The Importance of Being Seven by Alexander McCall Smith Page A

message by saying that you can’t go out because your friend has to wash her hair.’
    ‘I can’t do that,’ said Pat. ‘I couldn’t keep a straight face. And he’s sweet enough, I suppose, in a funny sort of way …’
    ‘Sweet? Be careful, Pat. Lots of boys are sweet. Sweet but boring.’
    Pat sighed. ‘I know, I know. But if you say that you’ll go out with somebody you can’t just …’
    Lizzie cut her short. ‘Can’t suddenly remember that you have to wash your hair? Of course you can. You have to, Pat. Otherwise you just make it worse. It’s far more difficult to get out of something after you’ve got further in. So don’t go there in the first place.’
    Pat knew that what Lizzie said was true, but she could not bring herself to phone Andrew and tell him a blatant lie. So when the time came she went off with him to the Dominion Cinema and went for a Nepalese meal afterwards. Andrew talked a lot about Ayrshire and about the things that had happened in his parents’ hotel. One of the guests had flooded a bathroom once and another had caused a small fire by trying to iron something on top of the bed.

     
    ‘People do really stupid things,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t believe it, Pat. They can be really stupid.’
    Pat agreed.
    ‘And then there was another guest who left his dog in the room. We went in and found the dog sleeping on a chair.’
    ‘Did you give the dog back?’
    ‘No. The problem was that this guy had given a false name and address. He had dumped the dog on us. Can you believe that?’
    The conversation continued in this vein until the end of the meal.
    ‘I must get back,’ said Pat, looking at her watch. ‘I have to …’ She paused, and then it came to her. ‘I have to wash my hair.’
    ‘You’ve got really nice hair,’ said Andrew. ‘Can I come and wash it for you?’

13. On the 23 Bus
     
    Now that Ulysses had arrived, the well-ordered routine that Irene Pollock had in place for Bertie, and that had worked so well, was subjected to the occasional moment of strain. Getting Bertie to the Steiner School in the mornings had once been a simple matter but now became considerably more complicated. In the past, Irene would dress Bertie, comb his hair, and place him at the table in front of a bowl of Bircher muesli. Then, ten minutes later, taking him by the hand, she would lead him off to the 23 bus on which they both travelled over to the other side of town. The muesli was prepared in advance, to a special recipe that she felt gave Bertie exactly the right nutritional start to the day.
    Bertie did not mind his muesli too much, but occasionally asked if it would be possible to have something different. ‘Not every day, Mummy, I promise. But just now and then. Maybe sausages.Hiawatha says that he has sausages for breakfast three days a week. He brought one in to show me.’
    ‘He brought a sausage into school?’ asked Irene.
    ‘Yes,’ said Bertie. ‘It was really nice. Tofu took it off him and ate it, but he let me look at it first and smell it.’
    Irene did not approve. ‘How perfectly disgusting, Bertie! Do you realise what goes into sausages? And what on earth is Tofu doing eating a sausage? Does his father know?’
    ‘Tofu says that his daddy is getting weaker every day,’ said Bertie. ‘He’s a vegan, you know.’
    Irene gave a snort of disagreement. ‘That’s absolute nonsense, Bertie. Complete nonsense. Tofu’s daddy is a picture of health. I saw him last week at the school gate. He was radiant.’
    ‘Is that the same as radioactive?’ asked Bertie. ‘Tofu said that one of his daddy’s friends has become radioactive from eating mushrooms brought to Scotland from Eastern Europe.’ He looked suspiciously at his muesli – this conversation was occurring over breakfast. He had not seen any mushrooms in his muesli, but his mother often put strange things in it and he could not be sure that these did not include the occasional mushroom.
    ‘Oh, really,