Growing Pains of a Hapless Househusband (20 page)

Mrs Sincock started to blub. Massive thumbs-up from
Dom.

'Because,' I said, 'I can tell that they are, in their little
hearts, the sweetest and most affectionate children
there could be. I've no doubt that they will grow out of
it.'

'Oh dear Lord, I hope so!'

Mrs Sincock then started to cry properly. Not full on
howling and wailing at the wall, but enough to put a
huge smile on Dom's face. I felt disgusted with him, and
disgusted with myself. What made me feel worse was
when Dom leaned forward and asked, in the most
sensitive tone he could muster, 'Mrs Sincock? Would
you like us to stop filming now?'

'Yes please,' she nodded.

'I totally understand,' he said, and then looked at
Toby to turn off the camera.

Until I found out the truth, I thought a miracle had
happened. The change started in the early afternoon.
Mrs Sincock was taking the children out for a walk, and
they actually behaved decently. They didn't swear that
much, and instead of running around they walked
obediently alongside her, as if they were well-trained
Labradors.

By the time we got back Mrs Sincock looked both
delighted and stunned.

'Well,' she said. 'You've both been very well behaved!'

'I agree,' I added. 'You certainly deserve some
squares on the incentivisation chart!'

As I coloured, I couldn't quite believe what had
happened. When we had been on a walk the day before,
they had all but murdered each other, and had even
beaten their mother with some elder branches.

'Mum,' said Michael. 'Please can we watch the TV?'

Mrs Sincock looked as if she'd had a turn.

'What was that?' she asked.

'Please may we watch the TV?'

'Um, no darling, it's not time yet.'

'All right then.'

I checked to see whether the camera had caught this
historic moment in the life of the Sincock household,
and indeed of the Holden Childcare Programme.
Surely, I thought, this was the defining moment, the
moment in which the programme went from being
some sort of joke to raise a cheap laugh, to becoming an
actual system that people could use throughout the
world to take control of their offspring. I felt immensely
proud.

Michael and Mary sat down in their playroom and
started to look through some books.

'This is incredible,' said Mrs Sincock. 'I don't know if
there's ever been a time in which they've just sat down
and read of their own accord.'

It was indeed incredible. Dom also looked impressed,
and gave a little thumbs up. Mrs Sincock then cooked
the children their tea, and while she did so they
continued to either read or play quietly. For the first
time in days we could hear the hum of the fridge and
the sound of the fan in the oven.

'I don't know whether it's your programme, Mr
Holden,' said Mrs Sincock, 'or whether it's a miracle,
but this is the longest time I've ever known them to be
quiet.'

'Can you say that again please, Mrs Holden?' asked
Dom. 'I don't think we quite picked it up.'

Mrs Sincock looked happy to do so, and Dom just
grinned and grinned. And, when the children were at
the table, they ate nicely – barring the odd fish-finger
regurgitation – and even had to be told that they could
get down. When their father appeared just towards the
end, he too was dumbfounded.

'Well, well, well,' he said. 'The Lord be praised. I've
been praying for this for many years, and finally he has
answered. I see this as a true test of faith.'

He then turned to me. Frankly, I was a bit shagged off
that God was getting all the credit.

'Thank you, Mr Holden,' he said, and he sounded
sincere. 'If you are indeed sent by the Lord, he does
indeed move in mysterious ways!'

I didn't know what to make of that, so I just smiled
inanely.

'My pleasure,' I said. 'But let's not count our chickens
just yet!'

'Quite! If they're like this tomorrow, then I'll know
that you have succeeded.'

Dom was insistent that we turned up before breakfast,
which I found pointless, but he said he wanted to catch
the 'little buggers at their worst'. I said that they would
now be fine, but he had his doubts, and wondered
whether it had all been a fluke. Sadly, he was right, and
it looked as though the 'miracle' had worn off. Michael
and Mary were back to their appalling selves, and
throughout breakfast they repeatedly threw their food
at each other, their parents and even the camera. Dom
didn't seem to mind, and just stood there with his
quotidian voyeuristic grin.

'I'm sorry,' I said to the Sincocks.

'Don't be,' said Mrs Sincock.

'It looks as though the Lord is testing us still,' said the
Rev.

Nevertheless, I continued with awarding them
disincentivisation points, although after they had
earned no less than 24 in the space of 15 minutes I was
wondering whether Sincock was not in fact right, and
that it was merely encouraging their bad behaviour.

However, about half an hour after breakfast, their
mood changed, and once again Mary and Michael sat
down in their playroom and started reading and playing
with their toys.

'Another miracle,' I said to Mrs Sincock.

'You know, I think you may be right,' she said.

'What I find strange is the delay.'

'I know what you mean. It's as though the lessons of
the charts take a short while to sink in.'

I watched while the Reverend kissed his children
goodbye. They actually reciprocated the affection, and
I could tell that he was deeply touched.

'Do you have time to say a few words?' asked Dom.

'What sort of words?' Sincock enquired.

'Well, just a few sentences about what you think of the
programme, and how it's gone.'

'Of course.'

Dom and Toby then discussed the best place to film
the parents, and they plumped for the conservatory,
with the children playing quietly at their feet. I was
sitting alongside them, and the comments they made
were addressed to me directly. It all felt very staged and
scripted, which in fact it was.

'At the beginning of the week,' said Sincock, 'I had
my doubts about your programme. I thought it was all
management speak and highfalutin language, but now
I realise that it really did mean something.'

'Thanks,' I said. 'Michael and Mary were certainly a
challenge for any system of childcare.'

'But with your management strategies,' said Mrs
Sincock, 'you have made a world of difference. Michael
and Mary are so much better behaved.'

'Yes,' said Sincock. 'With your incentivisation and disincentivisation
charts, our children are now functioning
as high-value members of our family.'

'I'm so glad,' I said. 'It goes to show that with any
turn-round solution, constant reapplication of strategy
is key for a successful result.'

'I couldn't agree more,' said Mrs Sincock. 'We
shall certainly be rolling out your solutions from now
on.'

'Excellent,' I said. 'But there are two people whose
opinions count most of all, and they are of course
Michael and Mary.'

I leaned down with a fixed smile, and felt like the evil
Child-Catcher from
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
.

'So what do you think of the programme, eh?'

'Bollocks!' shouted Michael.

'Cut!' shouted Dom.

I tried not to laugh.

'Shall we film that again?' I asked.

Dom and Emma exchanged glances.

'Nah,' he said. 'I think we've got enough. You can
pack up, Toby.'

'Pack up for this interview?' I asked.

'No, for the whole thing,' he said. 'We've got more
than enough.'

'But I thought we were meant to be here until
tomorrow.'

'So did I,' said Mrs Sincock.

'No need,' said Dom. 'It's clear that the programme
has worked wonders already. We can all award ourselves
an early weekend.'

I pointed at Michael.

'But he just said bollocks!'

'So what?' said Dom. 'The occasional bollocks isn't
going to hurt.'

'Bollocks!' said Mary.

'And now she's saying it!'

Dom ignored me and walked over to the Sincocks.

'Mr and Mrs Sincock,' he gushed, 'it's been an
absolute privilege being allowed into your home over
the past few days. I am extremely grateful.'

'Not at all,' said Sincock. 'It seems as though your
programme has worked wonders, which is not a word I
use lightly.'

'Bollocks!' went Michael.

'I expect there will be a little of that left,' said Dom.
'But as Sam will doubtless tell you, keep applying the
programme, and I'm sure you'll reap the benefits.'

'Er yes,' I went, 'keep applying the programme.'

Much to everyone's confusion, including mine, we
were out the house in about five minutes. When we got
to the car, I asked Dom why we had to leave so suddenly.

'I was worried that the children were going to start
behaving badly again,' he said.

'But we could have continued to apply the programme,
it was really starting to work.'

Dom looked at me.

'Do you really think so?'

'Yes! The proof of the pudding was in the eating.
There was no doubt that they were beginning to
change.'

'In the eating,' Dom repeated. 'Funny you should
mention that.'

'Why?'

He reached into his pocket and passed me a small
plastic tube. There was no doubt what it was.

'Oh fucking hell,' I said. 'You . . . you . . . actually
drugged them?'

'Yup,' said Dom.

'But that's . . . that's criminal!'

'To my mind, it was more criminal of the Sincocks to
refuse their children medication.'

'But you can't just give them . . . how the hell did you
give it to them?'

'Powdered up the tablets and put them in their food.'

'So that's why you wanted to make it before breakfast
this morning.'

'Exactamundo.'

'I don't believe this,' I said. 'You actually spiked some
pre-pubescents in order to make a TV programme?'

'Yup.'

He seemed utterly unashamed.

'What I can't believe is that you really thought your
chart was the thing that was doing it.'

'What else was I supposed to think?' I asked.

Dom just shrugged his shoulders.

'I was worried that it was a bit too obvious. Yesterday
I thought I had OD'd them – they were almost
comatose.'

'Jesus! You know, one of them could have had a
reaction. They might have died or something!'

'Well, they didn't.'

'How were you to know?'

'I didn't. But look, these drugs are pretty bloody safe.
Millions of children are on these things. They're fine. I
wasn't going to bloody kill them. And besides, I've done
them a favour. They had a few hours of peace didn't
they?'

I didn't know how to respond. And I certainly didn't
know what I should do. What had I got myself into? This
was more than just 'enhancing reality', this was illegal.

'Look,' I said. 'I really need to think about this.'

'Think about what?'

'What do you fucking think?' I said.

'Oh please spare me the sanctimoniousness,' said
Dom. 'Emily said you were a bit of a vicar.'

'Oh yeah? Why? Because I'm not a wife-swapper and
because I don't spike children's food? Is that all that's
required to be a vicar these days?'

'This is boring,' said Dom.

At which point I got into my car and drove back
home.

I haven't spoken about this to Sally yet, but I will do
tonight.

Sunday 4 May

Sally thinks I should pay the money back and get the
hell out. Dom has crossed a line, she says, and there's
no reason why he should drag me over with him. I'm
minded to agree, but what the hell can I do? The truth
is, I can't pay him back, because I've already spent most
of the money paying off credit-card bills incurred from
the Great Flood. (Insurance is never fully comprehensive,
as I should have well known.) It would be great
to take some principled stand, but I simply can't afford
to. Sally sees the brutal reality of that situation.

Meanwhile, Peter and Daisy continue to prosper.
This evening I helped Peter with his homework. His
teacher had given him a load of words on little pieces of
paper that he had to identify. They were reasonably
tricky ones as well, and he got 18 out of 20 right.

'I'm very clever, aren't I Daddy?'

'Yes you are,' I replied, laughing at his lack of
modesty.

That's one of the great things about being four. You
can show off, but not sound arrogant. I, on the other
hand, can sound arrogant even when I'm not showing
off. I need to make sure that Peter is different from me
in many ways.

Nevertheless, it felt good to have a weekend with my
proper, decent, functional, kind and loving family,
doing the simple things like Sunday lunch and
homework. It makes me realise how lucky I am to have
a life like this.

Tuesday 6 May

I called Dom first thing after the bank holiday in order
to clear the air. According to his assistant, he couldn't
come to the phone right now but could he ring me
back? I spent the best part of the morning fretting, and
even went down to the supermarket just to take my
mind off it. We were supposed to be shooting the next
episode later in the week, and so far I had heard
nothing about where it was, who it was, etc.

Of course, going to the supermarket did not help, and
neither did bumping into Emily by the deli counter.

'Hello,' she said.

'Hello,' I said.

'How are you?' she asked.

'Well,' I replied. 'And you?'

'Well,' she replied.

And so on – a meaningless vacuous exchange, in
which both parties were thinking the foulest thoughts
about each other. (By foul, I do not mean dirty. I mean
foul.) I constantly pictured Emily and Dom lying in bed,
laughing about my supposed prurience. Fuck them, I
thought. She's only belittling me because I've rejected
her (frequent) advances, and now she wants to cut me
down so the rejection doesn't seem so bad. Well,
dummkopf
, I thought, the smaller you make me in your
mind, the more bitter you'll feel, because isn't being
rejected by someone supposedly less impressive even
worse? We parted with much faux amicability, and then
we walked off. I annoyed myself by turning to see if she
was looking back at me, which she was, whereupon she
flashed me a fake smile.

Dom had left a message.

'Listen Sam, we need to have a serious talk. Bye.'

I dialled him back immediately. If I were a sensible
sort of person I would have taken a deep breath and
mentally laid out my stall, but instead I just charged in.

'Hi Dom it's Sam.'

'Hi.'

'Listen,' we both said simultaneously.

We both laughed a little, which helped.

'You first,' said Dom, which was frustrating, because
he had got the magnanimity in first. Wanker.

'Look, I know that I'm new to all this, but there are
some things that have really surprised me. I think I can
handle the reality enhancement, but as far as I'm
concerned, giving children drugs without their or their
parents' knowledge is just way out of line. I hate to say
that I'm speaking as a father here, but I am. If I found
out that someone had given Peter or Daisy some
medication without telling Sally or me, I wouldn't be
responsible for my actions. This is not about being a
prude or anything like that, it's simply about being a
decent human being.'

'You finished?' said Dom.

Grrr. He was going from magnanimous to condescending.

'Yes I have. Your turn.'

'All right,' he said. 'I admit that dosing up those kids
wasn't exactly the done thing, but it did the trick. But
besides, that's not the point. The point is, every time I
do something that you find objectionable in your moral
universe, you bleat about it.'

The word 'bleat' really annoyed me.

'And can't you see,' Dom continued, 'that if you've
taken the money, you've agreed to play the game? I'm
sorry that TV isn't as trustworthy as people like to
believe, but there we go. The fact is, people want more
and more outrageous reality-based programmes, and
reality is simply not exciting enough to pull in the
viewers. OK, sometimes we overstep the mark, but most
of the time we get it right, and give the polloi what it
wants.'

'I know all that,' I said. 'And I'm not worried about it.
But I still think it is absolutely outrageous what you did.
I think you should tell them. These are people's lives
you are dealing with, Dom, not pixels on your latest
flatscreen.'

'Tell them? You've got to be kidding, right?'

'Not at all. They should know. And if you don't tell
them, then I will.'

A pause.

'Are you being quite serious about this?' he asked.

No pause.

'Yes,' I said.

'Great. So now we'll have one fucked series, one
court case and the end of both our careers, simply
because you're prattling on about some wayward kids.'

'It'll be better than when they suss something is up,
then run a toxicology test.'

'Christ, you make it sound like
CSI
.'

I said nothing.

'All right,' said Dom. 'Here's what I'm going to do –
nothing. And that's what you're going to do as well.
Because if you do something, then I will simply . . .'

(I was expecting him to say 'sack you', but this was far
far worse.)

'. . . tell Sally about your little fling with Emily a while
back.'

'WHAT?'

'You heard.'

'I've never had a fling with Emily! In her fucking
dreams. For fuck's sake, is that what she told you?'

'Yup.'

'And you believe it?'

'Yup.'

'Well it is 100 per cent complete and utter bollocks. I
have never done anything with her.'

'Is that so?'

'Yes it bloody well is! How dare she go around
spreading those sorts of lies, and how dare you
blackmail me!'

'How can I be blackmailing you if it's not true?'

'Because you know perfectly well that Sally would be
more than likely to believe the accusation because of
her feelings about Emily. For fuck's sake, Dom! Why
do we have to go down this nasty little path? All I was
saying is that it was wrong of you to have spiked those
children's food, and now you come out with this
threat.'

'Calm down,' he said.

'No,' I replied.

'Look, just think it over.'

I put the phone down and screamed.

'Is everything all right, Mr Holden?'

The voice gave me a shock at first. It was Halet, who
was calling up the stairs.

'Fine thanks,' I shouted back down. 'Just a little work
problem!'

'You are sure?'

'Of course.'

Or rather, of course not. The worst thing about this is
that I can't really confide in Sally, as she'll think it's
some weaselly way of pre-empting some 'revelation'. I'm
minded to have it out with Emily, but I don't think
that's going to achieve anything, apart from making her
more bitter.

On reflection, I am just going to have to swallow my
pride and my decency (whatever I have left of both) and
carry on with the programme. £90,000 is a lot of money,
and will make an enormous amount of difference to us.
And who knows what other money might come in?