Growing Pains of a Hapless Househusband

by Sam Holden

I sighed. I HATE astrology, hate the infantile moronic illogical turdy basis of it all, despise the very notion that if the moon can have an effect on the sea, then it's not unreasonable to think that the planets and stars might have some effect on us humans, as aren't we 90 per cent made of water blah blah. Honestly, what a load of crap. Listen people, the moon has an effect on tides because of the changes in its gravitational pull on the earth's surface. There's no possible way that the stars can affect the human body in the same – or any – way.

  'Leo,' Sally began. '"This is a time for going ahead with new projects. The Moon in Uranus [I think that's what she said] means a time of great creation and productivity. Now would be a great opportunity to take a risk and just go for it. With the right drive and energy, you have a great chance of succeeding." '

  'Aha,' I went. 'This augurs well for Wonderhubby.'

  'Oh God,' said Sally. 'Not that.'

  'Look,' I said, triumphantly tapping the newspaper with my fork, 'it's in the stars.'

  'But I thought you thought this was all bollocks.'

  'Nope,' I said. 'I think it's brilliant.'

  And, much to my later disgust, I realised that I wasn't being entirely sarcastic.

  Wednesday 6 February

  I think the children must have picked up on my good mood engendered by imminent fame and fortune. After school today, Peter asked why I kept dancing around the kitchen when I was cooking their supper.

  'It's because I'm very happy,' I said.

  'Yes, but why are you dancing?'

  'Because when you're happy, you sometimes feel like dancing.'

  A quick frown, and then: 'Do people feel like dancing when they are sad?'

  Now it was my turn for a quick frown.

  'Probably not.'

  'Do you get sad daddy?'

  'Sometimes, but at the moment, I'm very happy.'

  'Why?'

  'Because Daddy may be making a TV programme.'

  'A TV programme! What about? Soldiers?'

  'No, about being a Daddy.'

  Peter's crest fell.

  'Oh.'

  'But you and Daisy can be in it as well.'

  'On TV? Can we be on TV?'

  'Yes!'

  'TV! TV!' Peter chanted.

  'TV! TV!' Daisy chorused.

  'Can we watch TV?' asked Peter.

  ''An 'e 'otch TV?' echoed Daisy.

  'No,' I said.

  A collective whine until I bought them off with the promise of TV after supper. It occurs to me that Sally may not want the children on the TV programme. And now I'm worrying about whether Sally might want to be on it. Chances of that: 0.05 percent. I shall need to tread carefully, and certainly won't mention it until the programme is in the bag. If it is in the bag.

  Sunday 10 February

  Last night, after a perfectly lovely day en famille, Sally and I had the most enormous row about WonderHubby. (Notice how I now give it a capital H midword – looks more trendy, I think.) So much for reaching that stage of marriage in which we know what not to discuss.

  It came about because at bathtime Peter kept banging on about how Daddy was going to be on TV, and although I tried to calm him down, it was obvious to Sally that it had been a topic of conversation between the children and me. By the time we had finished processing Peter and Daisy, and had tucked them up etc., I could see Sally was looking thoroughly hacked off, and when we got down to the kitchen I decided to have it out with her.

  'You really don't want me to do it, do you?'

  'What?'

  'The WonderHubby programme.'

  'I didn't think it was necessarily happening,' she said. 'I thought it was going to be pitched to the TV channels first.'

  'Yes, but Dom thinks there's a good chance of a pilot being commissioned.'

  'Does he now?'

  'Yes.'

  'And will you be paid for this pilot?'

  'I don't know,' I replied, expressing genuine ignorance. 'I assume they'll bung me something, because the TV company needs a budget to actually make the thing.'

  'How much money do you think they will "bung" you?'

  'I have no idea.'

  A Sally sigh.

  'I don't want to rain on your parade . . .' she began.

  'Yes you do,' I interrupted. 'You always do whenever I have these ideas.'

  'But Sam, your ideas are often a little, you know, off the wall. Remember how you wanted to be a fireman?'

  Flashback to my Near Death Experience on the ladder, when I had flirted with the idea of becoming a volunteer fireman the year before last, despite my fear of heights. A shudder.

  'Yes I do. But I gave it a go, and it didn't work. All I'm saying is that I want to give this a go. And, if it doesn't work, I've tried it, and it's out of my system. But, if it does work, then great, it means some money, perhaps a lot of money.'

  'But Sam, I don't see you as a TV personality. I'm sorry, I just can't see it working at all. And if you want my honest opinion, then I'd say the whole thing is a waste of time, and it's stopping you getting on and trying to find some proper part-time work that you can fit in around the children. Come on Sam, that's not so unreasonable.'

  I rubbed my eyes, trying to wish away the whole conversation.

  'There is barely any work out there,' I said.

  'You haven't looked!'

  'I have.'

  'When?'

  'When?' I replied. 'When you've been at work! When do you think? But there's nothing there – eff all. So what am I supposed to do? What do you want me to do? Sell jam? Join the W fucking I?'

  'Of course not! I just want you to try to do something that is realistic and, more importantly, will bring us in some regular money. This WonderHubby thing is such a long shot and so unstable, I don't think we've got the luxury of you taking a punt like that.'

  'It's not taking a punt. All I'm doing is giving it a go. Taking a punt suggests that we're losing something if it doesn't work. We won't be. We've got everything to gain.'

  Sally sat at the kitchen table and flicked through an old colour supplement. But I could tell she wasn't really concentrating on it, she was merely collecting her thoughts. In the meantime, I helped myself to a beer, offered her something to drink, got the 'glass of white wine' I was expecting, and gave it to her. All very civil.

  'My other worry is that it does work,' said Sally.

  'Oh great,' I went. 'Fucked if it fails, buggered if it works.'

  'Think about it, Sam, how will you be able to look after Peter and Daisy if you're off filming your exciting TV show? Have you thought about that?'

  I hadn't.

  'Of course I have,' I said.

  'And?'

  'And what?'

  'And what will you do with them while you're management-consulting all those oh-so-grateful families? Leave them with a nanny?'

  'No,' I said. 'I thought I'd leave them with the Gruffalo.'

  'Don't be flippant.'

  'I'm not. Of course I'd leave them with a nanny! Who else did you expect I'd leave them with?'

  Sally held up her hands to stop me.

  'I always thought,' she said, in a tone of great forced calm, 'that the whole point of the way we were doing things was that we didn't have to have a nanny, and that we believed the only people who should be bringing up the children were us, and not some stranger from God Knows Where.'

  'I know that – but this would only be temporary when I'm on location.'

  ' "When I'm on location",' Sally scoffed. 'Aren't we Mr TV all of a sudden?'

  'What else am I supposed to say?'

  Sally shrugged. She took a large slug of her wine.

  'Anyway,' she said, 'can't you see the irony of it all? You'll be telling the world what a great dad you are, and while you do so, you'll be leaving the children with a complete stranger.'

  'Not necessarily,' I said.

  'What do you mean?'

  'You could look after them.'

  'Me? How?'

  'If the prog
ramme got commissioned, we'd have enough money for you to be able to give up work.'

  Sally looked at me, just looked at me so witheringly, so contemptuously.

  'Give up work? You really think I'd chuck in my career – and my responsibility to the people I work for – just because you're on some TV show?'

  'I thought you'd be dying to give it up,' I said. 'It's not as though you're having a ball, is it?'

  'That's not the point, Sam!'

  'What is the point then?'

  'My job is important!'

  'And so would be my TV programme!'

  'Really? As important as saving lives?'

  'Sally Holden – she saves the world.'

  'Fuck off,' said Sally, 'you're being juvenile.'

  'And you're being self-important.'

  'No I am not.'

  And with that, she left the room and went upstairs, where she watched TV in the spare bedroom, refusing offers of supper, drinks or rapprochement.

  Today has been frosty, to say the least. Our Sunday-night shag is not looking that likely.

  Tuesday 12 February

  At least SOMEONE likes my putative TV programme, but it's not someone I can really hold up as a cold and neutral observer. Yup, it's Emily. Despite my attempts to avoid her, she spotted me at the school gate after I had dropped off Peter and Daisy, and instantly detected I was looking somewhat down.

  'Hello? What's this?'

  'What's what?'

  'You've got a face longer than the horse I'm about to ride.'

  I couldn't help but smirk at Emily's risqué simile. And, true to cheap-porn-mag form, she was wearing jodhpurs, which meant that I went into the normal gauche unsuave form that I adopt when presented with a woman thus dressed.

  'Um . . . have I? Er . . . no, quite fine thanks. You know, weather's a bit shit. Think I must have SAD or something.'

  'SAD?'

  'Seasonal affective disorder.'

  'Right,' said Emily, utterly unconvinced.

  'Just need a holiday or something,' I said.

  'Right,' she said again. 'Or a drink. Why not come round for an early lunch after you've picked Daisy up?'

  Was it arrogant and presumptuous of Emily to turn round almost before she had finished the question, so sure was she of my acceptance? I thought it was, but it didn't stop me saying:

  'Yespleasethankyouverymuch,' like an eleven-year-old who is on best behaviour in front of his friend's mum.

  And so, at 12.15, armed with a bottle of wine hidden in Daisy's buggy (I didn't want the neighbours to think it was an 'assignation') I knocked on Emily's door, and she greeted me still wearing her jodhpurs and looking as though she had just spent the last two hours fornicating with half a dozen stable boys. Perhaps she had.

  'Sorry! I hope I don't smell! I've only just got back!'

  'That's all right.'

  'Do you mind if I have a quick shower?'

  'You don't have to on my account.'

  Emily raised a reasonably well-plucked eyebrow.

  'Interesting,' she said, and then disappeared upstairs with a 'you know where everything is', which again was presumptuous, as by the time I found the corkscrew (under a pile of magazines next to the microwave), she had reappeared looking freshly showered and spruced, hair slicked back, and wearing not much more than a pair of skinny jeans and a V-neck. I passed her a glass of wine, and then we spoke about what we would feed Daisy, who was ensconced in the living room doing some puzzles. (She is obsessed with puzzles – I harbour optimistic suspicions that she is going to be a mathematician.)

  'So then,' began Emily eventually, 'why are you looking so down?'

  'I didn't realise I was.'

  'C'mon, you've got one of those very expressive faces.'

  'Have I?'

  'YES! And now you're looking very quizzical!'

  'I am?'

  Emily snorted into her wine, and I could only join in the laughter. As I did so, instant guilt, because it occurred to me that Sally and I hadn't laughed like this in ages. In fact, I'm finding it hard to remember when we last had a good belly laugh, as good as the one I had with Emily. I know it's unrealistic to think that one should spend one's entire life cackling away, but even so.

  After the giggles, I soon admitted that the reason I was down was because Sally was so against WonderHubby.

  'But why?' asked Emily, sounding genuinely mystified.

  I told her.

  'That's not very entrepreneurial of her,' said Emily.

  I didn't know how to take this comment – it felt uncomfortable having Emily (of all people) criticise Sally, but it was nevertheless true.

  'Well,' I said, 'she's just not a risk taker, and I am. She doesn't get it at all. Thinks I should just be doing more consultancy work, and she doesn't see that if this works, then we're in clover.'

  'Perhaps she doesn't want it to work.'

  'Oh, she certainly doesn't.'

  'How do you know?'

  'She told me.'

  Emily took a long draught of wine.

  'Well,' she said, 'I think she's being terribly unfair.'

  'So do I,' I replied, without thinking.

  I felt even more guilty now. Not only was I having a laugh with Emily, I was now also being disloyal to Sally. I thought of her stuck in the office in London, the problems of the world on her shoulders, her job a matter of life and death, and here I was, slagging her off in front of the village bicycle, who I still suspected was saying all the right words to get into my pants.

  Emily interrupted my guilt.

  'Can't you just say that you're going to do it anyway, and that if it all goes tits up, then you can go back to consultancy?'

  'Well, that's pretty much how I'm playing it. It just doesn't make for an easy time, that's all.'

  'I can see that,' said Emily.

  'You can?'

  'That face again.'

  I looked at her steadily, trying to seem impassive.

  'Now that,' she said coquettishly, 'is a different sort of face.'

  'What sort of face is it?'

  'I'm not sure,' she smirked. 'But I don't mind it at all.'

  Holy cow. I was quickly feeling out of my depth again, very reminiscent of THAT dinner. I tried moving the subject back to WonderHubby.

  'Do you really think it's a good idea?' I asked.

  Emily held my gaze.

  'I think it's an excellent idea.'

  She moved a little closer.

  'Not too risky?'

  'Life's no fun without risk.'

  I nodded, telling myself that I could handle the situation.

  'But what if doesn't work out?' I asked.

  'I'm sure it will, and besides, if it doesn't, then I know you'll have had a lot of fun.'

  Emily was really standing very close, and she looked up at me.

  'So,' she said, 'why don't you just go for it?'

  'You know,' I said, 'I think I will.'

  Emily then reached up her left hand and started stroking the back of my head. Nearly every chemical that my brain was capable of producing surged through my system, chemicals that contradicted and fought against each other, some willing me to give in, some urging me to get the hell out of there as soon as possible, and some simply insisting that I was extremely dim-witted for not realising that she wasn't talking about WonderHubby. As the hormones waged their war, I stood paralysed, my body waiting for my decision. Meanwhile, Emily was pulling my head towards her, and standing on tiptoe as she strained to connect our mouths.

  'Um.'

  At first, that was pretty much all I managed to say. My head strained against Emily's grip, but still she pulled me towards her.

  'Emily!'

  'Come on Sam,' she whispered. 'Let's just go for it.'

  'It's very nice that you want . . .'

  'Sshhh!'

  By now I could feel her breath on my lips.

  'Emily! Stop it!'

  I pushed away, this time rather too violently, causing Emily to spill
her glass of wine down my front.

  'Oops,' she went matter-of-factly.

  'Sorry,' I said.

  'It's all right, it didn't go over me.'

  Emily edged back. I could feel my heart thumping, and I was glad that Daisy hadn't walked in when things were looking decidedly dodgy.

  'Emily,' I said. 'I wish you wouldn't . . . you know . . .'

  'Try to kiss you? Why not?'

  She was so unabashed, it was extraordinary.

  'Because I'm married and I love my wife, that's why.'

  I tried not to sound pious, but I'm sure I did.

  'Very moral of you.'

  'Yes, well, I am very moral.'

  'Really?'

  'Yes. I don't like cheating – I don't think it's right.'

  'But what if nobody knew?'

  'That's not the point. And besides, they usually do.'

  'Do they?'

  'Yes. Come on Emily, how do you think we all know about what you got up to?'

  'Got up to when?'

  'Well – you know – on holiday in Greece.'

  'What do you know about Greece?'

  I could feel myself uncharacteristically blushing. Nevertheless, there was no going back.

  'About you and those two fishermen in the beach hut.'

  'Two fishermen in a beach hut?'

  'That's what I heard.'

  Emily scoffed at that.

  'What a load of rubbish,' she said.

  'Really?'

  Silence.

  'Yes. Really. It wasn't a beach hut, it was a hotel room thank you very much. And it wasn't two fishermen. It was three. Now then, what would you like for lunch? Do you like kebabs?'

  Unsurprisingly, I didn't have much of an appetite.

  Thursday 14 February

  Valentine's Day today, and guess who forgot? Both of us. It wasn't until halfway through the afternoon that I remembered. So when Peter got back from school, we called Sally at the office. The children wished her happy Valentine's in unison, and then I got on the phone.

  'I'm so sorry,' I said, 'I totally forgot. I haven't even got you a card or anything.'

  Sally laughed.

  'No problem. In fact, I have to confess that I forgot as well.'

  'So we're both in the doghouse,' I said.

  'Yup,' she said.

  'Have you got people around?'

  'Yup.'