It seemed to Bertie that truth for people such as Tofu and Olive was an entirely flexible concept, and that what determined truth for such people was the vigour with which a proposition was asserted, even in the face of all the evidence. He, of course, knew differently, but he was still unsure as to whether there were circumstances in which one should refrain from revealing a truth because of the effect that this might have on others. Some observations, it appeared, were just too hurtful or troublesome to make, even if they were completely true. It was hurtful of Tofu to be so rude about Ulysses, and it was evidently very troublesome that Ulysses bore such a close resemblance to Dr Fairbairn.

Certainly when Bertie had first mentioned this to his mother, he had been surprised by her reaction. There had been silence at first – as if Irene had somehow been put into a state of shock by Bertie’s remark – and this had been followed by a strained retort to the effect that one did not comment on any resemblances that babies had to anybody.

‘Just don’t do it, Bertie,’ warned his mother. ‘Mummies, in particular, don’t like that sort of remark.’

‘But I thought that a mummy might be interested to know that her baby looks like one of her friends,’ said Bertie. ‘There’s not much you can say about babies, but you can say that.’

Irene’s voice now rose slightly. ‘No, Bertie. We can’t say that sort of thing. Rest assured – Mummy knows. You don’t tell a mummy that a baby looks like another … another daddy. You don’t. Did you hear me? You don’t! So let’s not have any more of this. Capisce?’

Bertie had left the matter at that. He was still sure that Ulysses looked extraordinarily like the psychotherapist – they had exactly the same, rather unusual shape of ear, and there was something in the eyes, too, which strongly suggested this. He pointed this out to Dr Fairbairn himself during one of his sessions, but the psychotherapist had said nothing, and had then gone off to Aberdeen, to a chair. Bertie could not understand why Dr Fairbairn should find it necessary to go to Aberdeen for the sake of a chair, of all things. But the ways of adults were strange, and the ways of Dr Fairbairn were particularly so.

And now there was an additional thing for his mother to worry about. Ulysses, who was not an easy baby and was given to girning, had started to be sick whenever Irene picked him up to feed him. Indeed, more or less every time Irene picked him up, he brought up over her shoulder. It was very trying for everybody – for Irene, for Stuart, and for Bertie himself, who did not like the smell.