Growing Pains of a Hapless Househusband (24 page)

So I didn't do that.

Instead, I drained my glass and said, 'I think I should
go.'

'You don't want to stay for lunch? I got us some nice
pâté, you know the salmon one you like.'

'Got us'. There was something touchingly assumptive
about those two words, something very uxorious. It's the
little combinations of small words like that which I
expect you would miss if you were divorced. Her
thoughtfulness about the pâté seemed almost contrived,
an attempt to woo me. But the 'got us' suggested
a partnership, a very man-and-wifey partnership. Sally
and I must say it to each other the whole time, and I
never think about it. Why should I? I assume the 'us' in
my life. Everything is about 'us'.

'I mustn't,' I said. 'And I won't give you some bull
that I've got things to do. It's just that I don't think it's
fair on you if I stick around and drink wine and smoke
fags and have a jolly time. I want you to know that when
I walk out that door, it's me saying that I can't return
your love, and I can't place myself in situations in which
lovers might find themselves.'

'OK, you're beginning to sound a bit pompous now.'

'That was the idea.'

(It wasn't.)

'You'd better go before you get any worse.'

We then made our predictably awkward goodbyes.

So now what? A LOT to think about. Do I tell Sally? I
wish somebody could help me with this, but who?
Nigel? He'd only tell Clare, and then it would go
round everyone. Matt? He'd just laugh, and then say I
should poke her. No, I think I've just got to deal with
this one on my own. God knows how I'm going to sleep
tonight. All I can see when I close my eyes is Dom in
his nappy.

Tuesday 15 July

I've been immensely slack with my diary, and the reason
for this is simple. Hard bloody work. It's a bit of a shock
to the system, frankly. So what have I been up to? Well,
because I'm a management consultant at heart, I'm
going to bullet-point it:

• Family first: Sally's job keeps reaching new lows.
  There's no doubt that the information leak is just
  that, and they're sure that there's a mole in the
  department. Despite my repeated (and sometimes
  sincere) protestations that they should give Nick a
  'thorough debriefing', Sally is convinced that the
  traitor is not Nick, and she is getting a little tired of
  me saying so. The one person who never comes up
  in conversation is Emily. I decided very quickly that
  there was no need for Sally to know that Emily was
  in love with me. Although I really do think that
  there should be no secrets between husbands and
  wives, because exchanging secrets is a great way of
  enhancing trust, I cannot see how telling my wife
  that another woman – a SEXUAL PREDATOR, no
  less – has fallen for me will help our marriage.
  These things happen, one has to be big about
  them, and even though I am pretty bad at being
  big, I am doing my best to steer the wisest course.
  
• Peter and Daisy continue to thrive under Halet,
  which is good and bad. Good because they are now
  well disciplined, polite, have got into a good
  routine and have progressed well at school and
  playgroup this term. Bad because, er, this shows up
  my efforts. And bad because they seem to be
  amazingly fond of Halet, which makes Sally and me
  feel jealous. And bad because she won't be with us
  for ever. I also can't believe how quickly they are
  growing up. I know this is such a parent cliché, but
  it's true. Daisy is now a proper little girl, and her
  talking is quite brilliant (as far as Sally and I are
  concerned). She is a proper little madam as well,
  despite Halet's best efforts, and she is very insistent
  that everything goes just as she likes it. Example:
  she still drinks out of one of those Doidy cup
  things, and if the spout isn't exactly 90 degrees to
  the handles, and therefore directly in line with the
  Little Mermaid motif, she has a fit. And not just a
  little tantrum, but a full-on fit. Toast must be cut
  into triangles, she must have two baths a day, and
  woe betide anybody who tries to make her wear
  something that isn't red. Hmmm. I just can't wait
  for the teenage years. Peter is a lot more laid-back,
  although like many boys he seems to have a new
  craze every day. At the moment it is Daleks, and he
  is insistent that we allow him to watch
  Doctor
  Who
  .repeats. This is refused, as it is too scary even
  for Sally. Protests that best friend Phil is allowed to
  watch it are given short shrift, although I do not
  explain that Phil's parents are pretty chavvy, and
  play computer games the whole time.
  
• WonderHubby
  : We've finally finished filming! And,
  miraculously, nobody got killed or wounded.
  There were a couple of near misses, however. The
  worst was when a family of six capsized on a boating
  lake and the mother (who couldn't swim) nearly
  drowned. Despite the fact she hated water, Dom
  had insisted that he wanted them in the boat, as
  this would make a nice cheesy end-of-programme
  shot. We finally decided to use the segment with
  dramatic footage of me running into the lake in an
  attempt to save her. Please note the word 'attempt',
  as I did not actually manage to save her. I got
  bogged down in mud after four yards, and had to
  be rescued myself. All I succeeded in doing was
  ruining the contents of my wallet, and discovering
  that our household insurance does not cover iPods
  in the event of jumping into lakes, even if it is to
  save a life. The second near miss was when the
  Holden Childcare Programme decided that the
  children should spend a day looking after the
  parents. (We call this Role Transalignment
  Bonding.) It started well, and the parents even got
  breakfast in bed, but when it came to allowing six-year-olds
  to do the ironing, it ended badly.
  Thankfully, nobody got burned, but Dom had to
  cough up for a new living-room carpet and seven
  new shirts for the dad.
  
• Now that the series is in the can, Dom and Emma
  are going to spend the next few weeks editing. I've
  asked if I can help, but they've decided that it's
  best, for the sake of the deadline, that they go it
  alone. The series airs at the beginning of
  September, and they need to get preview DVDs out
  as soon as possible.
  
• The Dom situation: Although he knows that I know
  that he has split up from Emily, he doesn't know
  that I know about his 'thing'. And what a 'thing'.
  However, I think he suspects that I may know
  something, and as a result, I've found him to be a
  lot less domineering. And whenever he does try to
  get arsey with me, I just imagine him crapping
  himself in his nappy, and then a smile of utter
  superiority crosses my face. I still can't get over it,
  and naturally I've told Sally, Nigel, Clare, Victoria,
  Paddy, Ian, Ed, Adrian, Sam, Rick. Of course, I've
  sworn them all to secrecy. The one who found it
  the most hysterical was Sally's sister, who has known
  Dom for ages, and says that this revelation 'explains
  a lot'. Apparently he's never really had a serious
  girlfriend. I can now see why. The only way he's
  going to find a woman who's willing to indulge his
  taste is to pay her, and that sort of woman isn't the
  sort you really want to stay with for ever. I almost
  feel sorry for the guy, and it makes me realise that
  I am lucky that my 'thing' is very tame indeed.
  
• This brings me on to the Emily situation. Since her
  great DECLARATION, I have kept my distance, for
  the same reason as when I walked out of her house
  all those weeks ago. We bump into each other,
  which is inevitable, and we keep up an air of warm
  civility. The children like playing with each other,
  it's just that the adults don't. Or at least one of them
  knows that he shouldn't. Whenever I drop Peter
  round for a playdate, she always invites me in for a
  coffee or a glass of wine. I always politely decline,
  and her expression is usually a mixture of hurt and
  annoyance. Perhaps I should accept one of these
  days. The more I refuse, the more it looks as if I'm
  trying to steer myself away from temptation, which
  I'm not. Honest. There is no temptation.
  

And now we're going to go on holiday. I can't wait. With
all our massive
WonderHubby
wealth we've hired this
amazing villa in Chiantishire, and we're having a week
with just the four of us, and then the second week we're
being invaded by Nigel and Clare and all their mob. It's
going to be such fun – and, best of all worlds, Halet has
agreed to come and help look after the children during
the second week. I feel like a millionaire. Sally was
reluctant at first, thinking it would be an invasion of our
privacy, but I said that I was sure that Halet was enough
of a woman of the world to avert her eyes when drunken
thirtysomethings decide that skinny-dipping is just the
best fun in the world.

Monday 4 August

Holiday was exactly as I had hoped – see separate photo
diary for details. The children behaved and the adults
misbehaved, which is just as it should be. I now have a
tan, and I have restored all the weight lost for and
during the filming. What's more, thanks to Halet being
around, Sally and I managed to have lots of sex, which
made us feel like a couple again. If you don't get round
to having sex, or fall out of the habit, then you can end
up feeling like just good friends who are bringing up
children together. Highlight of the holiday was Nigel
appearing in a makeshift nappy after one drunken
supper, whereupon Clare ripped it off and chased him
round the garden until he fell into the pool. I think you
had to be there. I'm just glad the children weren't
awake.

Tuesday 5 August

Have just got back from London from seeing the final
edits of the programme. I'm both astonished and
appalled. Astonished, because they have truly made silk
purses out of sows' ears. Appalled, because the level of
deceit that the viewer is being exposed to is almost
criminal.

'Wouldn't it have been easier to just hire actors?' I
asked Dom. 'And then got them to sign non-disclosure
agreements?'

'We could have done, but I like to think that we make
quality programmes.'

'Ah.'

(I wondered what could possibly be inferior, but then
I don't have satellite TV.)

'And you can also just tell when actors are acting,' he
continued. 'Let's face it, the only actors we could afford
are ones that nobody would recognise, and there's
often a good reason why an actor is not recognised.'

'Because he's crap?'

'Exactamundo. So, cheaper to use real people, as we
don't have to pay them, and when they moan that the
editing has made them look bad, everybody ignores it
because people always moan about the editing.'

'Cunning.'

'Extremely.'

(The image of Dom in his nappy crossed my mind,
but I did my best to get rid of it.)

'What I find amazing,' I said, 'is that it actually looks
as if the Holden Childcare Programme really works.'

Dom chuckled.

'I know. Because let's face it, it's a bunch of bollocks,
isn't it?'

I honestly didn't know what to make of that, and I still
don't. The truth is I'm increasingly undecided about
the whole Holden Childcare Programme. Yes, yes, yes, I
know deep down that it's probably a load of – sorry, a
bunch of – bollocks, but at the same time I still think
there is something in it. There's no doubt that the way
we bring up our children is entirely haphazard, slapdash,
make-do, on the wing, random. None of us really
think it out and plan how we're going to do it. These
creatures arrive, and then we just muddle through from
day to day, and kid ourselves that we know what we're
doing and that we're completely in control.

The fact is, we're not. The children are in control.
Not in the sense that they're telling us what to do, but
because our lives are entirely based around them.
There's nothing wrong with that – in fact, it's just as it
should be – but isn't it ridiculous that we don't have a
system in place that enables us to be in command of
childcare in the same way as a good CEO is in command
of his company? It's not that I want my children to
behave like cowed employees, but I just want the whole
thing to run itself smoothly, and to have a programme
that enables that.

Hence the HCP. I think, besides all the management
speak, it really has potential. The only problem has
been the way it's been applied. I haven't done it
successfully at home, and with our six families the whole
thing had been hopeless, frankly. Utterly unscientific,
and completely chaotic. So much for the observer not
reacting with the system. I'm convinced that with at
least two or three of the families, a properly established
HCP might have yielded some results, perhaps even
positive ones.

I pretty much said all this to Dom, who nodded.

'Well, I'm glad you think that,' he said. 'Because
you're going to need to be saying that sort of stuff over
and over again for the next few months.'

'Really?'

'Oh yes. Have you not seen Emma yet about your
media schedule?'

'No.'

So I did. And when I saw her, I was amazed. She read
out a long list of magazines, newspapers, TV and radio
shows, some of which I had even heard of.

'You're very much in demand,' she said. 'And this is
before the preview DVDs go out. We're extremely
excited Sam. We think this could be bigger than
Make
'Em Work
!'

'
Make 'Em Work
?'

'Didn't you see it? It was our biggest hit. It was all
about getting your kids to do your job for a week. The
coalmining one was a hoot.'

'I must have been out or something.'

'Anyway, we think this is going to go far far bigger
than that.'

'Wow.'

'Wow indeed. Look – here's a provisional timetable.'

She passed me three sheets of A4.

'You'll see that the first interview is on Monday with
Julia Stocks on BBC9. Can you do that?'

'Course I can.'

'Great! Because from now on, these interviews are
your 100 per cent priority, OK? No excuses!'

'Who is Julia Stocks anyway?'

'You've never heard of her?'

'Nope.'

'She's an agony aunt-cum--shrink type. You must
know her – fat and annoying.'

'I tend not to mix with such people.'

Emma laughed.

'Anyway, she's one of the original feminists. I think
she was even there when Emilia Pankhurst chained
herself to that horse back in the 1960s.'

There were too many errors in that sentence to even
bother correcting, so I just let it go. Having worked
with TV people all these months, I'm used to the
staggeringly bad grip that they have on history, or
'facts' in general. In truth, TV people just don't care
about the truth. Truth is boring and static, and it
shouldn't be obeyed. There's nothing sexy about truth
whatsoever.

'Julia has this theory that the whole househusband
thing is a load of crap.'

'Does she now?'

'Oh yes! She told me on the phone that it was just a
myth put about by men in order to make it look as
though feminism had succeeded.'

'Sigh,' I said. 'Will these people never be happy?'

'Of course not! Take away their war, and you take
away their reason for living. But you must promise to
behave, do you understand? You must be nice to her, or
she'll tear you apart.'

'Hah! Tear me apart? Some old braless dungaree-wearer
with a crap haircut? Not a chance!'

'Hmm,' went Emma. 'You see, that's the old-fashioned
attitude that you need to keep hidden. And
please never admit you vote Conservative.'

'Why?'

'Because it's TV death.'

'Really?'

'Yes. Do you remember all those stars in the 1980s
who used to make pop records for Maggie at election
time?'

'No.'

'My point exactly. They're the same ones who also
said they were going to leave the country when Labour
got in, and somehow they never got round to it.'

'Interesting, but I don't see why being right wing is
TV death. After all, aren't most people in this country
pretty right wing?'

'Of course they are! But they're not Conservatives.
There's a huge difference. Being right wing is pretty
much OK, but being a Tory is a total no-no. Got that?'

'OK, OK, got it, but please don't tell me what to say
or think,' I said. 'I react very badly to it.'

'Perhaps we should cancel Julia,' said Emma as she
looked down the list.

'Certainly not!' I said. 'Bring her on! I shall answer
her questions sensibly and with the intelligence she and
her listeners deserve.'

Emma raised an eyebrow.

'I really think we should cancel.'

'I really think we shouldn't.'