by Sam Holden
The more I think about it, it's actually incredible how so few people know what Sally really does. All our friends simply think she's a civil servant (which she is, technically) although I believe Clare has her suspicions. My parents are completely in the dark as well, but Jane, Sally's mother, has a very good idea, and I suspect she probably drops heavy hints at her witches'-circle coffee mornings.
'But don't bad things always happen in your line of work?' I asked. 'I mean, it's not as though people in that part of the world are suddenly going to be nice to each other.'
'Yes, but that's not a reason to give up. We've got to continue to make the area safer, and if we did nothing, then it would be complete chaos.'
'Really?'
'Really.'
Sally got up and poured herself a pint glass of water.
'And there's another thing,' she said.
'What's that?'
'One of us needs a proper job.'
'But I've got a proper job now.'
'No you haven't,' she replied, smiling. 'You don't get adverts for WonderHubbies in the backs of newspapers.'
'You don't for your job either.'
'True, but my job has security, stability, a pension, a monthly pay cheque – all the things we need.'
'And my sort-of job pays me a shitload of cash.'
'And what happens when your "job" ends? It could last twenty years, or until this time next year. Who knows? At least with my job, there'll always be a demand for it.'
'Why? Because nasty people in nasty parts of the world will always try to be nasty to us?'
'Precisely. A very accurate summation of the Central Asian situation.'
'I thank you,' I said, and did a mock bow.
I was relieved that this whole conversation was being conducted in a good-humoured way, and that we weren't having a row.
'You're not going to budge on this, are you?' I asked.
'Not for any money in the world.'
'Not even for me?'
Sally downed her water.
'Especially not for you!'
Friday 11 April
With the amount of flak I took from Emily today, I might as well have been married to her. Secretly I was rather hoping to be an ostrich about the whole sacking-Emily situation, but I knew that was impossible. I bumped into her at the village shop, and she was gushing about the programme. When I asked her how she had seen it, she went uncharacteristically coy before she eventually admitted that Dom had sent her a DVD. I did my best to look as neutral about that as possible. I then invited her round for a coffee, which took her by surprise, as it's normally her inviting me round.
While the children were upstairs playing, I decided to break the bad news. Gingerly I poured out the coffee from our cracked cafetière. (We seem to get through two cafetières a year.)
'Emily, there's something I need to tell you.'
Her eyes widened and she grinned a little, a grin that soon disappeared when she saw my expression.
'Yes?'
'Um, it's a little awkward, and there's no easy way to say it, but here it is.'
'You've fallen in love with me?'
Typical Emily. Nevertheless, I still spluttered and splattered.
'Um, er, no! No, it's nothing to do with anything, you know, like that.'
'Oh.'
'No, it's the show. WonderHubby. I'm afraid you won't be needed.'
'What?'
'Yes. We thought it was best that we hired an actress instead.'
'What?'
I had never seen Emily so angry, except perhaps for the time when Sally and I declined her kind offer of a foursome with her and her ex-husband.
'I'm really sorry,' I continued, 'because I know how much you enjoyed yourself as my, um, "wife".'
'Oh I did, did I?'
'Well, it looked like it.'
'And what makes you so confident that I won't be needed?'
'Dom told me.'
'Did he now?'
Emily was doing her best to look as though she had an ace up her sleeve, so I decided to snatch it away before she could play it.
'He also told me that you and he are an item.'
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
'For what it's worth, he told me that you were a big hit with the channel.'
Emily frowned.
'So why is he getting rid of me?'
At this point I was mightily tempted to lie. I could have just said, 'I have no idea,' or that it had something to do with shooting schedules, but I knew that wouldn't cut much ice. And, absurdly enough, I thought I should be honest.
'The reason is because I want to get rid of you.'
As soon as I said it, I reflected that I could have put it more gently. Emily once again remained silent.
'It's basically to do with Sally,' I said. 'She doesn't think it's right that you should play my wife.'
'Oh really?'
'Really.'
'But she's happy for an actress to play your wife.'
I nodded.
'But not me?'
'Yes.'
'Why?'
'Oh come on, Emily! You must be able to work that one out for yourself.'
'I can't,' she insisted. 'Go on. I want you to tell me.'
'Emily! Come on. What's the point? You know perfectly well why.'
'Is it because Sally is a teeny-weeny bit jealous?'
Emily said that in a slightly babyish voice, which I found really condescending.
'Yes she is,' I said. 'Wouldn't you be?'
'No.'
'Well, you're different to Sally.'
'I'd say!'
'And she thinks that it isn't . . .'
'She thinks this. Sally thinks that. My wife says. Have you ever listened to yourself, Sam? All your opinions are entirely made up by her. Have you ever realised that? Have you? Do you actually have a mind of your own? Or has Sally completely emasculated you?'
'Come on Emily, that's crap.'
'Is it?'
'Yes. I'm as much my own man as the next man.'
'So that's why you're a househusband then, is it?'
'Yes it is. In a way, being a househusband requires more masculinity than sitting in an office all day.'
'Yeah right. Doing the laundry and ironing. Hmmm. So macho, Sam.'
'What the fuck is this?' I asked. 'You've got no right to accuse me of anything. How Sally and I conduct our marriage is none of your business. At least we've got a marriage.'
'Oo! Ouch! Right below the belt, Sam, nice one.'
'What is it you want?'
'What I want is for you to admit that you've been utterly spineless about all this, and that you've been entirely pussywhipped by your wife into getting me sacked from the show.'
'I'm not going to admit any of that, because it isn't true.'
'Of course.'
'And I don't see why I should have to justify my decision to you. It's my bloody show, my idea in the first place.'
'That's not what Dom says.'
'Well, Dom can say what he likes to you across the pillow. I know the truth.'
'Naturally.'
By now I was furious. This was a vicious, snide and nasty Emily, the Emily who didn't get her own way, the Emily who stamped and thcreamed and thcreamed until she was thick. At that moment I wanted her to get out, but I still retained a residue of utterly unnecessary politeness.
'It doesn't really matter what you say,' I said. 'Because my mind is made up, as is Dom's.'
'Hmm. So resolute. So determined the househusband.'
'OK, OK, that's enough of that.'
'Mr Househusband has his own mind. Mr Big who does as his little wife tells him.'
'That's enough!'
'So commanding.'
'OK Emily, why don't you just fuck off?'
'All right, I will.'
As she got up she 'accidentally' knocked over her coffee, which spilled all over the table, and seeped over some of Peter and Daisy's drawings.
; 'Whoops,' she went.
'Just get out,' I said.
After she had slammed the door, I wanted to scream with rage. I'm sick of arguing with women, and hopefully that will be the last of it. My only fear is that Emily will do something to fuck up the whole WonderHubby thing, but I can't work out what. After all, she can't get me sacked.
Sunday 13 April
We had Jane and Derek round today. I had pleaded with Sally not to invite them, but she said we couldn't spend the rest of our lives avoiding her mother. I can't see why not, and just before they arrived I was tempted to pretend that I had been called up to London on urgent WonderHubby business, but I knew that would earn me the grandmother of all bollockings from Sally.
Jane was on her habitually fine form.
'So, Sam,' she said as she made a great play of carefully inspecting her morsel of lamb, 'Sally tells me that you are making a television programme.'
She said 'television programme' as though it were some kind of STD.
'That's right, Jane,' I said politely. 'It's all about bringing up children.'
Jane faux-choked on her morsel.
'Bringing up children?'
'That's right.'
'And what qualifications do you have?'
I glanced at Sally, who looked back at me in a way that said, 'Don't be rude, please don't be rude.'
'I don't have any qualifications, Jane. That's kind of the whole point.'
'I do wish you wouldn't keep calling me Jane like that. You make yourself sound like a salesman.'
'Sorry.'
'But if you don't have any qualifications, how are you qualified to make this programme?'
'Because I'll be bringing my experience of management consultancy to bear.'
Another little pretend choke.
'But what, pray, does management consultancy have to do with childcare?'
'There are lots of similarities, Jane, far too many to go into here.'
'How convenient. Besides, I thought you were a failed management consultant.'
I felt my fingers tighten their grip on the shaft of the carving knife. If the children hadn't been there, I'd have been enormously tempted to plunge it into the side of her neck and leave her to drip dry. I even imagined sitting down afterwards and eating lunch as normal. I don't think Derek would have minded too much, although I can imagine Sally might have been a bit upset, especially about the carpet.
'If you remember, Jane, I was offered my job back. The only reason I was sacked was because two of my colleagues were on the fiddle.'
Jane chewed her way through this.
'Anyway, I understand that you are not looking after your children during the filming of this "programme".'
'That's right, Jane. We've got this marvellous woman called Halet who comes in during the week.'
'We love Halet,' said Peter.
''alet! 'alet!' went Daisy.
Really, they were like Moonies about her.
'Well,' said Jane. 'She at least seems to know what she is doing. Peter and Daisy are far better behaved now than when they were under your "care".'
After that, I just got pissed.
Wednesday 16 April
Just got back from a very drunken lunch with Dave Waldman and Dom. Dave seems terrifically excited about the whole thing, just as Dom said he would be.
'Listen man,' he went. 'We are going to make you into a huge star.'
'I bet you say that to all the girls,' I said.
Thankfully, Dave found it funny.
'Dig, dig,' he said, clacking his fingers.
We spoke about some of the nuts and bolts of the programme, and Dom said they had already made great progress tracking down suitable families.
'Let's make sure we get a good mixture,' said Dave. 'We don't want them all to be chav scum like that last lot.'
'I agree,' said Dom, scratching under his collar. He had clearly been trawling for the most ghastly people he could find.
'The thing is, Domingo,' Dave continued, 'that we need some nice middle-class people in the mix. Dig? Otherwise it's just a pleb-hammerer like Denaff Your Life.'
'Dig,' said Dom. 'But we do need a few oiks though, don't we?'
'Sure. I loved the pilot's oiks. They were great. I might use them on another show.'
'Which one?' asked Dom.
'Sell Your Kids.'
'Sell Your Kids?'
'Yeah, it's great. We find families who've got some really frightful children, and then we find other families who need some children and then we auction them off.'
'But . . . but that's awful,' I said.
'Dig,' said Dave.
'Dig,' said Dom.
'It's completely awful,' said Dave. 'That's the whole point. We're really pushing the boundaries on this one. And the great thing about it is that we've got a premium-rate phone-in, in which viewers can bid live for one of the kids.'
'It's like slavery,' I said.
'Yep,' said Dave.
The waiter arrived.
'Any desserts?' he asked.
'Yes please,' I went.
Dom and Dave looked at me and then shook their fingers.
'Celebrities NEVER eat dessert,' said Dave.
'Dig,' said Dom.
And as a result, I had to watch them eat the most fantastic crème brûlées I had ever seen.
'But celebrities are allowed to order another bottle of wine?' I asked.
'Too fucking right. Let's get some shampoo.'
Friday 18 April
Had a long chat with Halet today. She says that she is really enjoying being Peter and Daisy's nanny, and reckons that they are the most fun children she has looked after. I asked her to work for us through to the end of the year, and she readily accepted. I gave her the afternoon off, and took the children to the park, where I spotted Emily. We sort of scowled at each other. This is going to be tedious if it carries on for the next few years. Either she'll have to move again, or we will. I'm sure there's nothing she can do to spoil the programme, but it irks me that she and Dom are intimate. God knows what sort of poison she will pour in his ear. Fuck her. She can do what she likes – without me, there is no WonderHubby. I am the WonderHubby.
Peter and Daisy seemed somewhat miffed that Halet was not looking after them this afternoon.
'But where is she?' Peter moaned.
'Where is 'alet?' Daisy asked.
'She's gone home,' I replied. 'I said that she could have the afternoon off so I could look after you.'
'But why do you want to look after us?' asked Peter.
'Because I haven't seen much of you for a bit, and I thought it would be nice.'
Peter stamped his right foot in a little huff.
'But I want to see Halet!'
'Peter! I won't have this sort of behaviour! Do you behave like this for Halet?'
'No,' he said.
'So why are you being like this for me?'
'Because I want to see Halet!'
(There was something very neat about Peter's logic.)
'I 'ant to see 'alet too,' said Daisy.
'Not you as well,' I sighed.
My irritation was quickly transmitted, and within a few seconds both Peter and Daisy were emitting a variety of moans, bleats and cries that their beloved nanny had abandoned them.
'If you're not quiet, you can both go to your rooms!'
This only made them more angry, and the volume and intensity of the moans, bleats and cries increased.
'Right! Up to your rooms!'
'No!' they shouted in unison.
Struggling to maintain my unlegendary sangfroid, I picked Daisy up and carried her to her room. This caused her to shriek, and when I closed the door on her I swear that what emanated from her mouth could have destroyed all the glass in a five-mile radius. Peter's hollering was no less violent, and after I had shut his door I could also hear the sound of toys being thrown around.
Thinking they would calm down in a couple of minutes, I retreated to the kitchen, where I
turned on the kettle and anticipated a peaceful cuppa over the local rag. No such luck. If anything, the racket increased, and every time I shouted up the stairs for them to stop it, it just got louder. I was determined to win this particular battle.
In the end they were saved by the bell, or rather the phone. It was Sally, who was ringing to check in.
'What's that noise?' she asked. 'Have you got the TV on or something?'
'The children are bellowing in their rooms.'
'Christ, Sam, they sound as though they're in a Romanian orphanage! What are you doing to them?'
'I've shut them in their rooms because they were showing a distinct attitude problem.'
'Attitude problem?'
I explained what had happened.
'And so you've shut them in their rooms for that? Sam, shutting children in their rooms is a very harmful thing to do. You should only use it as the last resort.'
'Oh come on, my mother shut me in my room countless times. It never did me any harm.'
'That's debatable. And besides, I find that people who say "it never did me any harm" are damaged in some way.'
'Gee, thanks.'
The bellowing went up a few decibels.
'Jesus, Sam! Aren't you going to let them out?'
'Yes, yes. I just want to show them who's boss.'
'Where's Halet, anyway?'
'I gave her the afternoon off. I thought it would be nice for them to have some time with me instead.'
Sally laughed, darkly.
'OK, I'll let them out now. I'll see you later.'
It took at least half an hour of Bob the Builder to calm them down, and even by bathtime, they were still not exactly on great form. By the time I had tucked them up and started getting supper ready, I reflected that there was little 'wonder' in WonderHubby today. In fact, I was CrapBad-TemperedHubby. Shutting them in their rooms was too harsh, too Victorian dad, and I swore to myself that I'd make it up to them.
All this then gave me the fear about the whole programme, and whether I could possibly pull it off. I can't look after my own children properly, let alone those of other people.
Just how much bribery, editing and reality enhancement can Dom get away with? In some ways, this programme will have to be truly groundbreaking.
Monday 21 April