love in the Time of Bertie (Scotland Street 15) will be published by Polygon in hardback in November 2021.