by Sam Holden
'So why do I need to lose weight?'
'Because the TV always adds a stone to somebody, no matter how thin they are. So, in order to look even normal on TV, you've got to lose that stone.'
'All right,' I said, trying not to sound offended. 'Shouldn't be a problem.' Still, it might get rid of that extra chin or two.
After I had put the phone down, I punched the air in joy, and then pinched my stomach. OK, I thought, maybe losing a stone was a good thing, and a small price to pay for getting a TV series commissioned. And anyway, Sally was hardly likely to complain if there was less of me.
After about two more seconds of introspection, I called her.
'Guess what?' I said, as soon as she answered.
'Who's that?' came her reply.
'It's me! Your husband!'
'Sorry, my husband, your voice is about two octaves higher.'
'Sorry about that,' I growled manfully.
'So I guess you're excited because of what I suspect.'
'You got it,' I said. 'They've commissioned it.'
'That's brilliant, sweetheart!'
I've put that exclamation mark to indicate that Sally did sort of exclaim that sentence, but what that exclamation mark does not indicate is any sense of real delight. It was clear that there was a slight edge of disappointment. The last time I had heard such a tone was from myself, when I was congratulating Ed on becoming a partner.
'You don't have to pretend,' I said. 'I know your thoughts about it.'
'No,' said Sally. 'Seriously, I'm thrilled, I really am.'
'You sure?'
'I promise.'
After that I made a few more calls, to parents and friends, all of whom sounded really thrilled, and all of whom said, 'Will you remember me when you're famous?' and to all of whom I replied, 'Certainly not,' the irony of which was only lost on my mother. The one person I did not phone was Emily, who for obvious reasons I don't want to talk to at the moment.
When Sally got back, we opened a bottle of champagne and toasted the arrival of WonderHubby. She does seem to be enthusiastic, although she is determined to make sure it doesn't go to my head, unlike the champagne, which has made me feel quite pissed.
Ha ha! I'm going to be famous. People will recognise me wherever I go, and will say to each other in hushed reverent tones – 'Gosh, isn't that . . . ?' And, 'Look, it's him off the telly,' etc. I've always wanted to be famous – let's face it, who doesn't – and now I'm going to be. I'm thinking, even now, of all those paparazzi shots of Sally and me going in and out of The Ivy.
But feet on ground, Holden, feet on ground.
Tuesday 7 April
7.30 p.m. Sitting on a delayed train back home
All that stuff about keeping feet on the ground? Forget it. What's the point? For Sam Holden, the WonderHubby himself, is being paid nothing less than £15,000 per episode, making a very sweet – thank you God, thank you – £90,000.
'Of course,' said Dom, as he was explaining the nuts and bolts, 'if it's repeated, you can expect half that again.'
I let out a cackle of sheer greed. I felt as if I had won the lottery – I had no idea quite how much money was in TV.
'And of course there's the potential book deal on top.'
'Book deal?'
'Sure! There's no such thing as a TV programme without a book these days. Look, you're being paid extremely well, and it's for a reason. Dave and I want to make WonderHubby the hot new child-raising brand. We want websites, books, interviews, mugs, T-shirts, pencils, baby bottles, romper suits, you name it, all to feature the WonderHubby brand.'
I swallowed.
'We want you to become Gina Ford, Dr Spock and Alan Sugar rolled into one.'
I swallowed again. This was heady stuff.
'Are you, um, quite sure?' I asked. 'I mean, isn't it better to start slowly, especially with a brand that hasn't been tried out?'
Dom batted the question aside.
'Not a chance, matey. There's no time to build brands slowly any more, not a spare second. It's got to be whump! Right out there, big, brash, coordinated and aggressive. And we've got a great brand, so why do it slowly?'
'Quite.'
I began to feel nervous about all this. What I had originally thought was going to be a couple of TV programmes on some obscure channel was now becoming a business that was going to rival Mothercare.
'You look worried,' said Dom.
'Well, I couldn't be more delighted,' I said.
'You don't sound it!'
I felt like Sally to Dom's Sam.
'I am delighted, honestly. I'm just a bit worried, you know.'
'You know what?'
'Well, you know, that it's, um, all completely made up.'
Dom literally waved it away.
'Who cares about the truth?'
'Some people do.'
'Leave truth to historians,' he said. 'All we should be interested in is making piles of cash and entertaining people.'
'I know that,' I said. 'And I'm as interested in cash as you are. But when it comes to telling people how to look after their children, don't you think we have a, you know, responsibility?'
'Responsibility?'
Dom started laughing.
'Responsibility?' he asked again, realising I was being serious.
'I don't want to sound naïve,' I said.
'Not at all – I think you're right to be conscientious about it. After all, Sam, children are very important people.'
Dom said that last sentence with the flippancy of the childless.
'Quite,' I said.
We paused, taking it all in.
'Still,' Dom said eventually. 'Let's not worry about stuff like that, eh?'
I was minded to agree, but there was one more issue I had to raise. The thorny question of Emily.
'Um, er,' I started confidently.
'Yes?'
'It's about my wife.'
Dom did the Tube-logo thing.
'Is there a problem?'
'Yes there is. You see the thing is, the woman who you think is Sally is not in fact Sally. It's somebody else. A neighbour called Emily. And the real Sally, my wife, has refused to be in the programme because it's not her thing, and that's why I had to get this Emily in at the last minute. However, when Sally saw Emily on the pilot she threw a bit of a wobbly, and says that she doesn't want the world to think I'm married to Emily, when in fact I'm married to Sally. Do you see?'
Dom didn't say anything.
Until: 'I see.'
He connected his fingertips together like a headmaster.
'So, basically,' I said, 'all I'm saying is that we need to get someone else, someone who isn't Emily.'
'But if your wife doesn't want to do it, why should she put the kibosh on Emily doing it? What harm does it do?'
'Because she thinks Emily has the hots for me, and thinks it's a way of Emily getting into my pants.'
'I see.'
A pause.
'The problem is that Dave Waldman likes Emily,' said Dom. 'Thinks she's got viewability.'
'Viewability?'
'Yes.'
'OK. You mean the viewers will like her?'
'Exactly.'
A pause.
'And there's another problem,' said Dom. He shifted in his chair. 'I'm, er, seeing her.'
'Who?'
'Emily. We're in a thing, you know.'
My flabber was gasted.
'But, but. . . .'
There were so many questions I wanted to ask. How long? How come? How?
'The problem is that I've kind of promised Emily that she can be part of the programme.'
Dom was wincing. He was clearly finding this as uncomfortable as I was.
'You've what?' I exclaimed. 'How do you mean promised her? If you thought she was my wife, why would you need to promise her?'
And then a light bulb shone furiously over my head, a light bulb that should have gone 'fring' ages ago.
'And if you thought she was my
wife, why the hell were you fucking her?'
Dom scratched the back of his neck – this is a sure sign that someone is lying.
'But I know she's not your wife,' he protested.
'Oh come on! Tell me when you found out! Before this "thing" happened? Or after?'
'After, obviously,' said Dom. 'I mean before! Before!'
'Bollocks! You were happy to basically screw someone who you thought to be my wife behind my back, and all the time making out how well we worked together. You're just a fucking jackal, that's what you are!'
'You're in no position to throw your weight around!'
'Really?'
'Yes, really.'
'So where else are you going to find another WonderHubby? Come on, the programme's a dead duck without me.'
'I wouldn't be so sure.'
'Is that a threat?'
'Take it how you like. Listen, I don't have to defend myself here. I'm a single man, and all I've done is have sex with a single woman. Is that a crime?'
'Of course it's not. But you're being disingenuous. You know perfectly well why it might be of interest to me whether you thought she was Sally or Emily.'
Dom exhaled. He was clearly getting the message.
'Look, I'll be honest with you,' he said.
'Gee, thanks.'
'I found out before, or rather just after our first kiss.'
'Go on.'
'This is the truth, I promise you.'
'OK.'
'The day after we did the filming at your house, Emily got in touch with me.'
'How?'
'Fucking hell. Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.'
'How?'
'She phoned. She said she was coming up to town for 24 hours, and suggested that we met for an early evening drink, as she wanted to discuss you and the programme. At that point it just sounded like there was something important to discuss, maybe something important about you, and so I accepted.'
Dom stopped.
'Is that it?' I asked.
'No. Anyway, I met her at this hotel in the West End, and you know, we got talking. At first it was just normal chit-chat, you know. Anyway, after a few drinks, she started getting, well, a bit fresh.'
I could imagine.
'She started touching my knee whenever she made a point, which I always think is a sure sign that someone likes you.'
'I agree,' I said.
And I did, too. I always think women who touch you the whole time are real goers. Maybe that's bollocks, but in my (limited) field surveys of yore, my hunch has often been borne out. It was good to hear it confirmed by Dom.
'And then what?' I asked.
'Well, then she kissed me. You must understand that she didn't give me much option.'
'I can believe it.'
'And after she had kissed me, she said, "You don't know who I am, do you?" At which point I said, "Of course I do – you're Sally Holden". She then, um, told me that she was in fact Emily, and she told me how she was standing in for the real Sally.'
I studied Dom's face. I wanted to believe him, and I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. I'm sure he would have slept with Emily even if he had thought she was Sally, but the fact is, he hasn't. I couldn't really blame him for that first kiss, and besides, if you're a bachelor and you've got a mildly pissed and flirtatious Emily perched precariously on a bar stool and laying it on thick, you're not really going to say no, are you?
'Emily is a force of nature,' I said.
'You're telling me,' said Dom, a slightly seedy grin on his face.
And then I felt a little jealous, and proprietorial of Emily. Which was wrong, but natural. I'd taken it for granted that she only flirted with me, whereas if I were being honest, I knew she was like that with everybody. My next comment was therefore a result of my jealousy, and I regretted saying it, because it sounded a little petty.
'You know she's got children, don't you?'
'Oh yeah,' said Dom. 'But I don't think I'm ever going to meet them. Emily sees me as a sort of London lover.'
I coughed. As opposed to her lovers in all the other cities in the land.
'Well, good luck with her,' I said.
I was extremely curious to know what Emily was like in bed, but I decided that it was none of my business, and that I didn't know Dom well enough.
'She's a great fucking shag, I can tell you,' said Dom.
I nodded disinterestedly, reflecting that I needn't have bothered with adhering to niceties.
'Does everything, if you know what I mean.'
I did. Everybody knows what 'everything' means. It means brown wings. Chocolate starfish. The brown teatowel holder. It really came as no surprise that Emily put out in that way. Personally, I have no interest in using the sewer of the body as a playground, although most of my friends seem to hanker after it. Why, exactly? Are their wives' more conventional passages unsatisfying? And how many women genuinely like it? (Apart from Emily.) I think the whole anal thing is a way of establishing some sort of sexual superiority, something to suggest that you are so non-vanilla and adventurous. But the fact is that anal is now so commonplace that it's hardly the big deal it once was. I wonder what will be next? Will golden showers become the norm?
But I digress.
'Yes, her, uh, reputation precedes her.'
'I can imagine,' said Dom. 'She's absolute filth.'
We sat there in silence for a while.
'Anyway,' I said. 'It doesn't alter the fact that Sally will kill me if Emily is in the show.'
Dom sighed.
'There's no way you can talk her round?'
'Absolutely none. She'll walk out if Emily's in it.'
'Really?'
A rare expression of genuine surprise swept across Dom's face.
'Really.'
'Why, have you and Emily had a, um, you know, a thing?'
I shook my head.
'No. But Emily has made her intentions perfectly clear on numerous occasions.'
Dom nodded. No doubt he was dispelling any cute notions that Emily might be faithful.
'And so clear has she made her intentions,' I continued, 'that Sally's more than a little jealous. When she saw Emily was in the pilot, she went ape.'
'You didn't tell her before?'
'No.'
Dom let out a small laugh, which was fair enough.
'I see your problem,' he said.
Another silence.
'The thing is, I really do want to continue fucking her, and if I sack her from the show, then I suspect that'll be it.'
Charmingly put, I thought. Dom was really pretty mercenary. It was to be respected, in a way. He and Emily suited each other.
'And I really want to carry on with her,' he said. 'I haven't had such a cracking shag in ages, and . . .'
'All right,' I interrupted. I didn't want to hear much more. 'I've got a plan. Why don't I tell her the bad news? Why don't I say that I insisted on it, which is basically the truth, and that you were left with little choice? And when you're with her you can tell her whatever crap you like, but all I care about is making my wife happy, and that means getting rid of Emily.'
Dom thought about it.
'OK,' he said. 'You break her the bad news. Good idea. You can be the shit, and I can be the shoulder to cry on. That should work.'
I could see the cogs turning in his head, just as I can with Peter. It seemed incredible that his decision-making process was entirely governed by his groin, but there it was. We then spent another couple of hours thrashing things out, and afterwards we went for a few drinks. By the time I got on the train I felt a bit smashed, and it felt wonderful.
All in all, a good day. A fat pile of moolah on its way, and I'll definitely be in Sally's good books when she hears that I've got rid of Emily.
Hooray! This train has finally started to move.
Thursday 10 April
Last night Sally and I had a big chat about our professional futures. Now that we've got our personal and
emotional selves back on track, I thought it was right to discuss money and her job. As soon as I brought up the topic, her response was:
'Not this again.'
'But don't you think we should talk about it?'
Sally theatrically slumped on to the table.
'Not really, no.'
'Will there ever be a right time to talk about it?'
'No.'
'So now is as bad a time as any?'
'Yup. So go ahead.'
I said nothing for a few seconds. Sally looked up.
'Well, go on,' she said.
'There seems little point if you're not going to listen.'
'I will,' she said, her head buried in her folded arms. 'I just feel that we've been over this.'
'But can't you see that the situation has changed? I'm going to be earning some seriously decent money now, and you really don't need to work. Or you can move to a less stressful job.'
Sally looked up.
'But can't you see that my job isn't about money or whether or not it's stressful? I know you laugh at the idea, but my job is important, Sam, really important. I'm not saying the fate of the world rests on my shoulders, but you must believe me when I say that what we are doing as a team is vital.'
'But do you really have to be a member of the team? Don't you think they could manage without you?'
'Of course they could. I'm not trying to make out I'm indispensable, I just don't want to let the side down. I don't think that's being arrogant, I just think that's showing a bit of pride in what I do.'
'I accept all that,' I said. 'But you can't deny that you're finding the job immensely tough and stressful. I've lost count of the number of times that you've come back absolutely wiped out.'
'I know, I know. It's just that it's been particularly tough recently, and some bad things have happened in our patch.'
I'm always curious about what goes on in Sally's patch. I know it's around Tdsflkjsdistan and that neck of the woods, but I don't know much more. Sometimes I scour the papers and the Web to see what has been happening over there, but I can never find much. Occasionally I read about the odd car bomb, and I wonder whether Sally was involved in some way. Did she and her team order the bomb? Or was it her agents who were being blown up by the other side, whoever they were? Or did it have nothing to do with her at all? I always know better than to ask, because the few times I have, she's given me pretty short shrift.