Corduroy Mansions

37. Dee Meets Freddie de la Hay

Dee had not known what to say. For a few moments she stared at her flatmate, not in the way that one stares at something that interests one, but with the sort of stare used when one is looking at somebody and is suddenly too embarrassed to look away. If such a stare lingers, it lingers because it can do nothing else.

‘Oh,’ she said. And then, again, ‘Oh.’

Then it was Jo’s turn to show embarrassment. She, too, said, ‘Oh.’

Dee tore her gaze away and looked at the floor. They were standing in the kitchen, and she was looking down at cork tiles, which had been pitted over the years by stiletto heels. It was like the surface of a brown planet somewhere, she thought, the indentations being tiny hits by ancient meteorites.

‘Oh,’ repeated Jo. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. You didn’t think . . . ?’

Dee looked up with relief, and laughed. ‘Of course not.’

She was lying. Of course she had.

‘You see,’ Jo went on, ‘that shows the truth of what I said about us Australians. We really do speak our minds. I was thinking that you look really good in that top. It suits you. Suits your colouring. Green.’

Dee reached up to touch her blouse. ‘Thanks. I’ve had it for ages.’ All her clothes were old; second-hand, mostly, bought from charity shops or passed on by more affluent friends. There was a woman who came into the vitamin agency who had taken to giving Dee the clothes that she no longer needed. This top came from her, she remembered.

‘You’ve got good skin too,’ Jo went on. ‘High cheekbones. My face is going to sag when I’m forty. God, I’m going to sag.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Dee. ‘And your skin’s fine. I don’t see anything wrong with it.’

‘That’s because you don’t live in it,’ Jo retorted. ‘I know. You should see my mother. I’m going to be like her.’

‘We’re all going to be like our mothers,’ said Dee. ‘And we’re going to say the same things, too.’

Jo shook her head. ‘Never.’

‘We’ll see.’

Now, almost a year later, Dee found herself in the kitchen making herself a pot of green tea when Jo came into the room, already dressed in the grey tracksuit that she donned for her regular morning runs.

Jo looked out of the window. ‘Nice day,’ she said. ‘I’m on duty at the wine bar this evening, worse luck. But the day’s free. I’m going to do ten miles this morning. Then I think I’ll have a picnic with some friends. One of the parks.’

Dee thought that this was a good idea. She approved of exercise and took it herself, in theory at least. But exercise without a good diet was not enough. What was the use of pounding the pavements if one was deficient in selenium, or magnesium for that matter?

She poured green tea into her cup. ‘I’m working,’ she said. ‘Saturday morning’s always busy for us.’ They would be so busy that she would not have very much time to talk to Martin. But she hoped that she would be able to sit him down after lunch and discuss his colonic irrigation. She had planted the seed in his mind, and she wanted to get back to it because she thought that he was on the point of agreeing to it. If he did agree, then she was going to suggest that they did it the following day. Doing it on a Sunday would give him time to take the salts in advance and it could be done in a leisurely way. Their flat would be best - she did not fancy going all the way out to Martin’s house in Wimbledon or wherever it was that he lived with his parents, carrying all the necessary equipment. And what would his parents think? People were sensitive about colonic irrigation, largely because they had no idea, Dee thought, about what it involved and what the benefits were. If only they knew, if only they could see what could be flushed out of the system. She had heard recently of a man who had swallowed a marble as a child and had only now, at the age of thirty, had it flushed out of his system. Imagine having a marble in one’s digestive tract for over twenty years! She would have to tell Martin about that. Perhaps it would persuade him.

She was thinking about this when she suddenly heard an unfamiliar sound on the landing outside. ‘Is that a dog barking?’ she said to Jo.

Jo frowned. ‘Sounded like it. But inside?’

There was another bark - louder this time.

‘I’m going to take a look,’ said Dee. ‘Perhaps a stray has come in. Eddie often doesn’t shut the front door. I’ve asked him. But he doesn’t care.’

She left the kitchen and went into the hall to open the front door. When she looked outside, it was to see William beginning to descend the final flight of stairs. At his side, attached to a leash, was Freddie de la Hay.

William, hearing the door open, looked over his shoulder.

‘Yes,’ he said, smiling. ‘Meet your new neighbour, Freddie de la Hay.’

Dee stared at Freddie. How very strange. A dog with a surname. But it was Pimlico, after all, and one might expect anything to happen in Pimlico.

‘How do you do?’ she said.

Freddie looked at her. Was this woman addressing him? Perhaps he should sit, just to be on the safe side. People were always asking dogs to sit, even when there was clearly no need to. Freddie sighed, and sat. Life was complicated. And he had just picked up an interesting scent, too. It came from downstairs. Very interesting.