Stuart nodded. He saw the tears in Bertie’s eyes and his heart went out to him. You poor little boy, he thought. You poor little boy.

75. The Haar Rolls In

They continued to fish. Bertie was bitterly disappointed by the loss of the trout, even though Stuart did his best to comfort him. Fishermen lost fish, he explained – one was not a proper fisherman unless one lost a fish. And they would have released the fish back into the water anyway, and so it did not make much difference, did it? Bertie thought about this. He would have liked to have at least touched it, but yes, he supposed that he would only have had it for a minute or so more had he landed it properly.

They rowed out into the middle of the loch. Stuart showed Bertie how to cast a fly and gave him his rod to try it out. Bertie was not very good at first, but after a while he became a little bit better. Then he returned to using a worm, but although there were what seemed to be nibbles, these could equally well have been the action of the wind on the water, causing the float to bob suspiciously.

They had started fishing late, and they did not break for lunch until well after three. Stuart beached the boat on the far side of the loch and he and Bertie pulled it up onto the shore. Then they sat down on the heather and while Stuart ate a sandwich, Bertie tackled his packets of crisps and several chocolate bars. It was heaven for him – pure heaven – to be sitting with his father, eating this wonderful, forbidden food, having almost caught a fish, and not having to think about psychotherapy, yoga, or Italian lessons.

‘Couldn’t we live out here?’ asked Bertie, as he opened his second chocolate bar. ‘We could buy a tent and pitch it over there by those gorse bushes. We could catch fish for our tea. It would be jolly nice, Daddy.’

Stuart smiled indulgently. ‘A good idea, Bertie, but not all that practical, I’m afraid. I don’t think Mummy would like living in a tent.’

Bertie had not envisaged her being invited, but was too polite to say so. ‘Perhaps Mummy might be more comfortable in Scotland Street,’ he said. ‘We could go and visit her from time to time. And Ulysses. We could visit him too.’

Stuart said nothing. He lay back on the heather, his hands under the back of his head, staring up at the sky.

‘It would be such fun, Daddy,’ said Bertie. ‘Just you and me.’

‘Mmm,’ said Stuart. ‘Maybe. But I don’t think we could leave Mummy all on her own – or all on her own except for Ulysses. It wouldn’t be very kind, would it?’

‘No,’ said Bertie. ‘Maybe not. But it’s nice to think about it. As a sort of wish.’