Growing Pains of a Hapless Househusband

by Sam Holden

  'Come off it,' I said. 'I'm not that much of a show-off.'

  'Pah! You've become unbearable.'

  'That's not fair!'

  Emily lit another cigarette. This time she didn't offer me one. Her face contorted into a pinched, suddenly somewhat haggard, expression of pointed malice.

  'You just think people like me and other people in this village are the little people.'

  She jabbed her finger into my chest every time she said 'you'. It actually started to hurt.

  'You just can't wait to get out and go and live in your old rectory or whatever it is. We're just stepping stones for you, aren't we? And I expect you find it all jolly fun that the village bicycle has declared her love for you, and I bet you laugh about me behind my back, and share jokes about me with all your London friends.'

  'Jesus, Emily! Where is all this coming from? I haven't mentioned a word of what you said the other day. I haven't even told Sally. And that's the truth! God, this is eating you up. This isn't good for you, Emily, or your children. You should see someone professional. A psychiatrist even. Please.'

  'I don't need a fucking shrink!'

  'OK, OK. But you need a rest, or at least somebody neutral you can talk about all this to. That's what psychiatrists are for . . .'

  'I don't need a fucking psychiatrist. Didn't you hear?'

  'All right. But isn't there someone you can just talk to?'

  'No. And besides, I don't need someone to talk to. The person with the problems is you, don't you see that?'

  'Me?'

  'Yes, you! You're the one who's losing touch with it all. You're the one who's lost their balance. You're the one who should see a fucking shrink!'

  'I find that a little hard to take from someone who looks through their fridge for a bottle of wine at 10 in the morning.'

  'And so fucking pompous as well.'

  'Emily, please stop being like this.'

  Watching her was soul-destroying. I wished I had told Sally about Emily now, then at least I could ask for her help. She'd know exactly what to do in this situation.

  'No! It's YOU who needs the help. It's you who needs to be brought down. All that WonderHubby thing is just shit. It's not you. It's all a pack of lies and crap. You must give it up Sam. Save yourself!'

  This was all sounding far too dramatic.

  'Have you been taking something?' I asked.

  'Fuck off.'

  'Have you?'

  'No! Can't you see I'm angry with you? Can't you see that you're living a lie?'

  'No. What's a lie?'

  'Everything!' she shouted. 'The TV! The newspapers! The magazines! I've read all of it, and it's just shit! It's a load of lies. And your marriage to that woman, that's a lie as well.'

  'Take that back,' I said.

  'No. Because it's the truth, Sam. You know that you want to be with me, and you just won't admit it to yourself. And you'll never admit it if you stay with her.'

  'But Emily, I don't want to be with you! I love Sally, and that's that.'

  'You love me as well, I know it.'

  'You're wrong.'

  'No I'm not,' she insisted. 'No I'm not. You need to be brought back down to earth. All this WonderHubby shit has got to end, then you'll see who really counts, me or her! Let's face it, Sam, she's only with you because you're a success. And when you're no longer a success, then you'll see.'

  Although she had a valid point that WonderHubby was probably the greatest deceit played upon the British public since the discovery of Piltdown Man, she had alienated me still further by bringing Sally's feelings into this. She knew nothing about how wonderful Sally really is. I felt indignation rise in my gut.

  'How dare you speak about her like that? Can't you see that you're just jealous, Emily? You're jealous because Sally and I have everything you've ever wanted. But dragging us down isn't going to make you feel better. It'll just create more pain and resentment, and you'll be hurting people who haven't even touched you. Please Emily, I beg you, just leave it alone. Forget about me.'

  'That's what you'd love, isn't it? For me to forget about you, and for you to forget about me. Mad old Emily. Remember her? Well, I'm not mad, and you're not going to forget about me.'

  'There's no chance of that.'

  She Dutch-fucked another cigarette.

  'OK,' she said, hazily waving the fag in my direction. 'Here's a plan.'

  'What?'

  I was doing my best not to sound irritated.

  'A plan,' she repeated.

  'OK.'

  'I want you to leave your wife for me.'

  'No.'

  'Ah! Ah! Patience. I haven't finished.'

  I said nothing. Most of my being wanted to stand up, tell her to eff off, and be done with it. However, some sense of – what? Cowardice? Decency? Middle-class politeness? Sympathy? Whatever it was, I heard her out.

  'And if you don't leave your wife, then I'll tell the newspapers that WonderHubby and the WHOLE Holden Childcare Programme is a pack of lies. You have until Monday. If I don't hear anything by then, I shall go to the press.'

  'You can have your answer now,' I said.

  'Oh yes?'

  'You can stick it up your arse! How dare you blackmail me?'

  'It's the only way, Sam. It's the only way to make you do what's right. And that's to be with me, and not her.'

  'No, Emily, no. This is so fucked. So wrong. You're . . . you're mad. You should be fucking sectioned!'

  'You're the mad one, Sam.'

  'No I'm not, and yes you are.'

  'You have until Monday.'

  She clearly didn't want to accept my answer.

  'I've already told you, Emily. Fuck you, and fuck off. Tell the papers what you like. They'll never believe you anyway, because they'll see you for the drunk little conniving bitch that you really are.'

  'They'll probably like me, then. I thought all journalists were conniving little bitches. The women too. Hah!'

  'Goodbye Emily. I came here to help you, and now I've been blackmailed. Well go on, do your worst. Then you'll see how much I love my wife.'

  I walked out, and made sure not to slam the front door. That would have given her a victory of sorts.

  I'm now eaten up by this. What can I do? I feel like phoning Laura and saying there's a madwoman on the loose, but what can she do? If Emily does go to the press, what she'll tell them is true. And it won't take them much to substantiate it. All they'll need to do is to phone the families and then that's it. We're sunk.

  Just when it was going so well. I can see why people commit murder now.

  Friday 19 September

  I haven't told Sally the truth. I will, but not yet. Instead, I said that the phone company has traced the mysterious calls to somewhere in the West Midlands, and that they have barred it from calling us. As we know nobody in that part of the world, Sally is satisfied that my theory that it's some deranged fan is the right one. She was a little confused about how they could have got hold of our number, but I said that she must know that the phone companies are riddled with people who sell ex-directory numbers.

  It was programme number three this evening, and I just felt sick watching it. All I could think about was Emily and her insane threat. I can see all my recent fortune disappearing as quickly as it came, just because a madwoman in a small village is obsessed with me. Perhaps I should tell Sally, and she could get some heavies from the Ministry round to put the frighteners on Emily. It's not really Sally's style though.

  But what can I do? Nothing. Clearly I'm not going to leave Sally. What was Emily thinking? She has utterly lost the plot.

  Sunday 21 September

  Sally kept asking me if I was OK. I told her that I was a little stressed out, but I was sure I would get into a routine. I have to spend Saturday morning writing my column, and Sunday afternoon preparing my slot on Joseph and Mary on Monday. Even though they're both quite straightforward, I want to get them right. Sally says our weekends are getting somewhat scuppered, but
all I said was '130 grand'. No argument.

  But of course the real reason why I'm stressed out is Emily. Fucking bloody Emily. I just feel so impotent.

  Tuesday 23 September

  Yesterday was a day of truly historic proportions. I'm not kidding. It will go down in the history of espionage, although I suspect that it will be a history that will not be released for seventy-five years. Peter will be eighty by then. I really hope he will still be around, because he, undoubtedly, was the unwitting star of the whole event.

  It all started with an innocuous comment he made at breakfast, before Halet arrived. Sally had already left for work, and the three of us were having a relatively laidback breakfast, despite the fact that it was a school morning. Somehow they were both dressed correctly, their packed lunches ready, and we were just eating our toast. I was keeping one ear on the radio, and the other on the usual surreal conversation that Daisy and Peter like to indulge in. Yesterday morning's was about Daleks and poo, I recall.

  The radio news was talking about laptops, and about how there was some project to send them to the Third World. I couldn't quite work out what starving people would do with laptops, and I was listening intently to the rationale. As a result, I didn't really hear Peter's question until he shouted it at me.

  'Daddy! I asked you a question!'

  'What?' I responded irritably.

  'What's a laptop?'

  'Oh, a laptop is a computer that looks like a book. You know, like the one I have in my study.'

  'Why are they called laptops?'

  'Because they sit on your lap.'

  'But yours sits on your desk.'

  'I know. They can sit on your desk as well as your lap. They can sit anywhere that's flat.'

  Peter munched his toast, and I returned to the radio.

  'Mummy has a laptop, doesn't she?'

  'Mummy ha' a 'aptop,' said Daisy.

  'Yes, yes,' I said.

  'Why does Mummy have a laptop?' Peter asked.

  'What?'

  'Why does Mummy have a laptop?'

  'Because she uses it for work.'

  'OK,' said Peter.

  He carried on munching. I noticed that he had spilt some milk on the table, and I went to get some kitchen roll. Meanwhile I carried on tuning in to the radio item. Then came Peter's key statement.

  'Daddy?'

  'Yes.'

  'Halet uses Mummy's laptop.'

  I literally felt the hairs on the back of my neck lift up. As did the ones on my arms. I felt cold and almost sick. It was the most peculiar sensation I have ever experienced. It was rather like one's first orgasm.

  'What was that?' I asked.

  'Halet uses Mummy's laptop.'

  'When was this?'

  'Lots of times. She uses it when Mummy is having a shower in the morning and you are still in bed. Halet says you are a lazy bones!'

  He grinned at his indiscretion. I squatted down so we were at head height.

  'Peter,' I said. 'Daddy is being very serious now. Did you really say that Halet uses Mummy's laptop?'

  Sensing my tone, he looked at me solemnly.

  'Yes. Sometimes she plugs a little phone into it.'

  The sensation grew stronger, and my heart suddenly started pounding.

  'You are absolutely sure about that?'

  'Of course!'

  'Does she say anything when she is doing this?'

  'No. She just does it.'

  'When did you last see this?'

  'I can't remember.'

  That was hardly surprising. Children of Peter's age have no concept of time. Christmas could have been last week for all he knows.

  I rushed to the phone and tried Sally's mobile. It rang straight through to the answerphone, which meant she was probably on the Tube. I left a message, and then left a message on her work voicemail. I tried not to sound panicky, but I was. I kept trying to work out some innocent explanation, but I could think of none.

  A key in the front door. Halet.

  'Listen,' I said to Peter. 'Don't talk about the laptop. Understand?'

  Peter could tell I was being deadly serious – an expression he probably hadn't seen since I threatened to leave him at the next station on the train to London.

  'Good morning!' said Halet.

  'Morning Halet!' we all went.

  Don't be strange, I said to myself. Be your normal slightly bleary-eyed and useless self.

  'I'm making some coffee,' I said. 'Do you want some?'

  'Yes please,' she said.

  I switched on the kettle and thought quickly. I had to make sure that I kept Halet just where I wanted her, and the best thing to do was for me to take the children to school and leave her in the house.

  'Halet, I'm going to take Peter and Daisy to school this morning. I need to see Peter's teacher.'

  'No problem,' she said. 'I'll clear up the breakfast things if you want.'

  'Thanks so much. I don't know what we'd do without you!'

  I looked at the kitchen clock. Half past eight. I would have to leave in fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes in which to keep the children quiet, and for me to continue to act normally.

  'Right you lot,' I said, 'upstairs to brush teeth.'

  'It's OK, Mr Holden, I shall do it.'

  'No, it's fine. Sally said it was about time I pulled my weight in the mornings.'

  (She says this often.)

  I hurried the children upstairs to brush their teeth and comb their hair.

  'Daddy,' said Peter. 'Why isn't Halet taking us to school this morning? Is it because of the laptop?'

  I put my hand over his mouth so hard I feared I might bruise him. I then held a finger to my lips and silently went 'Ssh!' He got the message, as did Daisy, who looked most perturbed.

  'I've got to see Mrs Eyres,' I said. 'She wants to talk to me about a dinner Daddy is giving a speech at.'

  This was nearly true.

  'What's a speech?'

  I was relieved to be on this non-laptop topic of conversation, and I kept it going for as long as I could. After ten minutes Peter had a working knowledge of demagoguery that far outshone that of any other five-year-old on the planet.

  'OK, Halet, see you in a bit! If Sally rings, can you tell her I'm on my mobile?'

  'Of course, Mr Holden.'

  It was hard to reconcile my suspicions with Halet's friendly face.

  'Say goodbye to Halet,' I said to the children. I knew even then that they would never see her again.

  'Bye-bye Halet,' said Peter. 'See you later!'

  'See u 'ater,' chimed Daisy.

  'See you in a sec,' I said casually.

  As we walked the four hundred yards to school, I tried Sally's mobile every few seconds. It constantly went to answerphone, and I left messages indicating that she should not try home, but call me on the mobile.

  We reached the school, and I dropped Peter off at his classroom before making my way to the Portakabin that houses Daisy's playgroup. Still no call from Sally. Perhaps the Tube was stuck, or her mobile was out of battery. This was maddening.

  When she did ring, it was just as I was delivering Daisy to Simone. I all but bundled Daisy towards her with a brusque 'bye-bye sweetheart', and Simone looked most put out. I mouthed a 'sorry' to her, but it clearly wasn't enough. Oh well, I thought, I would explain later.

  'What the hell is it?' asked Sally. 'You've left about six messages. Is it the children?'

  I dashed away from the Portakabin so I was out of earshot.

  'No, it's not the children,' I said. 'It's Halet.'

  'What about her? Is she sick? I thought she may have been coming down with a cold last week, so perhaps . . .'

  'No! Nothing like that. Listen to me!'

  'Jesus, Sam!'

  'Halet has been looking at your laptop.'

  Silence. I could hear street sounds down the line. Taxi horns, buses, a noisy thoroughfare.

  'Are you there?' I asked.

  'Yes. Say it again.'

&nbs
p; 'Halet has been looking at your laptop.'

  'How do you know? When?'

  'Peter told me. He says that she's looked at it lots of times. And, sometimes she attaches a mobile to it.'

  'Fuck.'

  'It looks bad, doesn't it?'

  'Fuck! Fuck!'

  'What are you going to do?' I asked.

  'I'm going to activate something called Blue Switch.'

  'What the hell is that?'

  'You'll soon find out. Listen, Sam, this is what you must do. Get back home. Now. Act normally. Chat. Drink tea. Whatever you do, keep her in the house. Have you got that?'

  'Yes, but what's going to happen?'

  'You'll see in about twelve minutes. It'll be noisy and a bit frightening, but you'll be fine.'

  'Twelve minutes?'

  'It's never taken longer.'

  We ended the call. As well as being absurdly nervous, at the top of my mind was: fuck, my wife has a cool job.

  I walked back home quickly, but not ridiculously so. I was excited and scared, and the adrenalin made everything seem hyper-real. How the hell was I going to act normally? By the time I got back, two minutes had passed. There was just ten minutes until Blue Switch, whatever the hell that was.

  'Hi, Halet,' I said breezily.

  'Hello, Mr Holden.'

  'Thanks so much for clearing the breakfast things.'

  'Not at all. You were quick!'

  'Oh yes – Mrs Eyres was off for some reason.'

  I stood gormlessly in the kitchen. By my reckoning things would start happening at 9.18. I looked at the clock. It had just turned 9.09.

  'I think I'm going to have another coffee,' I said. 'Do you want another?'

  'No thanks! I've still got this one on the go!'

  Once again, I switched the kettle on.

  'Are you all right, Mr Holden?'

  'Me? Oh yes, I'm fine. Absolutely fine.'