Growing Pains of a Hapless Househusband (21 page)

Wednesday 7 May

Well, I've spoken to Dom, and we've agreed to a kind of
stalemate. I won't say anything about the medication,
and he won't bring up the so-called 'Emily situation'. I
also told him, half jokingly, that he was never to be
trusted, and he told me that he would make sure he was
on his best behaviour from now on.

Sally has noticed that I've been a bit quiet over the
past few days. I told her that I was fine, just a little tired
etc. I asked her how it was going at work. She said it had
'stabilised', although everybody was still deeply worried,
and that there almost certainly was some kind of leak. I
asked if they had arrested Nick yet, and put him in an
iron maiden, but that earned me a playful punch to the
stomach, which Sally mistimed and ended up slightly
winding me.

Friday 9 May

I've spent much of this week refining some of the
Holden Childcare Programme. I'm aware that I've been
winging it somewhat with the first two families. Us
management consultants actually call this 'situational
adaptability', and even though I've been doing all right,
I want the next 'consultancy sessions' to have more
structure. Up to this point, I realise that I've been far
too nervous and self-conscious of the camera, but now I
need to act like the Master of the Universe us management
consultants really are.

I have now distilled my methodology down to a few
easy-to-remember phrases. Enter Confidently. Seize
The Initiative. Dominate the Proceedings. Rebuff all
Countermeasures. Roll out the Victory. Retire with
Reward. I had rather hoped that this might make a
good acronym: ECSIDPRCRVRR. However as this is
largely unpronounceable, it may just have to be an
abbreviation.

On second thoughts, it does sound like 'exit prick
rover', but then that sounds like you're trying to stop
your dog shagging a hole in the beanbag. My talents lie
elsewhere.

Monday 12 May

11 p.m. Somewhere in the south-west in the inevitable
Travellers' Rest

This time Dom has chosen a single mother with four
children from four different fathers. She's called Suzie,
and her children have remarkably normal names – no
Kylies and Chantals, but Jamie, Mark, Jonathan and
David. They range in age from eight to two, and
although the children are no worse behaved than ours
(or rather no worse than before Halet), it's clear from
Suzie's face that they're a handful. She's thirty-four
apparently, but she looks about fifty-four. The bags
under her eyes are so large they could line wheelie bins,
and her hair is prematurely grey. I told Dom that she
should be on a makeover programme, as underneath
she looked quite attractive. He told me that he was
working on it. Obviously.

It was clear that Suzie was rather overawed by being
on TV, and was convinced that I was famous.

'I'm so pleased to meet you,' she said.

'Thanks so much for having us here.'

I felt a little like a politician as I looked around her
house, as if I were evaluating the state of one of my
constituents. It was small, but she managed to keep it
tidy, and what furniture she had was in reasonable
condition. The children were in reasonable condition
as well, and when we were introduced to them they all
seemed very polite.

'I can't quite work out why we're here,' I told Suzie.
'You seem to have everything under control.'

'Thank you,' she said. 'I do my best, but one can
always do better! I think your management idea sounds
excellent. If I ever had the time, I'd want to be a
management consultant.'

'Really? Where do you work at the moment?'

'I'm the number two at a leisure centre in town. It's
quite full-on, especially as the boss has been sick for a
few months.'

'So you run a leisure centre and four children?'

'That's right! My mum helps a bit, but she's got a bad
hip and has been waiting ages for an operation, and it
makes it hard for her to get around.'

'Blimey,' I said, and meant it.

A little later, I spoke to Dom.

'I have really no idea what I'm going to do with her,'
I said.

'I know what you mean,' he said. 'She's a fucking
saint. When the researcher said four kids, four fathers,
I thought perfect. I even checked the postcode on our
market-research database, and that said this area was
all chav heaven, so I just assumed from the
researcher's notes that she'd be a real Waynetta. But
she's not!'

'Too right – she's more of a Sophie or a Charlotte.'

'She's quite fit as well.'

'I thought that too.'

'I've an idea for a programme.'

'What?'

'
Make Me A Sloane
. She'd be ideal!'

'You're right,' I said. 'Give her an Alice band and a
pony between her legs, and you're there.'

Dom scribbled down a note, and I had no doubt that
Make Me A Sloane
would appear on our screens within
the next 24 months.

'This still doesn't solve our problem,' I said.

Dom chewed the end of his pen.

'I know what you're thinking,' I said.

'What?'

'You're wondering where the nearest chemist is,
aren't you? You're thinking that if you can get hold of
something that can make this lot hyperactive, we can
have a show on our hands.'

Dom laughed a little too hard.

'I wasn't actually, but I was thinking of ways in which
we could make them behave worse.'

'And?' I asked.

'And I couldn't think of any. Come on – you're
the dad, surely you must know of something we can
do?'

'The thing is, one spends most of one's time thinking
up ways of making one's children behave better, not
worse. This is quite a novel situation.'

'Hmm,' went Dom.

'Hmm,' went I.

Then I had an idea.

'Why not just feed them to the gills with fizzy drinks
and E-numbers?'

'Not bad,' said Dom. 'But she'd never allow it. She
seems far too sensible, and besides, you can't slip that
sort of thing into their food quite so subtly as
pharmaceuticals.'

'OK,' I said. 'Perhaps we could just ask her. We could
say, "Look, this programme is about children who
behave like brats, and your children are not brats, so
could you make them appear to be brats and then we've
got a programme." '

'Honesty, eh?'

'Well . . . I thought it might be worth a try.'

We carried on thinking.

'Or we could create some sort of disaster at her work,'
I suggested. 'So she's forced to take her eye off the ball
on the domestic front and the children go a little
haywire.'

'This is sounding good,' said Dom.

'Perhaps somebody could drown in the pool,' I
said.

'Wow! You're getting worse than me!'

'All right, maybe not that extreme, but you know
what I mean. And then we can get the granny in with
her dodgy hip to look after the children. Lots of
sympathy, and the programme will show that even a
lame old dear can look after four children with
WonderHubby's techniques.'

Dom gave me a high five, or rather he attempted to
give me a high five. Unfortunately I'm not terribly good
at high fives, and I missed. We tried again, and we sort
of clipped each other's little fingers, which was somewhat
painful.

'OK,' said Dom. 'This is great. All we need to do is
engineer a disaster at the leisure centre, and we should
be on.'

'What are you going to do?'

Dom smirked.

'Don't you worry. I'll think of something.'

'But please,' I said. 'No deaths.'

'I promise.'

Tuesday 13 May

When we arrived a little after eight o'clock, Suzie was on
the phone. She looked ashen-faced, as the tabloids
would say.

'Legionnaires' disease? Are you quite sure?'

Dom winked at me. At first I thought he really had
killed somebody, until:

'And are they going to be all right? They are? Thank
God for that.'

We listened patiently to the rest of her side of the
conversation. Toby started setting up his camera, but
Dom made him put it down, which was cunningly
sensitive.

'So where are they now? . . . Still in hospital? . . . Do
you think I should see them? . . . No? OK . . . What do
we have to do? . . . You're joking! For how long? . . . A
week? But Mr Thompson will be so angry . . . I know it
can't be helped . . . Drain the pool? . . . Oh God, this is
terrible . . . Anything else? . . . Just drain the pool and
decontaminate the gym and the toilets and the
changing rooms . . . And the kitchen? . . . Right . . . I'll
be in as soon as I can . . . I'll try and get my mum to take
the kids to school . . . OK, Ian, thanks . . . Yup . . . see
you in a mo.'

'What's happened?' asked Dom.

'Something terrible,' she replied. 'A couple of people
have contracted legionnaires' disease, and the Health
and Safety people think that it's from our pool.'

'I'm so sorry,' said Dom.

'Me too,' I said, but I really meant it, because Suzie
looked genuinely upset.

'I've got to get over there right now,' she said. 'But
I've also got to get the kids to school, and then get
David to his playgroup.'

'Normally we don't like to offer any practical help,'
said Dom, 'but in this case I think we should make an
exception. Perhaps we could pick up your mother?'

'Would you really?' she asked. 'She could take David
down to the playgroup. You sure you're sure? That
would be wonderful.'

'I'm sure,' said Dom. 'Perhaps Sam and I could get
her – I expect we'll be seeing a lot more of her this
week, and maybe it would be a good idea if she and Sam
bonded a little bit.'

'I don't know how to thank you! This is a complete
nightmare.'

Within five minutes Dom and I were in the car on our
way to Suzie's mother, who we now knew to was called
Maureen.

'Legionnaires' disease?' I said to Dom. 'Really?'

Dom chuckled contentedly.

'Not really. But at the moment we've got two
researchers giving a very good impression of it.'

'But it'll cost the leisure centre a fortune having to
drain the pool and disinfect the whole place.'

'They'll be insured, and besides these places can
normally do with a clean, can't they?'

Dom had a point. Our local pool seems to breed
more bacteria than the average hospital ward. Dip the
children in the water and hey presto! A fun new skin
disease called molloscum! An exciting new cough!

'But maybe Suzie will be sacked?'

'She won't,' said Dom. 'People never get sacked these
days.'

'Really? I did.'

Dom didn't say anything. For once, he looked
genuinely sheepish.

Maureen was in a worse state than we had expected.
The poor woman could barely walk, and it took about
five minutes just to get her into the car.

'Are you sure you're OK?' I said.

'I'll be fine, dear,' she replied. 'But who are you two
anyway?'

We briefly explained who we were.

'So am I going to be on the telly?'

'You are indeed,' said Dom. 'I suspect you will be the
star of the show.'

'In that case, I think I shall buy one.'

'Buy what?' asked Dom.

'A telly, of course.'

Dom's eyes, Tube logo.

'You mean you actually don't have a TV?' he asked

'That's right. I never saw the point. There's so much
to be getting on with besides the telly. I have friends
who watch the bloody thing all day and it rots their
brains, I can tell you. From what I've heard, it's just full
of programmes about doing up houses. That, or doing
up people. You would have thought some people could
get a life.'

Dom went silent. I allowed myself a covert smile. I
looked in the rear-view mirror and studied our
passenger. She must have been in her late sixties, and
shared her daughter's good features. Occasionally
those features would contort as a bolt of pain from her
hip shot up her body. It was painful even to watch.

'Do you need anything?' I asked. 'Perhaps we could
stop at a chemist?'

'No it's all right, dear. I'm drugged up to the eyeballs
as it is.'

'OK, well, just let us know.'

We arrived back at Suzie's just as she was leaving to
take the three children to school. Toby was filming her,
and as she looked stressed and flustered, it was making
great TV in Dom's eyes. Once again I thought it an
abuse, but I felt even worse than after what had
happened with the Sincocks because it was basically my
idea. We waved Suzie goodbye, and wished her luck,
and then we turned our attention to Maureen and little
David.

'So how do you normally get him to the playgroup?'
I asked.

'Well, obviously I walk him down there.'

'And how far is it?'

'It's about half a mile.'

'Half a mile? How long does it take you?'

'Depends on the old hip. Sometimes ten minutes,
sometimes the best part of thirty minutes.'

She let out a wince of pain.

'Well I don't think you should be walking anywhere
today,' I said. 'We'll give you a lift down.'

'Honestly love, that's very sweet, but I'm fine.'

She didn't look it.

'I really think we should,' I said.

At this point Dom pulled me aside.

'Perhaps we should let her try,' he said. 'Just to get
some footage.'

'Really?' I asked. 'But she looks in terrible pain.'

Dom went and spoke to her.

'Do you think you might be able to manage a little
walk?' he asked in that condescendingly high-pitched
voice that people use with old people. (Not that
Maureen is that old.)

'Of course I can manage!' she said. 'Honestly, all this
fuss!'

'OK,' said Dom.

Once more I reflected on a spectacular display of
faux sensitivity by Dom. It was excruciating to watch
Maureen take little David by the hand and walk down
the road. In fact, he was the faster of the two, and it was
more a case of him leading her.

'Hurry up Nan!' said David mercilessly.

She did her best, but it was clear that the going was
too tough. Bone was rubbing against bone, and
although that doesn't sound as though it should be
painful, I'm told that it is.

'Come on Dom,' I hissed after she had struggled for
about thirty yards, 'that's got to be enough.'

'Let's just give it another ten yards.'

'For fuck's sake! How much more do we need?'

I could see another bolt tear through her body.

'Right, that's enough,' I said, and ran forward. I
could hear Dom tutting, but I just ignored it. I reached
Maureen and David, and told her that she really didn't
need to continue.

'But I must take David to his playgroup,' she insisted.

'But we can help you,' I said. 'I can give you a lift.
You're clearly in a lot of pain, and I really don't want
you to suffer on our account.'

Her eyes were wet, and she was struggling hard not to
cry.

'Come on Maureen, I insist.'

'But I must do it,' she said. 'I really must. I don't want
to let Susan down.'

'I know,' I said. 'And you won't be.'

The pride was easy to understand. This was a woman
who didn't watch TV, and was therefore presumably
pretty active, or at least used to be. Clearly the idea of
not being able to do something as simple as walking her
grandson to his playgroup was more emotionally
painful than the physical pain of trying to do so.

'It just makes me so angry,' she said. 'I've been
waiting two years for a hip, and the bloody health
service keeps letting me down. Two operations
cancelled, all at the last bloody minute, and every time
it's cancelled it's another four-month bloody wait.'

She paused to wince again.

'OK,' I said. 'Here's a plan. We'll drive up to the playgroup,
we'll take some shots of your dropping David off,
and then we'll drive back to Suzie's and have a cuppa.'

'Whisky?' she asked.

'A cup of whisky?'

She smiled.

'Fooled you there!'

I laughed. I liked her enormously, and if she had
really meant it about the whisky I wouldn't have blamed
her.

Suzie rang a little later to tell us the news.

'Well, it wasn't legionnaires' in the end,' she said.

'Thank God for that,' I said.

'It was all a bit strange – the two patients just
discharged themselves from hospital. They said they
were feeling a lot better and just left.'

'So does that mean that you guys are off the hook?'

Suzie sighed.

'I wish! Health and Safety are still making us drain
the pool and get the whole place disinfected.'

'How long is that going to take?'

'Until Friday, and it'll mean working late. I really
don't know how much of a help I'm going to be with
your programme, I'm so sorry.'

'Not at all,' I said.

'Perhaps we can make it another week.'

'No need,' I said, 'we've decided to focus on your
mum instead.'

'My mum?'

'That's right. Is that OK?'

'Er, I guess, if she's OK with it? But you must
remember her hip is really bad, and she won't be able
to do very much. Normally I just ask her to fetch the
children from school and give them their tea if I'm
running late.'

'Well we can do all that.'

'But I thought the programme was all about watching
how I did it and then advising me?'

'We can do that with both you and your mum.'

'You sure?'

'Absolutely.'

After I put the phone down Dom took me to one side.

'This wasn't the idea at all,' he said.

'Oh?'

'The idea was that we were just going to let granny get
on with it, and watch the chaos that ensued.'

'But she's not capable of doing anything!'

'That's not our fault. What if we weren't here? What
would happen then?'

'But the reason why she's here at all is because of
us!'

'How do you mean?' Dom asked.

'Because of the cock and bull story about the leisure
centre, of course.'

'All right, all right, but we've got to get some fuck-ups
on cam. These people are too normal, and you're being
too nice to them.'

'Compromise?'

'What?'

'We help them out today, and then tomorrow we let
it play its natural course.'

Dom scratched his stubble, and then he grinned.

'I've got it,' he said. 'We put up some cameras around
the house, and then make her wear a "GrannyCam",
which will show her point of view. I'll then say we've got
to be off filming something else, and we can just watch
what happens remotely.'

'Very Big Brother,' I said.

'Well, why not cross formats once in a while?'

'Why not indeed.'

We hardly did any filming after that. I picked the
children up from school in the car, although the edit
will make it look as though Maureen did it. We cooked
the tea, and the four children ate it all up, and even said
their pleases and thank-yous, annoyingly enough. While
all this was going on the crew were rigging up the house
with cameras everywhere barring the lavatory. Then
they showed Maureen how to attach her GrannyCam.
(That's probably also the name of a website I don't want
to look at.) We left when Suzie got back, which was at
6.30. We told her what was happening tomorrow, and
although she looked unsure, Dom insisted that
Maureen would be fine, and that a researcher would be
watching it from our hotel, and if there was a problem,
we could pop round and sort it out.

Suzie still looked doubtful, as did I.