Corduroy Mansions

67. Where’s Freddie de la Hay?

Marcia told William that after she had seen her seafood supplier she would go back to Corduroy Mansions to carry on with the task of sorting out Eddie’s room.

‘I hope that he’s picked up the rest of his clothes,’ she said, ‘because if he hasn’t, I’m going to give them to a charity shop.’

This brought a sharp intake of breath from William. It was one thing to bundle Eddie’s clothes out of his room; it was quite another to give them away. Did they have the right to do that? Could anybody give away somebody else’s clothes, or was it simple theft? Marcia was showing a fairly cavalier attitude to the law, what with her apparent indifference to the presence of the stolen painting and now her willingness to dispose of Eddie’s property. He would have to watch this and, if necessary, start educating her as to the requirements of the law-abiding life.

‘I really don’t think we can give his stuff away,’ he protested. ‘It doesn’t belong to us, you know.’

Marcia had no time for such niceties. ‘It’s in your flat, isn’t it? Surely you’ve got the right to dispose of things from your flat?’

William was doubtful. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘But you must have,’ said Marcia. ‘Otherwise it would be ridiculous. Listen, if I came and dumped something in your flat without your permission - just dumped it in the hall, let’s say - surely you have every right to put it out on the street? After all, you didn’t ask me to bring it, whatever it is.’

William thought about this. People obviously could not land their property on others but Eddie had not done that anyway; his property was in the flat because he lived there. That, William felt, made a big difference.

‘I’m still not sure,’ he said. ‘Look, here’s an example. Let’s say that I go and stay in a hotel.’

Marcia smiled sweetly. ‘All right. Let’s say that you and I go and stay in a hotel.’

William froze. He had not said you and I, he was sure of it. He would have to correct her; he could not let it pass.

‘I go and stay in a hotel—’ he continued pointedly.

Marcia interrupted him. ‘You know, that’s what Eddie has taken you for all these years. A hotel. He’s treated you as if you were a hotel.’

‘All children treat their parents like that,’ William mused. ‘It’s the way they think of home. Anyway, let’s say that I go and stay in a hotel but leave my pyjamas behind. Can the hotel—?’

He did not complete the question. ‘Of course, some people don’t wear pyjamas,’ Marcia muttered.

William faltered. What was this? A comment? A confession? A come-on? He raised his voice to prevent further interruptions. ‘I leave something behind. A tie, then. Can the hotel just give it away?’

Marcia looked thoughtful. ‘Well, it depends, doesn’t it? A tie is nothing very much. So I think they could probably get rid of it. They can’t send on everything their guests leave. Where would you draw the line?’

‘So they hold on to anything of any value?’

Marcia shrugged. ‘I suspect that’s what they do. Although I don’t really know. I imagine that the staff just pocket most things.’

William sighed. He had brought up the hotel analogy but he did not feel that it had helped. ‘Well, I don’t think that Eddie’s stuff is in quite the same category,’ he said. ‘And I also don’t think that you should give it away. We’ll find room in a cupboard somewhere, or I’ll take it over to Stevie’s place in the car.’

The matter was left there, and when William went home after work he discovered that Marcia, having arrived a few minutes before, had bundled some of Eddie’s clothes into a cupboard. Although he said nothing, William was pleased that she had heeded his advice; he had never been sure whether Marcia listened to anything he said, but at least in this case she appeared to have done so.

He stood in the hall, watching her push the last of Eddie’s possessions into the cupboard. ‘Is Freddie de la Hay sleeping?’ he asked.

‘I suppose so,’ said Marcia. ‘I haven’t looked for him. He must be in that smelly dog bed of his.’

William raised an eyebrow. He did not like Freddie’s bed to be described as smelly; it was not. At least, it was no smellier than any other dog bed. Of course it smelled of dog, which was what Freddie de la Hay was. Did Marcia expect it to smell of anything different?

He left the hall and went into the living room. There was the bed, but there was no sign of Freddie. He now felt a twinge of alarm.

‘He didn’t slip out when you came back, did he?’ he shouted to Marcia.

And she called back from the hall, ‘No. I didn’t see him at all.’

William looked about the room. A cat might conceal itself in some odd place and bide its time before announcing its presence. A dog would never do that. Dogs were transparent, he thought; you knew where you stood with a dog.

He called Freddie’s name and went into the kitchen to see if he was there. He was not. Nor was he in the bathroom or any of the other rooms in the flat.

‘Freddie de la Hay’s missing,’ he said to Marcia. ‘He’s not here.’

Marcia groaned. ‘Eddie,’ she said.

‘What about Eddie?’

‘Eddie’s stolen Freddie de la Hay,’ she said.

William closed his eyes. ‘Why on earth would he do that?’

The answer was clear - to Marcia at least. ‘To get at you,’ she said. ‘Eddie has decided to punish you and so he’s taken your dog.’

William sat down. ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘Do you really think so?’

‘It’s obvious,’ said Marcia. ‘You know what Eddie’s like. He’ll have said to himself: “Son Liberates Dog from Mean Father”. You know how he talks.’

William was silent.