The World According to Bertie by Alexander McCall Smith Read Free Book Online

course,” he said. “Of course.”
    So now he was having difficulty in thinking of examples. Firefighters? But then he remembered having seen a fire engine race past him the other day in Moray Place, and when he had looked at the crew he had seen not the usual male mesomorphs but a woman, clad in black firefighting gear, combing her hair.
    â€œI saw a woman fire…fireperson, the other day, Lou,” he said brightly, hoping to distract Big Lou from the subject.
    â€œPlenty of them,” said Lou. “But I’m waiting for you to come up with some for-instances. What jobs do women not do these days?”
    â€œIt was in Moray Place,” went on Matthew.
    â€œGood class of fire over there,” said Lou. “None of your chippan fires in Moray Place. Flambé out of control maybe.”
    â€œShe was combing her hair,” said Matthew. And then, out of wickedness, he added, “and putting on lipstick. On the way to the fire. Putting on lipstick.”
    Big Lou frowned. For a few moments she said nothing, then: “Well, it was Moray Place, wasn’t it? A girl has to look her best…” She paused. “Not that I believe you, Matthew, anyway. She might have been combing her hair–you don’t want your hair to get in the way when you’re working, do you? But she would not have been putting on lipstick.”
    Mathew was silent.
    â€œWell, Matthew? I’m waiting.”
    â€œOh, I don’t know, Lou,” said Matthew at last. “Maybe I’m just old-fashioned.”
    â€œMaybe you need to think before you speak,” muttered Big Lou. She looked at him reproachfully. They liked each other, and she did not wish to make him uncomfortable. So she moved back to Mags. “You asked me why Mags does what she does. The answer, I think, is that she suffers from claustrophobia. She told me about it. If she’s inside, she feels that she wants to get outside. So she needed work that took her outside all the time.”
    â€œAnd her steamroller would be open,” mused Matthew. “No windows. No door.”
    â€œExactly,” said Big Lou. “That’s Mags–an open-air girl.”
    â€œIt’s a perfectly good job,” said Matthew. He paused. “But the men who work on the roads can be a little bit…how does one put it? A little bit…”
    â€œCoarse?” asked Big Lou. “Is that what you were trying to say?”
    Matthew nodded.
    â€œThen you should say it,” said Big Lou. “Nae use beating aboot the bush. Say what you think. But always think first. Aye, they’re coarse all right. They’re always whistling at women and making crude remarks. That’s what Mags says.”
    â€œVery crude,” said Matthew. One did not find that sort of behaviour in art galleries, he reflected. Imagine if one did! A woman might go into a gallery and the art dealer would wolf-whistle. No, it would not happen.
    â€œWhat are you smiling at?” asked Big Lou.
    â€œOh, nothing much,” said Matthew airily. “Just thinking about how different sorts of people go for different sorts of jobs.”
    Big Lou shrugged. “No surprise there. Anyway, Mags worked on the crew for eight years and everyone treated her like one of the boys. They just accepted her and took no special notice of her. Then, one day, she ran her steamroller over a piece of jewellery that somebody had dropped in the street. One of the men found it flattened and held it up for everybody to laugh at. But Mags cried instead. She thought that it might have been of great sentimental value to somebody, and there it was completely destroyed. She cried.”
    â€œI can understand that,” said Matthew.
    â€œWell, that made all the difference for Neil,” said Big Lou. “He operated a pneumatic drill and had been like the rest of them and had treated Mags as one of the boys. Now he started to look at her. A day or