Corduroy Mansions

35. Eddie is Cool

For a few moments Eddie said nothing, but stared intensely at his father in frank astonishment. Then, his disbelief changing to horror, he brushed past William and strode into the drawing room.

Freddie de la Hay, half asleep on the Baluchi rug in front of the fireplace, content to doze in this new, agreeable place, lazily opened first one eye and then the other. Raising his nose from the rug, he sniffed at the air: yes, this was the other person he had smelled on his earlier rounds of the flat. So this was the second occupant of the house. One could not, as a dog, expect that most perfect of arrangements from the canine perspective: one human and one dog. Such dispositions existed but were rare, and were not to be, it seemed, for Freddie de la Hay.

He stared at Eddie for a few moments and then lowered his head back onto the rug to continue his doze. There was nothing he needed to do; any instructions, he imagined, would come from William, who was clearly now his master, and not from this new arrival.

Eddie spun round and stormed back into the hall. William saw his expression and winced, his resolve not to be intimidated by his son seeming a small thing now in the face of this towering filial wrath.

‘Is this your idea of a joke, Dad?’ Eddie shouted. And then, before William could answer, he added, ‘Whose dog is it? Get them to come and fetch it.’

William swallowed. He belonged to a generation that had missed the two great conflicts of the twentieth century and he had a profound distaste for any manifestation of anger. Seeing his son in this mood shocked him, and he was for a moment uncertain what to do. His instinct was to agree, to assure Eddie that the dog was only a visitor and that he had indeed been joking. But he managed to steel himself sufficiently to reply, ‘Sorry, Eddie, but it’s not a joke. I’ve always wanted a dog. And you did say that you were going to get your own place. That place with Stevie.’

Eddie had been about to shout out something more but this stopped him. He frowned. He had said nothing to his father about Stevie’s proposal, or had he? No, he had only discussed it on the phone, when his friend had rung him. His father, then, must have been listening; it was the only explanation for his knowing anything about it.

‘So now you’re listening in to my telephone conversations, are you?’ It was as if he were adding another outrage to a long list of grievances.

William lowered his gaze. He had never been able to lie, and he could not lie now. ‘I picked up the telephone at the moment you answered it yourself. I didn’t intend to listen in.’

‘But you did.’

He nodded. ‘I did. And perhaps it taught me the lesson that Polonius learned - you know, in Hamlet - that it doesn’t pay to eavesdrop, particularly when people are talking about you. You’ll never hear anything but ill of yourself. It’s the same with Googling yourself. Don’t Google yourself lest you read something you’d rather not read.’

He was rather proud of the analogy, which struck him as being bang up to date, but it seemed lost on Eddie, who simply stared at him blankly, still cross, of course, but now blank too. William decided to press his advantage. ‘Oh yes,’ he continued. ‘You hardly defended me when Stevie suggested that you were fed up with me, did you? What did he say? “Fed up with your old man? Blah, blah.” Weren’t those the words he used?’

‘Stevie’s just Stevie,’ Eddie mumbled. ‘You know how he is. He doesn’t mean it most of the time.’

‘Oh no?’ said William. ‘Yet you went along with him quickly enough, didn’t you, Eddie?’

Eddie shifted on his feet. ‘You’re trying to change the subject, Dad.’

William’s voice rose as he replied. ‘Really? Well, let’s get back to the subject then, which is my life. I want to lead a life. I want to lead a life on my terms in my own flat. I want to listen to my music, not yours. I want to spend as long as I like in the bathroom in the morning, washing my own face. I want to have a dog. Maybe even two dogs. More, even. I want to have friends. I want everything that parents give up when they have children, especially children like you. I want quiet. I want to spend my own money on myself and not on you. That’s what I want, Eddie. That’s what I want.’

William’s words were delivered with all the dignity and force of the Gettysburg Address. And the effect was extraordinary. Eddie suddenly stepped forward and put an arm around William’s shoulder. Then he leaned forward so that his face brushed against his father’s cheek, briefly, before he drew back and stared directly into William’s eyes.

‘All right, Dad,’ he said. ‘It’s fine to cry. It really is.’

‘I’m not crying,’ said William.

‘Sure, sure,’ soothed Eddie. ‘Don’t hold it in.’

‘I have no desire to cry,’ repeated William, emphasising each word. ‘I don’t know why you’re going on about it. I have no desire to cry. I’m in perfect control of my emotions, as I’m sure you can see.’

‘But that’s the trouble, Dad,’ said Eddie. ‘That’s the trouble that all men have with their emotions. Particularly middle-class men like you. Elderly middle-class men. They can’t let go. It all builds up and then . . . out it comes, and they flip.’

William now raised his voice. ‘I have not flipped,’ he said.

‘No, not yet,’ said Eddie. ‘But that’s the way it happens. Everything looks fine on the surface, but just below there are all those churning emotions - all of them without an outlet. It’s unnatural.’

William tried to pull himself away from his son, who still had an arm around his shoulder. But Eddie hung on. ‘I’m with you, Dad,’ he said. ‘We can get through this thing together.’

‘What thing?’ asked William.

‘This whole mid-life crisis thing that you’re experiencing. This dog thing. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. A powerful car. A dog. A younger woman. Same thing. Lots of men do exactly that during their MLC.’ He paused. ‘So don’t you worry any more - it’s going to be all right. If it helps you, then I can live with a dog. I’m cool with that. Hakuna matata. You know what that means? No problems, in Swahili. Hakuna matata, Dad!’