The Uncommon Appeal of Clouds: An Isabel Dalhousie Novel (9) by Alexander McCall Smith Page B

Now, something
     had come over him; maybe something triggered by this odd discussion. She had seen
     him do this before—slip into a sombre mood—although she thought that it happened much
     less frequently these days.
    He lowered his voice; there was a customer within earshot, browsing the shelves. “What
     if you thought that you might … might have something because of something that happened … What
     should you do?”
    Isabel looked at him with concern, causing him to glance away sharply.
    “I’m not quite sure what you mean,” she said carefully. “Do you mean, what if you
     think you’ve got some sort of infection: Should you go to a doctor? Is that what you’re
     asking me?”
    He hesitated. He was fiddling with the strings of his blue-striped butcher’s apron.
     The strings were frayed and he was tugging at them nervously. She noticed again his
     less than clean fingernails. He was just a boy; just a boy with the unwashedhands that boys have. And suddenly, with no warning at all, he had become a frightened
     boy.
    He spoke slowly, stumbling over the phrases. “Yes. That’s right. Except it may not
     be your fault that you might have something that … something that you wouldn’t want
     to have. And then you suddenly think, maybe I shouldn’t take the risk of passing it
     on to anybody. Say, a heavy cold, or something like that. Something like what Cat’s
     had. That stuff. Or even … or even something worse than that. But it wasn’t your fault,
     you see.”
    She waited, but he seemed to have finished what he wanted to say.
    “Something worse?” Isabel asked quietly.
    Eddie nodded mutely. He had been standing on the other side of the counter, and Isabel
     now crossed over to him. Taking his hand, she led him through the door into Cat’s
     office. He did not resist. His hand, she thought, felt so soft. Over by the shelves,
     the customer turned and looked briefly in their direction, but then turned away.
    “Eddie, I think I know what you’re talking about. I think I do—but I’m not sure.”
    “I …”
    “No, listen to me, Eddie. You don’t have to tell me. I don’t want you to feel that
     you must. There are things that happen to people that are very cruel, and people don’t
     have to talk about them if they don’t want to. You know that, don’t you?”
    His gaze was fixed on the floor, his head bowed. But he nodded—almost imperceptibly.
    “So all I’m going to say to you is this: I know that something bad happened to you,
     and I’m so, so sorry, Eddie. And if you think that because of this thing that happened
     you may needto have a check-up, then that’s exactly the right thing to do. I’m sure that you’ll
     be all right because it must have been quite some time ago, mustn’t it, and you seem
     fine, don’t you? But you can set your mind at rest.”
    He said nothing. He was weeping.
    Isabel put her arm around his shoulder. She drew him to her. His frame was shaking
     with sobs. “Do you want me to go with you? I can go with you to the doctor.”
    He reached in his pocket for a handkerchief that was not there. Isabel took a tissue
     from the box on Cat’s desk and handed it to him.
    “Yes, please.”
    Isabel put her hand against his cheek. She reached for another tissue and dabbed at
     his tears.
    “Dear Eddie,” she whispered. “You’ve been very brave. And you’re not alone, you know.
     You’ve got me, Cat, Diane. You’ve got all of us. Your friends.”
    “I feel stupid,” he said. “And I feel dirty too.”
    She was shocked by his words. “Eddie, every one of us, every single one feels stupid
     about something. And maybe dirty too. And often it’s not a big thing and it’s not
     our fault either. All right, Eddie? All right?”
    “I still feel stupid.”
    Isabel felt a rush of sympathy for the young man. “I know somebody who can help,”
     she said. “They help people who have these worries. It’s a charity. I’ve supported
     them in the