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unprotesting, but when he saw his mother’s face again, he immediately started to wail and was promptly sick again, this time over the back of the seat.
    ‘Oh dear,’ said Irene. ‘We’re really feeling out of sorts this morning, aren’t we?’
    Bertie was silent. He had noticed something: it seemed to him that what prompted Ulysses to bring up was the sight of his mother’s face. Poor Mummy, thought Bertie; she loves little Ulysses so much and already he’s sick of her.

14. Regurgitation Issues
     
    If this distressing vomiting by Ulysses had lasted for no more than a day or two, then Irene would probably have continued to treat the matter as no more than a passing bug of the sort that children pick up so easily. Irene was not one to bother doctors – therapists were a different matter – partly because she felt that they often knew little more than she did, and sometimes rather less. However, after it had persisted for three days, she thought it wise to consult her doctor, amild-mannered man who ran a small practice round the corner from Scotland Street. The doctor took Ulysses’s temperature and gave him a general examination, during which Ulysses behaved impeccably.
    ‘This young man seems to be doing perfectly well,’ he said. ‘But you say that he seems distressed on occasion and then brings his food up?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Irene. ‘He cries and then regurgitates.’
    The doctor looked down at Ulysses. ‘These stomach issues can be problematic. They can resolve, of course, but sometimes it’s necessary to have further investigation.’ He looked thoughtfully at Irene. ‘I think that we should perhaps watch the situation for a little while before we do anything more.’ He turned his attention back to Ulysses, who smiled back at him. ‘He seems a contented wee chap.’
    ‘Most of the time he is,’ said Irene. ‘It’s just when I pick him up. That’s when it tends to happen.’
    ‘It’s possibly just reflux,’ the doctor mused. ‘I wonder whether the movement has anything to do with it? I’ve not seen this before.’ He tickled Ulysses under the chin, and the child burst into a delighted chuckle. ‘He doesn’t seem to be dehydrated, so he’s obviously keeping something down.’
    Irene nodded. She was looking over the doctor’s shoulder at the books on the shelf behind him. Shelves gave so much away about a person. Melanie Klein? Nothing as far as she could see, but then perhaps one should not expect too much of somebody who had to spend most of his time dealing with colds and rashes and things like that.
    ‘Shall we just watch over the next few days?’ said the doctor. ‘We may need to get the paediatric gastro-enterologists at the Sick Kids to take a look at him. But not just yet, I think.’
    The consultation clearly at an end, Irene reached forward to pick up Ulysses. As she did so, Ulysses, who had continued to gurgle contentedly, puckered his face in rage and brought up over the front of his mother. The doctor was momentarily taken aback, and it was a few moments before he produced a wad of moist wipes to help Irene clean up.
    ‘There!’ said Irene. ‘You see.’
    The doctor nodded. He was watching Ulysses, who was glaring at Irene, his small features contorted with emotion. Although until now he had refrained from reaching a diagnosis, he now felt sure.
    ‘It’s as if he’s over-excited,’ said Irene.
    ‘I’ve been thinking,’ said the doctor. ‘Sometimes these things are nothing to do with the stomach. Sometimes they are more on the mental side.’ He chose his words carefully; not everyone was comfortable with the term psychiatric.
    ‘Psychiatric?’ asked Irene abruptly.
    The doctor raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes, possibly. I’m not suggesting that you yourself are doing anything wrong. But sometimes the relationship between mother and baby gets a bit – how shall we put it? – complicated.’
    He watched Irene carefully, but he need not have worried.
    ‘Well, we do