They increased their pace. There was now no conversation; Bertie remained lost in thought over Darnley and his difficulties, and Irene was thinking of the Romanian containers. There were three being sent off that morning: one that was entirely full of clothing – and rather good clothing at that; one that was full of kitchen tables and chairs; and one that had large quantities of household essentials – chemical cleaners and dishcloths and things of that nature. These would all be distributed in areas of need in Romania, including to a number of hospitals and orphanages. It made her feel warm just to think of it – to imagine the Romanians opening the containers and delightedly trying on Scottish tweed coats and the like, uttering cries of enthusiasm in Romanian as they did so. How grateful they must feel, she thought; and how they must appreciate the large legends on the side of the containers: From Scotland to Romania, with love.

They reached the flat. Stuart was anxious to get to the office, and said barely more than few words.

‘Daddy’s head is full of figures this morning,’ said Irene, jokingly, as she put Ulysses into his pushchair.

Ulysses looked up at his mother, and was sick.

57. Bonnie Irene’s Noo Awa

Once Ulysses was cleaned and dressed in fresh clothes, the three of them made their way down the stair and out into Scotland Street.

‘It’s a pity that Ulysses is sick so often,’ said Bertie. ‘He’s quite a nice little baby when he’s not actually vomiting.’

‘His little stomach is finding its way in the world,’ said Irene breezily. ‘He’ll grow out of it, without doubt.’

‘Mind you, Mummy,’ Bertie went on, ‘I’ve noticed that he only seems to be sick when he sees your face. Have you noticed that?’

Irene pursed her lips. ‘Nonsense, Bertie! That’s quite untrue.’

Bertie frowned. He was a completely truthful child and he would never think of making anything up – unlike people like Tofu, and Olive, and Hiawatha for that matter. And Pansy.

‘But it is true, Mummy,’ he persisted. ‘Ulysses is never sick when I pick him up. Or Daddy. He’s never been sick – not even once – when Daddy is with him.’

Irene ignored this. ‘Now look, Bertie, this is no time to discuss such matters. We are going to watch a very important occasion. So let’s concentrate on that rather than on speculating about Ulysses’s entirely random regurgitation. Basta, Bertissimo!’

Bertie looked down the hill. At the end of Scotland Street, the old marshalling yard, now partly waste ground and partly a children’s playground, was filling up with people. Three large container lorries were lined up, bright balloons tied to protuberant rear-view mirrors.

‘Are they going all the way to Romania, Mummy?’ he asked.

‘They are indeed, Bertie,’ Irene said proudly.

Bertie asked how long that would take.