Stuart looked at Bertie, who sat, nose pressed to the window of the bus, pointing some sight out to Tofu. He assumed that this evening the boys would be inducted and make their promise. He had spoken to Bertie about that, and his son had listened carefully as he explained the elements of the promise.

“You have to say, ‘I promise to do my best; to do my duty to God and the Queen,’” said Stuart.

“I know,” said Bertie. “I’ve read about that, and I will do my best, Daddy. To God and the Queen. To both of them.”

“That’s good, Bertie,” said Stuart. “And then there’s the cub scout law. That says that you must think of others first and do a good turn for somebody every day.”

“I’ll try,” said Bertie. He was not sure what good deeds would be expected of him, but he supposed that it would be something to do with Ulysses. Ulysses seemed to require a great deal of attention, and there were always tasks that had to be performed to keep him happy.

And now, as they reached Holy Corner and the bus stop at which they were to alight, Bertie felt a great wave of anxiety come over him. He would shortly have to make the first public promise of his life, the very first, and it would be based on a lie. The cub scouts were for those of eight and above and he was only six. He was about to enlist under false pretences and take an oath that he was not even entitled to take.

As they approached the Episcopal church hall, Bertie tugged at his father’s sleeve.

“What is it, Bertie?” enquired Stuart.

“I don’t think I want to join after all,” Bertie whispered. “I don’t think it’s such a good idea any more.”

Stuart bent down and put his arm about his son. “Come on, Bertie,” he said. “You’ll have tremendous fun.”

“Yes, don’t be such a wimp,” said Tofu.

Stuart scowled at Tofu. “Bertie is not a wimp, Tofu, if you don’t mind. And I won’t have such language.”

Tofu was defensive. “I was only saying what other people say,” he protested.

“And why should people call Bertie a wimp?” asked Stuart.

“It’s not him, Mr. Pollock,” said Tofu politely. “It’s not him they call a wimp. It’s you.”

Bertie and Tofu arrived at the cubs at six o’clock. Rosemary Gold, the cub leader, the Akela, as she was known, introduced herself to Stuart and greeted the two boys warmly. Stuart withdrew, after saying goodbye to Bertie and promising to be back in an hour’s time.

“And you are?” Akela said to Bertie once Stuart had gone.

“Bertie Pollock.”

Akela smiled encouragingly. “And how old are you, Bertie?”

Bertie looked up at the ceiling. His heart was hammering within him and his mouth felt quite dry. He took a deep breath. “Well, at the moment I’m…” He was going to say eight, qualified by the formula he had prepared, but he did not have time to speak.

“I’m eight,” said Tofu. “And Bertie’s in my class. He’s eight too. We’re both eight. Eight.”

Akela smiled again. “Very well, I think I get the message. And you are…”

“Tofu,” said Tofu. “T, O, F, U. It’s an Irish name.”

Bertie looked at his friend. This was the first he had heard of this.

“Irish? How interesting,” said Akela. “It’s not a name I’m familiar with. Are your parents Irish then?”

Tofu nodded.

Bertie was still staring at his friend. “You never said your dad…”

“I don’t have to tell you everything,” Tofu whispered.

“But your name isn’t Irish,” persisted Bertie. “You’re named after that stuff that vegetarians eat. That white stuff. You’ve got the same name as that white stuff.”

“I’m not,” said Tofu. “It’s Irish. It means… it means chieftain in Irish.”

“Well, boys,” said Akela. “If you go and sit over there, we’ll start once everyone has arrived. And there are still a few to turn up. Here’s somebody now. Another new member.”

The two boys looked in the direction of the door.

“It’s her,” hissed Tofu.

Bertie groaned. “I didn’t tell her,” he whispered. “I promise you, Tofu. I didn’t tell her.”

Olive came skipping across the room to where Akela was standing, followed by her mother, who, seeing Bertie, waved in friendly recognition. While Olive’s mother talked to Akela, Tofu and Bertie stared steadfastly at the floor.

“She’s going to spoil it,” said Bertie miserably.

“Why doesn’t she join the brownies?” Tofu asked. “She just wants to spoil our fun.” He paused. “I hate her. I really hope that she gets struck by lightning sometime. I really do.”

Bertie’s eyes widened. He did not think that this sort of talk was compatible with the cub promise. “I don’t think that’s very kind, Tofu,” he said.

“Not to kill her altogether,” relented Tofu. “But maybe enough just to fuse her to the ground.”

Olive’s mother now left, and Akela summoned the two boys over to her side. “Olive tells me that you already know her,” she said. “It’s always better when people are friends at the beginning.”

“She’s not my friend,” mumbled Tofu. “And why doesn’t she join the brownies?”

“What was that, Tofu?” asked Akela.

“Nothing,” said Tofu.

“And Olive says that she’s been in the cubs before,” Akela went on. “Which is a good thing, as we shall need to appoint some leaders. In the cubs we have somebody called a sixer. That person is the head cub of a six. You’ll all be in the red six, and Olive will be in charge.”

This news was greeted with horrified silence by the two boys.

“Well, that’s settled that,” said Akela. “Now I’ll administer the cub promise. This is a very solemn moment, boys and girls. So all stand in a line and put up your right hands like this. This is the special scout salute that Baden-Powell invented. No, Tofu, the fingers face inwards rather than the way you’re doing it. That’s right. Now I’ll say the words of the promise and you say them after me.”

There was no heart in it, no conviction; not now that Olive was there and had, in the space of a few minutes, been promoted above their heads. Bertie had a strong sense of justice, and this was now mortally offended. Olive did not deserve to be a sixer; the experience she claimed was completely imaginary – he was sure that she had never been a cub before. And how could Akela be fooled by Olive’s false claims? Why did she not ask Olive exactly what her experience had been and get her to show some proof of it?

Now, with the promise administered and everybody duly enrolled, Akela began to tell the cubs about badges. There were many badges they could get, she explained: collecting, swimming, history, model-making, cooking, music; whole vistas of achievement opened up.

“I’d like to get my cooking badge, Akela,” said Olive. “And music too. And map-reading – I always read the maps in the car. I read the map all the way to Glasgow once, and back again.”

“That’s not hard,” said Tofu. “There’s only one road to Glasgow and it has signs all the way along. It says Glasgow this way. You can’t go wrong.”

“Well, I’m sure Olive read the map very nicely anyway,” said Akela. “And what badge do you boys want to get? Bertie, what about you?”

Bertie looked up. “Mozart,” he said. “If you’ve got a Mozart badge, I could do that, Akela.”

Olive laughed. “Oh, Bertie, they don’t have that sort of thing in the cubs. Why don’t you do a cooking badge with me? I could teach him how to cook, Akela. Then we both could do the badge together.”

“That would be nice,” said Akela. “Would you like that, Bertie?”

Bertie stared down at the floor. His hopes of the cubs were dashed beyond redemption now. He had wanted to learn how to do tracking and how to make a fire by rubbing two sticks together. He wanted to learn how to use a penknife and how to use a wrist watch and the sun to find south. He wanted to learn all that, but instead he was going to be cooking with Olive. Is this really why Mr. Baden-Powell had invented scouting – so that boys could learn how to cook?