Scotland Street Volume 18, Chapter 13: Pommes de terre liberées

She reached out to take his hand. “No apology needed. If any apology is called for, it’s from me. I said I’d be with you, and I wasn’t.”

He was relieved. But mothers, he had long realised, forgave everything. Their sons were simply trying their best, even when they invaded neighbouring countries or started regional wars.

“I was helping a cyclist,” she said.

He looked puzzled.

“He was called David,” she went on. “He had very blue eyes and looked a bit, well, sad. The rucksack he was wearing gave way and scattered potatoes all over Dundas Street, just past the Fine Art Society Gallery. Some of the potatoes rolled down the street.”

“Oh,” said Stuart. “That must have looked odd.”

“A passer-by might have thought they were an art installation,” said Nicola. “It’s the sort of thing to which they give the Turner Prize. Pommes de terre liberées. The liberation of the couch potatoes. That sort of thing.”

Stuart laughed. “Angus Lordie would agree, I suspect. He has strong views on the Turner Prize.”

“Well, it wasn’t that,” said Nicola. “As it happens.”

“You helped him pick up the potatoes?’

She shook her head. “I bought him a fresh bag from that place down the road – next to that deli. And he bought me a cup of coffee.”

Stuart smiled. “Meeting men in the street now, mother? Buying them bags of potatoes?”

Nicola told him how David had revealed the recent loss of his father. Stuart looked apologetic. “Sorry. That was kind of you.”

“I felt so sorry for him,” said Nicola. “He looked so bereft.”

“I’m sure it helped – just talking to you.”

“Maybe,” she said. And then continued, “But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. When you called me, you said …”

“Yes. I need to talk to you about a call from Irene.”

Nicola sighed. “Oh well …”

“I know what you feel,” said Stuart. “I know you can’t stand her.”

Nicola protested. “I’ve been thinking. I may have been a bit harsh.”

Stuart’s surprise showed. “A bit harsh?”

“Yes. Uncharitable. Irene has … well, she has her reasons for being how she is. She means well, I suppose.” It was hard for Nicola to say that. She, like Stuart – like everyone, in fact – had been on the receiving end of Irene’s condescension and lecturing. Yet she felt now that it was somehow wrong to respond to such behaviour with a cold rejection, with an animus that matched Irene’s own attitudes. There was a vicious circle to such confrontation, and the only way to break that circle was by embracing or forgiving the other. It was hard, but she had to make the effort.

Stuart remained silent. Then he said, “You don’t think I’ve made a mistake? Our leading separate lives … Bringing our marriage to an end?”

Nicola hesitated. She did not want to go too far. Irene was bad for Stuart, and he would never be happy if she returned to Scotland Street and everything was as it was before. She did not want that.

“No, you did the right thing,” she said at last. “And remember: she wanted to go. She was the one who wanted to go up to Aberdeen to do that PhD with Dr-whatever-his-name-was.”

“Fairbairn. Hugo Fairbairn.”

“Yes, him.” She might have said, “with that man who looks so like Ulysses”, but did not. She had her doubts there, of course – or rather, she had her convictions – but she did not want to hurt Stuart. So she said instead, “She precipitated the separation. You went along with it, but if there’s any blame to be laid at anybody’s door – and I don’t think there is – then I think it’s not at yours. You did your best, Stuart, but oil and water, you know – sometimes a relationship just doesn’t work out.”

Stuart listened. Then he said, “You know, of course, that she’s shacked up with a fisherman up there? She’s with the chap who fished her out of the sea when she was swept off Aberdeen Beach.”

Nicola nodded. Stranger things had happened – but not many. The idea of Irene, of all people, living with a fisherman, and gutting fish for him, was so bizarre as to be almost unbelievable. But it was, apparently, quite true. “I suppose,” she said, “that there are precedents. People sometimes go for their opposites. Some people like a bit of rough.” She apologised for the expression. “Sorry to use that term, but you know what I mean.”

“He could be very sensitive for all you know,” said Stuart. “Let’s not stereotype, mother.”

Nicola looked incredulous. “Do you seriously suggest that a deep-sea fisherman in that part of the world is likely to be in touch with his feminine side?”

Stuart shrugged. “The old categories are being challenged. There are probably plenty of sensitive fishermen. Artistic, even.”

“Nonsense,” said Nicola. “How many pastel-coloured fishing boats are there?”

“You’re very old-fashioned, mother,” said Stuart. “The world has changed, you know.” He remembered something. “However, you might have a point …There’s a fishing boat over in Stornoway called The XY Chromosome. I read about in The Scotsman.”

“You see,” said Nicola. “But anyway, what did she say?”

“She wants to spend a bit more time in Edinburgh. She wanted to be a bit more hands-on with the boys.”

Nicola repressed an urge to groan. She had to be positive. She had to try to be charitable. So she confined herself to saying, in as neutral a tone as possible, “I see.”

“She’s proposing to come down on a Friday and to spend Friday night and Saturday night here. She’d go back up north on Sunday morning.”

The groan that Nicola had suppressed would now be contained no longer. “Oh,” he said. “Well, I suppose …”

“She has something in mind for Bertie.”

Nicola drew in her breath. The figure of Charity, briefly at her side, now turned her back and left the room. Faith and Hope remained, but they were clearly aghast. In a small voice Nicola said, “She’s had Bertie projects in the past. The Italian conversazione classes. The yoga. The psychotherapy in Queen Street. Yoga for Tots down in Stockbridge … What now?”

Stuart looked grave. “She wants Bertie to get an Irish passport,” he said.

© Alexander McCall Smith, 2025. Bertie’s Theory of Ice Cream will be published by Polygon in August, price £17.99. The author welcomes comment from readers and can be contacted at [email protected]