Growing Pains of a Hapless Househusband (14 page)

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.