Growing Pains of a Hapless Househusband (30 page)

'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.'

'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.'

'You seem a little nervous.'

Sally was right – I would have made a crap spy.

'Do I? Oh, it's because I've got the
Joseph and Mary
show today. Have you seen me on it?'

'Oh yes,' she said. 'I thought you were wonderful!
Very funny. Mind you, I don't care much for Mary, but
he is almost as handsome as you!'

'You're too kind!'

The kettle switched off. I poured myself a thick cup of
instant, realising that it was highly unlikely I was going
to drink it.

9.11.

I looked into the garden. Everything seemed peaceful
and normal. I noticed the bird table had fallen over,
and had sent a load of nuts and seeds all over the
terrace. I would have to clear that up, I thought. I
couldn't quite believe that Blue Switch, whatever it was,
would be here in seven minutes.

At twelve past nine, I heard a dim thudding sound.

'What's that noise?' Halet asked.

'What noise?'

'Listen,' she said. 'That one. That sort of bdbdbdbdbbdr
. . .'

I stayed still, pretending to strain my ears.

'Oh yes,' I said. 'I dunno.'

I did know.

It was a helicopter.

'It sounds like a helicopter,' said Halet.

'Do you think so? I think it could be some sort of
funny car on the main road. Maybe it's a combine.'

'A combine?'

'You know, a combine harvester. Gathers up the
crops. It's harvest time, so it's probably one of those.
They're huge noisy buggers.'

'I don't think it's one of those,' said Halet.

I pretended to listen again.

There was no doubt that it was a helicopter, but what
the hell was it going to do? It couldn't land here – we
were in the middle of the village.

'No,' said Halet, her mind very much made up. 'It is
a helicopter.'

'Yes,' I said. 'I think you're right. Probably the air
ambulance.'

'The air ambulance?'

'Yes. Have you not seen it before? Sometimes, when
there's a bad crash on the main road, it takes the
injured people back to hospital.'

'I see,' said Halet.

She looked very ill at ease. And then she did
something that scared the shit out of me. She reached
into her handbag. Oh fuck, I thought, she's getting her
gun. She's going to take me hostage and I'm going to
die. This was it, I kept thinking, my last day on the
planet.

She pulled out a small bag, from which she removed
a little compact mirror. What was this? Poison? Was she
about to commit suicide?

'You are staring at me, Mr Holden! Have you never
seen a lady check her make-up?'

I laughed awkwardly.

'Sorry, I've got the morning stares.'

'Ah yes – my late husband used to have those.'

9.15.

Three minutes.

The helicopter was right overhead now, and it was
making a fearsome racket.

'Perhaps there has been a crash in the village?' Halet
asked.

'Maybe,' I said.

'We should go and look! We could help. I used to be
a nurse, you know.'

I knew it was imperative that Halet should stay in the
house. I had to delay her.

9.16.

'A nurse?' I said. 'Well I never knew that! How long
were you a nurse for?'

'Fifteen years,' she said. 'Back in my home country.
But never mind that! We should go and see what the
helicopter is doing.'

The helicopter was so loud now we could barely hear
each other. Something was about to happen, I just knew
it, or at least my body knew it, because my heart was
going nuts.

'Your home country,' I said. 'Remind me what it's
called again? I can never remember how to pronounce
it!'

Halet gave me a quizzical look. Why was this crazy
Englishman asking questions like this when there was a
helicopter buzzing about a hundred feet above the
house?

She opened her mouth.

I won't ever know what she was about to say, because
at that moment our front door exploded. Then, if I've
got the sequence of events right, I heard the words
'Armed police! Do not move! I repeat do not move!'

At the same time, the entire kitchen filled with this
acrid white smoke that stung my eyes as if bottles of
shampoo had been poured into them. My throat tried
to turn itself inside out, and I threw up my breakfast.