Growing Pains of a Hapless Househusband

by Sam Holden

  Thursday 27 March

  Dom says that the editing is going really well and that they're bang on deadline to deliver by the end of the month. They'll bike a DVD down here on Monday so that I can 'curl up and watch it with that lovely wife of yours'. I made vague yippee noises.

  Sunday 30 March

  A really nice weekend ruined by the fact that Sally is going to kill me tomorrow night. I stupidly let slip that the DVD is coming, and she seemed very excited.

  The children have been behaving impeccably, although there is rather too much singing of Halet's praises for our liking.

  'Anybody would have thought I did bugger all when I was looking after them,' I said.

  That earned a raised Sally eyebrow. She's going to raise a lot more than that tomorrow.

  Tuesday 1 April

  Why didn't I just hide the fucking DVD under the doormat? Aside from the obvious sodding reason that by doing so the door would be unopenable, why the hell didn't I? All I had to do was to chuck it in amongst all the unwatched DVDs. But no, sensible Sam decided that the best thing to do was to tackle the issue head on and just play the DVD and ride the bucking bronco of an argument. What a great big fat fucking error that was, as my present location testifies: Felicity's B & B down the road.

  When I watched the DVD at around eleven this morning, it didn't seem so bad. Admittedly I was suffering from an enormous swelling of my ego that had been brought about by the opening credits, which features lots of images of yours truly doing his consulting with the Family From Hell. It seemed incredible that after years – decades – of watching television, there was finally a TV programme about me. I was elated, humbled, terrified, wary and excited. At some points I had to watch through my fingers, especially the part when we are introduced to 'Sally' (aka Emily of course).

  Boy did Emily sashay for the camera, much more so than I realised at the time. And as for the kiss – well, it was pretty raunchy, but not too bad. The bit in which she fondled the back of my head looked a bit OTT, but it wasn't as though it was a full snog. And, as you could tell if you paused the DVD at just the right moment, I looked uneasy. I thought that would be enough to allay Sally. I thought wrong.

  The rest of the programme was a triumph of 'reality enhancement'. What had been a week of violence, chaos, bad language, endless retakes and comedy, had been turned into an utterly convincing display of how one can use management consultancy to turn even the most unruly children – and their parents – into paragons of middle-class virtue. It was astonishing what Dom had achieved, and it was also disturbing. This was nothing less than a pack of lies, and it was being sold as the truth. Part of me wanted to trash the whole project, but I was in too deep. And besides, the greater part of me wanted the money and the attention.

  I decided that my tactic to deal with Sally was that the whole thing was a load of bullshit, and that she had to see the use of Emily as just another untruth in the whole tapestry of deceit.

  By the time she got home at 7.30 my heart was racing.

  'Has the DVD arrived?' she asked.

  Sally looked genuinely excited, and I told her as much.

  'Well, it's not every day you see your husband's first TV programme, is it?'

  'Quite. Anyway, I've got a takeaway curry so we can eat that and watch it.'

  This was my other tactic – I thought that if Sally had her hands full dealing with nan breads, poppadoms, chutneys and whatnot, then it would be somehow harder for her to throw a complete wobbly. I don't know why I thought this, but again I thought wrong.

  Sally got into her civvies, and I dished up the curry from the multiplicity of foil containers. Predictably, no matter how carefully I tried opening them, yellowy-orangey gloop splattered everywhere, along with microscopic specks of sag aloo. Nevertheless, within five minutes we were in the living room, beers opened, curry ready on the naff-but-useful coffee table, both of us on the sofa, me with the remote control, my thumb hovering over the play button, as if it were a detonator that would blow me to hell.

  Sally found the opening credits and the first ninety seconds immensely enjoyable. She cackled away, constantly saying, through mouthfuls of curry, 'I can't believe this is really you.'

  By now, I was rather wishing it weren't.

  Then she saw the children, and made an 'aaaah' sound.

  'Look! How funny to see them having breakfast!'

  I closed my eyes and listened to my voice-over.

  'And here's my wife Sally,' I could hear myself saying. 'It was thanks to Sally that I became a househusband in the first place. When I lost my job, she suggested that she should go back to . . .'

  I opened my left eye to look at Sally.

  She had stopped chewing.

  She had certainly stopped smiling.

  I think she might have even stopped breathing.

  I looked at the screen. Emily was kissing me.

  'I'm sorry,' I croaked. 'I forgot to tell you about this. Dom couldn't get an actress in time, and . . .'

  Sally stared at me. Her expression was new to me. It was an expression of hate and loathing.

  'You shit,' she said.

  'Honestly, Dom was insistent, and as you wouldn't do it, I had to get somebody, and as Emily was on hand . . .'

  There were tears in her eyes.

  'I'm so sorry,' I said. 'I had no option.'

  'In front of Peter and Daisy as well,' she stated. 'You total shit.'

  'Please, Sally,' I begged. 'It wasn't my idea for her to give me a kiss. Look, I can rewind to it and show you that I was not enjoying it.'

  'I'd rather not see it again, thanks.'

  'But you must understand I had no choice.'

  'Of course.'

  It was clear that Sally was trying to keep her composure, but it was hard.

  'Sweetheart,' I said. 'I know what you're thinking. And I promise you, 100 per cent, that there is nothing going on between Emily and me. She was the only person around . . .'

  'So you keep saying.'

  'Do you want to carry on watching?'

  Dumb question Holden.

  'I'm not too sure I want to carry on with you,' she said.

  'What do you mean?'

  'All you ever do is hurt me.'

  A tear rolled down her cheek. I set down my curry and tried putting my arm round her.

  'I'm sorry,' I said. 'I don't mean to. It's just that . . .'

  'Ever since you lost your job, you've changed. You've become selfish. Opinionated. You don't care about my feelings at all . . .'

  I kept trying to interrupt, but she was having none of it.

  'And it's clear that you don't respect me at all. And what's also clear is that you have fallen for Emily, and as your childish little programme makes perfectly clear, you'd rather have her as your wife than me.'

  'But that's just not true, sweetheart!'

  I meant it, but there was no way I could convey my sincerity.

  'I thought you were special,' Sally continued. 'But it's been clear over the past few weeks that you're just another normal bloke whose head is turned by the village tart. Well, you can have her, Sam, she's all yours. I don't care any more . . .'

  'Please don't say things like that. You're overreacting, I promise you.'

  'Well why don't you put yourself in my shoes?'

  I didn't reply.

  'Every day I wonder whether I am going to come back home to a little note that says "I've left you", and when I open the front door in the evening I wonder whether I'm going to find HER in this house, my house . . .'

  'Please Sally!'

  I hadn't realised how much Emily had eaten her up, I really hadn't.

  '. . . and now she's on fucking film kissing you in front of our children! For the whole world to see! For all our friends to have a laugh at! Can't you see how humiliating it is? Can't you? Didn't you think before you got your little lover girl on film what effect it might have?'

  'I'm sorry.'

  My apology sounded pathetic. I even
felt sick, physically sick. I hated myself at that point, hated my cowardice for not insisting that Dom hired an actress, hated myself for not realising quite how seriously Sally took the whole Emily situation.

  'Sorry is not enough,' said Sally.

  'Well what do you want me to do?'

  'Get rid of that!' she shouted, waving at the screen.

  I pressed stop on the remote.

  'No, I mean get rid of it completely! Just give up the whole fucking thing. Ever since you started on it, you've changed, Sam! I thought maybe this was some bizarre midlife crisis, but it's not. You've just become a . . . a . . . I don't know. Something different.'

  I stood up and started clearing up the curry.

  'Can I get you anything?'

  'Stop trying to sound so bloody calm! If you want to do something, you can just get out!'

  'Out?'

  'Yes – just go away! Go to your little girlfriend for all I care. See how long she stays faithful to you.'

  'Sally, there is NOTHING going on between me and Emily.'

  Sally threw a glass of beer over me.

  'Don't treat me like a fucking idiot, Sam!'

  'I'm NOT having an affair with her! Do you think if I was I would have allowed that to happen?'

  'You may well have done! It wouldn't take that much bloody cunning, would it?'

  'Oh for heaven's sake!'

  I was starting to get angry now, and decided that despite my foolishness and my cowardice, I wanted to make it clear that I was not screwing Emily.

  'Listen!' I shouted. 'One. I am not, repeat NOT, fucking Emily. I regret getting her involved in the programme, but it's done now. I apologise. If I'd realised you were so paranoid about her, then I would never have used her. Two. Of course I may have bloody changed, because my life has changed. What do you expect? You've changed too, in case you hadn't realised. You've become someone who just moans the whole time. If you hate your job so much, why don't you do another fucking job? You don't have to stay in any one job for the whole of your life, or has the civil service mindset set in?'

  I'd never seen Sally so shocked. I wish I could have stopped myself, but my blood was up.

  'And how dare you say things like "I don't want to carry on with you"? What's that supposed to mean? If you want to divorce me, just go and say it! Go on! I don't want to divorce you. But if you want to divorce me, then go ahead. On what grounds? Because I pretended to kiss someone in a TV programme? Because one of our neighbours fancies me? Because I've changed a bit? Because I'm making a TV programme you don't really want me to make? It's hardly unreasonable fucking behaviour, is it? It's not as though I shag around or beat you up or abuse you in any way. I try my fucking hardest, I do my fucking best, I know some of my ideas are a bit off the wall, but why can't they be? Where's the harm in them? Or do you just want me to stay in a box like a good little hausfrau?'

  I was actually shaking with rage. My anger was such, that I went upstairs, packed my washbag and a change of clothes and stormed out the house.

  Now what?

  Wednesday 2 April

  Up early and ravenously ate Felicity's cooked breakfast. She must have assumed that we had had a row, but she was too discreet to mention it. I expect rowing couples are her bread and butter, along with people who have broken down on the main road. I went back home at 6.45, and found Sally giving the children breakfast. She looked as though she had slept as badly as I did, and her eyes were red from crying.

  'Daddy Daddy!' shouted Daisy in delight.

  'Where have you been?' asked Peter.

  'Daddy had to do some work last night,' I explained.

  'What sort of work?'

  'Um, important work. Very secret work.'

  'Were you being a spy?'

  I caught Sally's eye and we allowed ourselves an exchange of pale grins.

  'No, I wasn't being a spy.'

  'I think spies are really cool,' said Peter.

  'Excellent!'

  I sat down at the table, and Sally and I chit-chatted with the children. Even though there was the most God-awful atmosphere between us, it felt good just to be sitting down for breakfast as a family.

  'Aren't you going to work today?' I asked.

  'No,' said Sally. 'I'm going to pull a sickie. I deserve one. And I've told Halet not to come. I think we need to talk things through.'

  I liked the sound of that, and after we had dropped Peter at school and Daisy at playgroup (thank God we missed Emily at the drop-offs), we went for a long walk. We chatted for ages about us, basically. About what we were like before we had married, about what we were like now. We rarely do this, normally because we're too busy, and have never really had any reason to question the solidity of our relationship. We both accepted that we had allowed ourselves to drift apart, which I suppose is normal. We had so little time together, and when we were together, the focus was always on the children.

  We apologised to each other, sincerely. That felt good, and I said so.

  'We mustn't let ourselves get like this again,' said Sally, when we had reached the top of Tumble Hill.

  'I agree,' I replied, feeling that it was more my fault that we were in this situation.

  We gazed out over the countryside. It was a perfect English spring morning, and the view of the other hills was clearer than I had known. Down below, I could just about make out the roof of our house, nestling in amongst our neighbours. It seemed funny to think that all these momentous events – momentous to us, anyhow – happened under those few square feet of tiles.

  'Now what?' I asked. 'How do we repair things?'

  'I don't think it's a case of stitching,' Sally replied. 'I just think it's a question of making sure we don't cause any more wounds.'

  'Agreed. The first thing I'll do when I get back home is to ring Dom and tell him that we can't use Emily.'

  'Thank you.'

  Sally turned to face me.

  'Do you promise that you're not sleeping with her? Because if you are, tell me, and there's a chance I won't leave you. I shall do my best to understand. But if I find out later that you are, then I promise you I will leave you.'

  I looked deep into her eyes, the same way as I did on our wedding day. Normally it feels absurd to hold someone's gaze for so long, but all those years ago, it felt natural. And it felt natural today as well. I also felt intense regret, regret that we've ended up as yet another couple who go on ruminative walks to talk about the state of their marriage.

  'I promise you I am not sleeping with her.'

  'Good.'

  'And you must promise not to be paranoid. I know what it's like after everything with Nick, and it'll just eat you up. You must trust me. I have no intention of sleeping with anyone else. You're the only person I've wanted to be with ever since we met.'

  We kissed and then walked back down the hill, hand in hand.

  Friday 4 April

  Dom phoned to say that Dave Waldman has the tape and that he's going to get back to us next week. We don't know when, so this could be an agonising wait.

  Sunday 6 April

  We had a really lovely weekend. Yesterday morning we went to Drewfort Castle, which the children loved. Afterwards we went for a pub lunch, an event which used to put fear down my spine, but now seems to be a pleasure, mainly because the children are well behaved at the table. I know this is thanks to Halet, and I feel grateful that she is working wonders, but I also feel guilty.

  Today we had Nigel and Clare and all their lot round for lunch. That too went well, and they were showing tons of interest in WonderHubby. There was one awkward moment when Nigel asked if I had a DVD of the show, and I had to bluff it by saying that they hadn't delivered one yet. He didn't believe me, and started going through all my DVDs, but luckily – and I use the word loosely – the worst he found was a copy of Asian Babes that I had forgotten I had. This of course was passed around with much jollity (although carefully hidden from the children) and Sally gave me a fake bollocking, which made a pleasant c
hange from a real bollocking.

  I'm now as nervous as hell about whether WonderHubby is going to be commissioned. If it doesn't happen, well, I think it might be for the best, especially for our marriage. And, if it does, then I shall just have to make sure that I keep my feet firmly planted on the ground. Or they'll be taking many more long walks.

  Monday 7 April

  I'm going to be a star. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. (Very teenage-girl thing to write.) I just can't believe it. Dave Waldman loved it, and wants a six-part series. We have to film it over the summer and it will be broadcast in the autumn as a 'flagship programme'. Wow!

  Dom sounded as ecstatic as me – well, maybe not quite.

  'I can't tell you how happy we are,' said Dom. 'I always knew this would be a winner as soon as I thought of it.'

  (I let that one go. I seem to remember it was my idea, and looking back in the diary confirms this.)

  'So what's the next stage?'

  'Well, first of all we need to thrash out your contract and your fees. Can you come in tomorrow and do that?'

  'Of course.'

  I didn't want to sound desperate, and the idea of discussing money with Dom made me feel slightly uneasy. Besides, I didn't want to ruin the moment.

  'And then we'll draw up a schedule,' Dom continued. 'We've got a fuck of a lot to do, not least to find six families who'll be willing to take part.'

  'OK.'

  'And there's one important thing that you need to do.'

  'What's that?'

  Dom took a deep breath.

  My mind started to race. What could it possibly be? Have a vasectomy? Dye my hair? Change my name to 'Ted Nobstein'?

  'Dave thinks that you need to lose a little weight.'

  'Oh?'

  'Just a stone, maybe a little more.'

  My feathers felt very ruffled.

  'But I'm not fat,' I protested.

  'Of course you're not,' said Dom in the type of voice that men use to tell their girlfriends that their bottoms do not look big in whatever it is.