Corduroy Mansions Page 0,17

emerged with a great deal of credit—at least in Berthea’s eyes.

They peered together at a Vuillard interior. For a brief moment they turned and glanced at one another, and smiled. What was a man, a mere man, to come between two women friends who went back a long time? Nothing, thought Berthea.

They moved on. Another interior, a Montparnasse bedroom.

“I take it you’ve discovered that he snores,” Berthea remarked.

13. Stevie Phones Eddie

MARCIA LEFT WILLIAM in a thoughtful state. Her visits usually gave him something to reflect upon—Marcia brimmed with ideas, not all of them useful—but on this occasion he felt that what she had said was well worth considering. He had prepared himself for a show-down with Eddie over moving out, and had decided that the best tactic to adopt was to insist—and he would have to insist—that Eddie pay rent out of the small fund his grandmother had left for his benefit, but which, crucially, was entirely controlled by William. This rent would be an economic one, thus forcing Eddie to choose between a cheap rent elsewhere or an expensive rent at home. Eddie did not like to spend money—if it was his own, the money of others being a different matter—and might just prefer the cheaper option. It was a long shot, perhaps, but worth trying.

The time was ripe. A few days earlier, William had overheard the alternative offer being made over the telephone when he had picked up the receiver in his bedroom at precisely the moment Eddie had lifted it in the kitchen.

“That you, Ed?”

He recognised the voice of Eddie’s friend Stevie.

“Yup.”

And it’s me too, thought William, because I live here. He was just about to put the receiver down and leave Eddie to get on with his telephone call when he heard himself mentioned. Nobody could resist that, especially when it was on his own phone in his own house.

Stevie’s nasal voice continued. “Your old man.”

“Yup. What about him?”

“Pretty fed up with him, aren’t you?”

William held his breath. And what about me? he thought.

“Yup.”

William clenched his teeth.

“Mine gets on my nerves too. Blah, blah, blah. On and on about getting a job and a mortgage and so on. Blah, blah, blah.”

“Yup. Blah, blah, blah. Old-speak.”

William, on the point of interjecting “Blah,” stopped himself in time. There was more to come.

“Got a place at last. Found it yesterday. Kennington. Not bad at all.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep. De Laune Street. Heard of it?”

Eddie had not. “Sounds posh. Not?”

“No, not. But it’s got three bedrooms. Five hundred and sixty quid a month each. I need one other person. Maggie says she’ll take one of the rooms, but only three weeks after the lease starts. That’s a bit awkward but I said OK, that’s cool. So there’s her and me. I thought you might like the other room. Get your old man out of your hair.”

William’s eyes widened.

“Well …”

Take it, thought William. I’ll pay.

“Nice place,” said Stevie. “You know that pub we went to last month with Mike? Remember? It’s round the corner.”

There was silence. William imagined Eddie doing the calculation. Currently he lived rent-free in a better area. He also received free food and heating, and paid no discernible taxes. If anything went wrong and a tradesman was required, then it was William who made the arrangements. And Eddie, as far as his father could remember, had never used the vacuum cleaner, nor washed up, nor even loaded the dishwasher, in spite of frequent hints and requests. Eventually William had tired of piles of unwashed crockery and accepted that he would have to do everything himself—in a tight-lipped way, of course, but keeping before him, like the prospect of release from servitude, that glorious moment when his son would announce that he had found a flat and was moving out. Durance vile, though, was proving to be drawn out.

Eddie spoke. “Can you give me time to think? There’s quite a lot going on round here that I have to sort out.”

“Next week, Ed,” said Stevie. “Next week, max. I have to tell the guy next week or he gives it to somebody else. Students, I think. He doesn’t really want students, but he says they’re offering to pay a bit more rent and he has to know.”

“Students are bad news,” said Eddie.

William slipped the handset back into its cradle. He had heard enough—too much, in fact. Eddie had said that there was a lot going on—but what exactly did he mean by that? And as for the comment about students …