Bertie Plays the Blues by Alexander McCall Smith

Author:Alexander McCall Smith [Smith, Alexander McCall]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
ISBN: 978-0-307-94850-2
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2013-10-07T16:00:00+00:00

42. Anna Takes Command

They went into the room that served as a nursery. It had been only half-prepared for its new inhabitants, with two of the walls decorated in the bright primary colours of childhood, with cheerful pictures to match, while the other two – unfinished projects of Matthew’s – were still eggshell blue, with the framed pictures of the Trossachs that had been left behind by the flat’s previous owners. Under the window, neatly lined up, were the three cribs in which the boys slept.

Two of the infants were now awake, one crying and the other lying on his back staring up at the ceiling. Anna made her way across the room and bent down to pick up the crying child.

“He’s very beautiful,” she said. “Don’t cry, little one.” She turned to Elspeth. “Which one is this?”

Elspeth sighed; even as they had stood at the nursery door she had begun to dread this moment. What would Anna think of a mother who did not even know which of her children was which? What would she think of Scotland? “I’m afraid I don’t really know,” she muttered. “Not for certain, anyway …”

Anna smiled. “You’ve mixed them up?”

There was no accusing tone to the question and Elspeth answered it openly, and with relief. “Matthew took off their identification bracelets,” she said. “He didn’t realise …”

Anna’s smile broadened. “It must be so easy to do that,” she said. “I hope that you didn’t blame him.”

“Of course not,” said Elspeth quickly. And that was true, she thought; she had been too tired to blame Matthew for that, or for anything, for that matter.

“So what we need to do is to decide which is which,” said Anna. “And then I know how to make sure that we don’t mix them up again.” She touched the baby gently on the cheek. “Which would you like this one to be?” she asked.

“Rognvald,” said Elspeth. “Or maybe …”

She did not finish. “Rognvald suits him very well,” said Anna. “Right, if you hold him for me, Elspeth, we shall make sure that he remains Rognvald.”

Elspeth took the baby. It is very strange, she thought, but I don’t dread holding him any more. She felt calmer, more in control of the situation now that Anna was there; Rognvald was no threat.

Anna left the room and returned a moment later with two small bottles in her hand. “These are from my rucksack,” she explained. “Nail varnish.”

She now opened a bottle of red varnish and unscrewed the small brush-top. “Right,” she said. “Could you show me little Rognvald’s toes? Just the right foot, I think.”

Elspeth complied, removing the tiny bedsock in which Rognvald’s right foot was sheathed. So small, she thought; so small and pink.

Anna touched the little boy’s minute toes. “So perfect,” she said. “And you made him, Elspeth. Isn’t that a miracle?”

Elspeth looked at her son’s toes. She wanted to cry again, and felt the first welling of tears. Gratitude. Relief. Love.

“There, my little darling,” said Anna as she daubed a speck of red nail varnish on the exposed toenails.

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