The Meltdown of a Banker's Wife (10 page)

26

Poppy seemed to have been waiting for Mel when she reached the school gates with the children. It wasn't the sort of day during which Mel wished to have dealings with her, but it looked as if it might be unavoidable. She tried to avert her gaze, but that's a tall order when you have someone standing in the middle of a narrow gateway with her arms crossed.

‘Oh Mel … I need to have a word with you if you don't mind, please,' she said reasonably. Mel really wasn't going to be able to diplomatically avoid this. She considered the undiplomatic option, i.e. pushing past Poppy and running away, but she simply didn't have the energy this morning. So she smiled sweetly.

‘Yes. How can I help you?' She was convinced she was going to be told off for reporting Algy's bullying behaviour, but no …

‘Have you managed to speak to Alan yet about investments and things for us? With this war in the Middle East it seems as if we should take our money out of poppies in Afghanistan and oil in Iraq and go for something safer like missiles. What do you think? We need to get on with it. When do you think he can see us? Shall we come over tonight?'

Poppy and her husband and probably horrible Algy as well … all coming to her house tonight!? Oh wonderful. Over her dead body! Charming subject too. Did the woman truly have no morals?

‘Um … well maybe not tonight. Alan had a big business meeting last night and we're all rather tired. Shall I ask him when he can see you? I'll let you know tomorrow.'

‘He could phone or e-mail us. Here's my card. Of course you're welcome to come too.'

Wow! Thanks, Poppy!

She suddenly felt very nauseous. She wasn't sure if it was Poppy or the hangover, or a mixture of both. ‘I have to go now Poppy. I'll let you know … I promise.'

There was one hell of a mess in the house. The builders were already in and progress was definitely happening. But the sitting and dining room … What had they been doing last night? The girls had all gone, but the evidence of their stay was everywhere to be seen. Mel would definitely need to lie down for a while before she could tackle this little lot. Couple of paracetamol first though, she had one of her ‘migraines' coming on. The cat and the dog both decided to land on the bed and keep her company. Soon they were all snoring very loudly. One could tell that the builders had been there a while because Mel no longer felt inhibited by their presence. She may have felt more so if she'd known how very loudly she snored when she'd had a heavy night.

‘Good grief! What on Earth is that noise?' was the gist of the builders' comments, liberally woven through with expletives. ‘Verily and forsooth, methinks 'tis a sleeping hippopotamus!'

27

‘Have you spoken to Alan yet?' asked Poppy as soon as Mel rounded the corner to the school gates.

‘No. Why? What's the hurry?' asked Mel.

‘Oh, no reason.'

‘So it can wait a day or two, can't it?'

‘Er, yes.' Poppy looked rather put out, but really, what was the hurry? What was she doing? Tax evasion? Money laundering? ‘Well … wouldn't put it past her,' concluded Mel.

‘Hi Mel … how do you feel? I feel sick as a parrot today. Never again. Don't tempt me to do that ever again!' It was Kelly. Well, of all the cheek, after the way she'd acted down at Brighton. So now, Mel was the bad influence! Ha! Very funny! Mel gave her a baffled stare but was far too tired to get into any conversation, let alone recriminations.

‘Did Robert manage to get the kids to school this morning? she asked, not in the least bit interested but thinking this a suitably banal and safe subject to address. It was then that the kids, both Mel's and Kelly's, came stumbling out of the gates.

‘Mummy?' asked Matilda.

‘Yes, darling?'

‘Why was Daddy's hair all puffed up this morning?'

Mel wasn't sure she wanted to know any more about Robert's possible gender confusion or whatever it was. ‘Kel,' she digressed, ‘we need to be getting back now. The men have nearly finished the kitchen at last!' And before anybody could invite themselves over on the pretext of kitchen admiration, Mel had shot off.

The Portaloo was still in prime position in the front garden but it would not be long before it was finally gone. Soon, the house would be their own again. She still had to sort out the disasters in the sitting and dining rooms though. The mess seemed to have grown and exuded bad humours and ooze after a day of being left to its own devices. Downstairs was not a healthy area physically, mentally or spiritually for someone to sit in, let alone eat in. Even the animals had thought better of coming down to face it. They were still snoring on the bed.

Gordon came through the kitchen door, leering. ‘Nearly finished in there. One half day should do it.' This was welcome news although Mel was at a loss as to why Gordon was leering at her like that. Funny chap.

He winked at her and touched the side of his nose with his forefinger. ‘Your secret's safe with me!' he assured her. ‘OK … Um … thanks,' she replied. It was only after he had left that she found the mound of hash on the dining room table. She quickly scooted it into a plastic food storage box and chucked it in the bureau before the kids could ask any difficult questions. ‘Let's go to the burger bar?' she suggested.

‘Mummy, we don't want to go to the burger bar again. Please can we just stay in?'

My God! Amazing! And typical, just when she wanted to get the kids out of the house until she had a chance to tidy it. So they went and sat in the second reception room because it was the only place left in one piece downstairs, except for the loo.

‘And how was Algy today? Was he behaving himself?' asked Mel tentatively. ‘Did the teacher speak to him?'

‘He gave me some sweeties,' smiled Michael.

Mmm … thought Mel. Good or bad sign?

28

‘How was your night out with Big Swinging Dick and crew?' asked Mel when Alan staggered in at nine o'clock.

‘Tell you what, all he does is work. Even when he's stoned, flying or pissed. Even if he's shagging. All he thinks about is how to make more money. Everyone was out of their tiny minds last night, but the Scheissgesicht still groomed contacts and made more deals than I do in one month.'

Alan looked worn out.

‘So you weren't out of your tiny mind? Were you with it enough to notice how gone everyone was?' Mel was impressed.

‘Yep, I'm sick of the scene, to be honest, Melly. They're all great huge, sweating, red, burping, farting, paranoid wrecks. And all the time they're working out how to make another buck. And to be honest I don't know why, because they don't seem to do a lot with it except more of the same. And they were all in this morning at eight o'clock sharp, looking like shit, being shouted at by Big Swinging Dick. His name is Brent Scheissgesicht, but he is obsessed with the size of his genitalia and loves his nickname. He droned on and on about testosterone, bollocks and balls. He wants “the walls of our office block throbbing with testosterone”.'

‘Sounds marvellous. What do the women do there? There are women employed there, I assume?' enquired Mel.

‘Well, you know there are. Basically they've got to grow bigger balls than we have or they're out. The only place for a woman without bollocks is in the bedroom and that's only if she's gorgeous. Ordinary women figure nowhere. I reckon that the Gherkin on Canary Wharf sums up banking. Why
don't they just call it “The Great Phallus of London” and be honest about it?'

Alan sounded very cynical today. He poured them both a glass of wine and they sat at the dining table, which, together with the rest of the house, now appeared inviting and homely. He sighed. ‘Brent says we've all got to get out there and sell. He says we've got to sell to anyone. He said, “Yup … Bum on the street … no creditworthiness … we want him. We want the shopaholic up to her tits in debt. Get out there! Snooze you lose.” I swear the man was getting an orgasm from the sheer excitement of making money out of paupers. No one knows what anyone's got any more, but as long as you've sold and you've got some poor bastard wriggling on a huge interest hook, you're laughing. It's like some glittering money tree and we ought to know by now, that there's no such thing as a money tree.' Alan took a deep breath and downed his drink in one. ‘Remember when we were kids and we wanted something and believed that our parents were being mean if they didn't immediately get the money out of the cash machine or write a cheque to satisfy our desire?'

‘Yes! I thought it was all free money,' Mel remembered. ‘It is like that now, I have to admit. Everyone wants to give anyone credit. You can't get away from sales assistants trying to sign you up for credit cards and piles of letters through the door every day offering huge loans out of mid-air. It's all cards and computers. No cash. No gold. All virtual reality.'

‘I don't see how it's all going to last, do you? It's like one big gambling casino in the markets now. I want to get out really, Melly, but I don't know where to start. We're tied into this lifestyle and we're used to the money tree. But to stay in this fairy tale, I'll have to switch off my conscience. I've got to be willing to sell my granny to a pimp. I don't hate anyone enough to trap them in this labyrinth. If I want to get anywhere, I need to be on a permanent diet of mood-altering chemicals. It's a crossroads now I think. Who could
I sell this toxic stuff to, in all conscience?' implored Alan. Mel's mind lit up and she grinned a wide grin. ‘Poppy wants to talk to you.' Then she kicked herself. But Poppy and her husband were grown-ups. No one was forcing them to do anything they didn't want and she did keep nagging to see Alan. What was the harm?

29

‘Do you fancy booking in for a full pampering day at the spa on Friday?' asked Imogen when she met up with Kelly and Mel. What a fantastic idea! It had been pretty gloomy lately. Why not? The kitchen was at last finished and pristine and because they had wished to preserve their good name, Gordon had knocked £5,000 off the price. The Portaloo was finally gone and the house looked more like something on Planet Earth than a scene from
Dr Who
at last. De Vere Spa was so exclusive that just the thought of it made one feel like a princess.

‘Definitely!' all agreed.

‘Do you want to see my new kitchen? You can actually have some proper coffee out of posh mugs now,' suggested Mel.

So that's how all the kids ended up playing together in the garden sandpit, dissecting the few snails to get under the cover when the warm weather came. Ivan and Michael happily played together with Airport Barbies whilst Matilda and Amy gave the baby dolls enemas. They even made an interesting collage out of bits of snail shell and desiccated worm. Very creative. The cat slept outside, determined to burn his pink nose and ears. Mel tried to put factor fifty on his delicate areas but Ozzie was having none of it. No, he was going to get basal cell carcinoma if it killed him, if only to make them all feel guilty for not caring for him properly. Iggy, on the other hand, sat at Mel's feet, drooling at the sight and smell of the biscuits until there was a puddle on the lovely new granite floor. ‘It's gorgeous, Mel!' exclaimed the girls. ‘How much was it in the end?'

‘£65,000!' Mel replied, rather pleased with herself and her business acumen.

‘£65,000? I thought you had a discount because they took so long! You could kit out a kitchen in a small stately home for that!' Imogen and Kelly looked quite shocked. Mel had no idea why … it seemed quite reasonable to her. Long ago, when she and Alan had met at university, they had dressed in second-hand weird clothes and been in the Socialist Student Group. That Mel would have been disgusted at the fortune she had just spent so readily. Alan was right … they had grown into the lifestyle which banking provided. It was liberating to have that sort of money but it was enslaving too.

‘Alan's talking about getting out of banking since Big Swinging Dick arrived. He's never been so cynical about his job before. He used to think he was providing a service helping people with their businesses, jobs, mortgages, dreams. All filling the government coffers with tax revenue so that the vital services could continue to serve and care for the people of Britain and provide relief to other countries when required. I always thought that a lot of his work colleagues were plonkers but that banking was a pretty reputable business to be part of. The way Alan's talking these days, he sounds as if he's in thrall to the Mafia!' commented Mel.

‘Same with Robert actually. He's acting very strangely … singing meaningless advertising jingles and throwing empty beer cans at the telly when the commercials come on!' Kelly allowed concern to flit across her face for a moment.

‘I think we all need to get away … the men too. What do you say to renting a holiday villa or something soon? Could be a laugh!' suggested Imogen.

‘Yes! Yes!' shouted the children, who had just brought most of the contents of the sandpit in through the door with them.

‘So … spa on Friday and villa when?'

‘Can we stay at an insect park?' asked Amy, jumping up and down. ‘We still haven't been to Aphid World!'

‘You know what we could do? A compromise to suit all of us? We could go to some island in the Indian Ocean … just the other side of the equator! There would be weird insects for Amy, Matilda and Megan. There would be aeroplanes and airports for the boys. Beaches, sun, sea and tropical stuff for all of us! Yes! Oh God, yes!' Mel mesmerised her friends with the delights that could await them.

‘That's settled then!' They shook hands on the proposal as Imogen and Kelly left the house. ‘We'll meet up after dropping the kids at school in the morning and pop into the travel agents.' At last! Something to look forward to.

She put Amy and Michael in the bath in an attempt to remove the mildewy sand and bits of invertebrate from their hair and ears. The phone rang and she actually felt like answering it for a change … It was Mum.

‘Oh, hi Mum! What's up?' asked Mel. Mum didn't phone very often as she was usually far too busy involved in her own and other people's social lives.

‘Hi darling! Just been thinking we ought to catch up! Did you know we haven't spoken since Christmas? Your father spent the last month in Algeria. He only came back yesterday,' Mum moaned.

‘What was he doing in Algeria? He's not joining the Foreign Legion, is he?' joked Mel.

‘Oh, you know what he's like. Decided he wanted to see what the desert golf courses were like. Do a bit of birdwatching, that sort of thing.'

‘Birdwatching?' repeated Mel. ‘Since when has Dad been the slightest bit interested in birdwatching? Why does he have to go to a desert to go birdwatching? There aren't any trees for one thing. Also I heard that they catch and eat any bird that comes near!'

‘Oh, he's been birdwatching a lot over the past year. He's
got telescopes, binoculars, new birdwatching clothes. He's even got a whole gang of birdwatching friends. He went to Estonia last year to see some sort of goose bird. And he's muttering something about this very unusual bird that only lives in North Korea.'

‘I see,' she answered, the tone in her voice making it quite obvious that she didn't see at all. ‘A unique bird only to be found in North Korea? So even birds can't cross the borders of that godforsaken land!? Well I suppose it's possible!'

There had to be some other motivation for her mother to be phoning than just to discuss Dad's strange new stalking habits, surely.

‘How's the family, Melly? The children must be almost grown up by now. You never bring them up to visit us!' Here we go … Mel's mother was going into martyr mode.

‘Your sister Briony is always popping over. Did you know that your nephews are now eight and four years old? Bet you've never even thought about them!'

‘Mum. I said that we'd visit several times over the past year and you're always busy. And I've always said you were welcome to stay here whenever you want. It would be lovely to see you!' Mel felt herself going red with frustration and remembered why she didn't contact her parents very often. There was always a guilt trip. Compared to her wonderful sister and her offspring, Mel and her little cherubs were always found wanting. She'd given up trying to compete years ago.

‘So what have you been doing recently, Mum?' enquired Mel, politely trying to guide their little conversation boat away from the rocky shore of years of resentment.

‘Well, I've joined another women's group. I've become Chair of the Conservative Ladies Bowling League as well. We recently had The Right Honourable Oliver Chapman at one of our soirées. Lovely chap. He liked my Bakewell tarts! He's divorced you know. Poor man was all over the papers last year because
some young floozy sold a totally unfounded story about some imaginary affair she supposedly had with him to some dreadful tabloid. Perfectly preposterous! Such a charming gentleman. If you ask me, she's nothing but a dirty-minded little slut!' Mum seemed to be getting quite enraged on his behalf!

‘Oh,' said Mel. ‘Has Dad met this Mr Chapman?'

‘No,' Mum replied tightly.

‘How is Briony doing?' It was always the same, having a conversation with Mum. Mel had to navigate a safe passage, avoiding danger spots such as politics, religion, her father, knitting, housework, friends … most subjects, if truth be told.

‘Briony's pregnant again,' said her mother quickly, almost sounding as if she was covering her mouth with her hand in her reluctance to inform Mel.

‘I thought she'd broken up with Harry?'

‘Yes, she has, darling,' Mum confirmed brightly. ‘Um … she's with this lovely artist fellow called … Zeus now. Er … he's very talented and creative,' blustered mum.

And broke, thought Mel, but she didn't say it. ‘Oh, well that's great!' she enthused instead. ‘We should all really make plans to meet soon, shouldn't we? Get the cousins together. Michael's four and Amy's seven now. Can you believe that?'

‘Well, it has been a long time, darling. I'll talk to Briony and see what we can do. You mustn't start lecturing her again though! She is a free spirit and asks for nothing. She's not been lucky and money-grabbing like you.'

Mel felt her heart tighten. There was no point in arguing with her mother. No matter what she did, she would always be second best.

‘Bye, Mum. Talk to you again,' she managed calmly before putting the phone gently down. Even after all these years, it still hurt her. She'd tried so hard to do well at school. To be independent, sensible, reliable. But always she was asked why she hadn't achieved more. Or if she did achieve more,
she was selfish or spiteful. Best close the door on that relationship again for a while. There was no point in being upset. Her future was her own and she would just have to interpret the past and the present in the best way possible in order to improve the future. She wished that she'd had a better childhood. It made her all the more determined to make a great childhood for her own offspring and to rise above the trivia and small-mindedness so that she could live her life as she wanted to. If Briony and Zeus could be free and true to themselves and still be loved unconditionally, then it meant that being true to herself and her own little family could do no harm. Yep – that was decided – she would talk to Alan tonight about a trip to … ooh!? Madagascar? Mauritius? It would be the trip of a lifetime. All they had to do was get out of their gerbil wheels and live life before it was too late. Why should they fit into the mould they had been hammered into? She wanted to give her children the chance to be wary of the ever-narrowing tunnel of education to work to pay the mortgage, to seek more and more material gain, ending in debt and enslavement. She wanted them to be able to recognise the trap and be wise enough to avoid it. She really ought to talk to Briony about it. Maybe get some advice? Trouble was that her sister would probably gloat. But on the other hand, it might lead to the rebirth of their once very happy sisterhood. That would be wonderful. The last time their children had met was at Michael's christening. Briony had looked disgusted about all the religious proceedings. Briony was a pagan. She had taken her children to Stonehenge at the summer solstice and Mel thought it entirely likely that she would go off to some ancient forest to bear her next child.

Mel decided to launch the subject of the proposed adventure to the other side of the world that evening. She was so excited, but bit her tongue so as not to put the children's hopes up too high. She felt so restless that she vacuumed the
house and decluttered her wardrobe after she had taken the dog and the kids for a walk. Michael was nagging for a hamster, promising faithfully that he would look after it. Meanwhile, Amy was telling him horrific stories of how hamsters can't be kept together because they get a taste for meat and rip each others' throats out. They were peering through the window of the local pet shop on their walk when this charming subject came up. Pretty brown and white hamsters were sleeping in straw, one to a cage, apparently perfectly innocent and harmless. Was it really to be believed that these furry cuties could suddenly morph into vicious, blood-sucking monsters? If they put two hamsters in a cage one evening, would they really come downstairs to find one hamster with blood dripping from its fangs, surrounded by the limbs and entrails of the other? Well, at least this little conversation took her mind off the trip and how she was going to persuade Alan. They should Google ‘carnivorous hamsters' later … get the kids to do a research project on it.