Corduroy Mansions

52. Eddie’s Wardrobe

By nine o’clock it was agreed. William would later reflect on the actual process of agreement and ask himself how it came about. At no point, he thought, did Marcia come right out and ask him whether she could move in, and yet there was no room for misunderstanding or ambivalence: she would pack up Eddie’s things for him and move them into the hall; then she would move her own possessions into his room and arrange for the lock on the flat door to be changed. It was a bold move, but, as she pointed out to William, Eddie had failed to take hints and had ignored a succession of direct requests. In the circumstances what else could they do?

The delicate issue of Marcia’s taking up residence was glossed over. ‘I’ll take his room,’ she said. ‘It won’t be any trouble. And this place could do with a woman’s touch. Nothing dramatic, of course - just a bit of sprucing up.’

Nothing was said about any of the other normal concomitants of moving in with somebody. Was she merely going to be a flatmate, sharing in the same way as the girls downstairs shared? Or was she planning to live with William, in the sense in which most men and women live with one another? Had it not been for the champagne, William would have resisted. He liked Marcia, but he had not yet decided whether they would be lovers. He knew that was what she wanted, but he was unsure whether she was quite right for him and he realised that if he made a move in that direction, it would not be easy to extricate himself should he wish to do so. And now she was moving in . . .

‘Let’s go and take a look at his room,’ Marcia suggested as she cleared the plates from the table.

William frowned. ‘Well, I don’t know . . . He could come back.’

‘We’ll hear him,’ she said. ‘And anyway it’s far too early for Eddie to come back. I thought he stayed out all night on Saturdays. You said so yourself.’

‘Did I? Well, maybe.’

She took him by the arm. ‘So . . . let’s go and take a look. I need to see what’s what, if I’m going to be living in that room.’ She looked at him sideways as she made this last remark, but he did not take up the invitation to say that she would be in his room. It’s my life, he thought, my room. Nobody has the right to force their way into other people’s rooms. Bedrooms require an invitation - it was basic etiquette.

Half propelled by Marcia, William led the way into Eddie’s bedroom. As they entered, he became aware that Freddie de la Hay was at their heels and was looking about the room, his nose twitching with interest. Did Eddie indulge? He thought not: Eddie had shown no interest in such matters and indeed had often expressed a hostile view of drugs. Stevie, he had once said, had taken something that made him see double for three days. ‘It’s stupid,’ Eddie said. ‘What’s the point?’ So if Freddie de la Hay was picking up a scent it was probably no more than the minute traces which might have stuck to Eddie’s clothing during his visits to those clubs of his. The air in those places must be laden with the sort of thing that pressed an olfactory button with Freddie de la Hay.

‘What a pit,’ Marcia said, poking with her foot at a pile of dirty washing on the floor. ‘He’s such a—’ She stopped herself. Eddie was William’s son after all and she should be careful.

‘I tried to bring him up to be tidy,’ William sighed. ‘But you know how it is.’

‘Oh, it’s not your fault that Eddie’s like he is,’ Marcia soothed. ‘It’s the . . . It’s the . . .’ She searched for the right object of blame. ‘It’s the Government’s fault. They’ve done nothing to stop the rot. They’ve undermined the authority of teachers. They’ve—’

‘Yes,’ said William. He had heard Marcia on the subject before; it was all very familiar.

Marcia crossed the room to the desk, which Eddie had positioned under the window. A number of unopened letters lay on the top.

‘A red bill,’ she said, picking up one of the envelopes. ‘And this one is for jury service - you can tell.’

‘I don’t think Eddie would be a particularly good juror,’ William said.

‘Well, I’ll pack all these up for him,’ said Marcia, moving the letters into a pile. She bent down and opened the top drawer of the desk. Old chocolate wrappers had been stuffed inside and now cascaded out.

‘Eddie always had a sweet tooth,’ said William.

Marcia pursed her lips. ‘I see.’

While Marcia had been busying herself with the desk, Freddie de la Hay had moved across to the wardrobe at the other end of the room and seated himself in front of it. Then, turning towards William, he gave him an intense stare.

‘He’s found something,’ said Marcia. ‘Look.’

William sighed. He did not want Freddie to find something. Life was complicated enough without having to think about Eddie’s possible use of drugs.

‘They all do it,’ he muttered. ‘But perhaps he doesn’t inhale . . .’

Freddie was now scratching at the wardrobe door and whining.

‘We can’t ignore him,’ Marcia said firmly. ‘I’m going to have a look.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t,’ muttered William. ‘It’s Eddie’s wardrobe, you know. We should respect his privacy.’

But Marcia was not listening; she was now at Freddie de la Hay’s side. The dog looked up at her briefly and then glanced over at William, as if to confirm Marcia’s authority. William nodded.

The catch on the wardrobe was stiff and it took Marcia a minute or so to twist it in such a way that the door would open. William came and stood behind her, craning his neck to see what the wardrobe would contain. Chocolate wrappers? A cache of dirty laundry? Or would it, as he feared, contain something considerably worse?