The Meltdown of a Banker's Wife (11 page)

30

‘Alan! How was your day?' asked Mel brightly as her husband dragged himself through the door and dropped his case on the floor.'

‘Not too bad today, as a matter of fact! I decided to switch off my morals and at least part of my brain. I found I could perform much better like that. I went in this morning, determined to believe in the money tree. I think I lost my grip on sanity a bit. You know … I think I was verging on the psychotic by mid-morning, looking back on it, but at least I felt I was one of them. I actually got the essence of modern banking today. Any suggestions about someone I can sell a rip-off product to, whilst I'm in sociopathic mode?'

‘Remember? I have the perfect clients in Poppy and Tarquin! Let's arrange a meeting this week.' Mel smiled. Well, to break free and become true to themselves, they would need to make a bit of money first, wouldn't they?

‘Is Poppy that Algy's mother? I don't know if I could be professional in my advice to her, you know,' replied Alan uncertainly.

‘Oh, Michael and Algy seem to be getting on rather better now. Let's give her the benefit of the doubt!' Mel was not at all convinced that Poppy and Algy had suddenly turned into decent human beings. She knew well that Poppy was doing her usual social grooming thing to get where she wanted to go. Well, Mel could be just as cynical.

31

‘Mrs Simkins, could I have a word with you, please?' asked Mrs Beastley, Amy's teacher, as Mel arrived to pick up the children. She had just been making plans for the spa day on Friday with Kelly, Imogen and Rosa. Kasha was going into The Swanfield for a boob augmentation so she obviously would have to miss it. Kasha already had substantial boobs so why she was having them done was beyond Mel. If she got any bigger, she would need scaffolding rather than a bra. Anyway, after a lovely chat about lovely plans, here was the charming Mrs Beastley wanting to spoil her day by having a word with her.

‘Is there a problem, Mrs Beastley? Amy seems very happy and settled at school …' Mel ventured.

‘Oh yes … yes, Mrs Simkins … I am not worried about her school work. She does however, seem to have developed rather a passion for painting pictures of rampaging rodents in the grip of blood lust. Let me show you an example.'

Slowly … gingerly, Mrs Beastley held up the offending picture, searching Mel's face anxiously as she did so. ‘I was just wondering if you could shed some light on the reason for Amy being so angry?'

‘Angry? Amy's not angry. She just has a very vivid imagination …'

‘Ah, but you see all this red? All these jagged edges? I mean … look at the hamster's eyes!' Mrs Beastley contemplated the picture for a moment and shivered visibly. ‘I was wondering if you thought it may be beneficial if we involved the educational psychologist? See if he can help Amy?' suggested Mrs Beastley.

Mel's stomach tightened up. ‘Does Amy seem particularly angry and disturbed in any other way, Mrs Beastley? I mean, has she started marching around the school with a machete or are we just talking about your spurious, quack diagnosis on the basis of one rather interesting picture? Have you no room in your system for creativity and self-expression? Is this school aiming to turn out automatons? I thought we'd left the Victorian era long ago!' Mel was bristling.

‘Well, no. Amy seems generally happy. But … this picture … I can even identify the eviscerated hamster's organs hanging from the hamster wheel! Has she been exposed to any material showing such perfect anatomical detail? Has she, for example, been to an abattoir recently? She's always been interested in spiders and creepy crawlies but … well!' Mrs Beastley appeared to be at the end of her strength as she lifted her shoulders feebly in a shrug with her palms open to the sky, trembling.

‘Again, I ask you, have you no room for diversity? If Amy is otherwise normal then why should she see a psychiatrist just because she is perhaps interested in a future career in medicine?'

‘No. Not a psychiatrist, Mrs Simkins. I was suggesting the help of a psychologist,' reiterated Mrs Beastley in a tone reserved for a particularly stupid child.

Oh well, that makes all the difference, she thought. She felt herself redden as she found Amy was now standing next to her.

‘What's the matter? Don't you like my picture?' she asked, bemused.

‘No darling! It's lovely!' answered her mother in a clipped tone. ‘Very … passionate and colourful!'

‘It's because we were talking about how you can't put more than one hamster in a cage. Jonathon told me that hamsters like eating Southern Fried Chicken as well.'

Mel gave Mrs Beastley a ‘told you so' look. ‘There, you see? The children have been discussing animal behaviour and
this is how Amy has represented her research findings. Well done, Amy!' she said as they took their leave of the conquered teacher.

On picking up Michael, they bumped into Poppy who was accidentally-on-purpose bestriding the entire pathway.

‘Oh, hello Poppy. I've spoken to Alan and he'd be delighted to discuss investment options with you. When would suit you?' she enquired, sweetly.

Poppy's shoulders relaxed with relief. She seemed awfully keen on a subject which Mel found unfathomably tedious.

‘Algy's my best friend now, Mummy!' shouted Michael, running around with his arms outstretched pretending to be a plane.

‘That's brilliant, Michael!' she exclaimed. Perhaps the Poppy clan wasn't so bad after all.

‘So I said to Poppy that she and her husband could come over on Saturday evening. Would that be OK with you? Here's her card. She said to phone anytime.'

‘Yep! Great,' enthused Alan, rather surprisingly. ‘Since I've switched most of my brain off and given in to my massive surges of testosterone I've felt rather keen on this “Greed is good” mantra. We could do with the business anyway. Brent says there's no one left to trade with. Everyone who can safely afford anything has got everything they'd ever been hypnotised into needing by Robert and the advertising guys, so now we have to target sales of “The Dream” to people who can't afford it. It's a neat idea … we can't lose because this economic subgroup have to pay massive interest and they have been conditioned into believing that they can have the lifestyle of the Beckhams if they buy the same things as them. In fact, advertising has done such a wonderful job of grooming these poor sods that they actually believe that it is one of their basic unalienable human rights under some United
Nations treaty. Blokes at work have been revved up to orgasm pitch. It's actually quite exciting. And if we're all going on this exotic holiday together, the likes of Rob and I are going to need as many dumbasses as possible to borrow and buy! I'll ring her now, I think!'

Mel sighed. This was the go-getting, suave City trader she'd met eight years ago in Covent Garden. Ooh! She wanted to strip the pants off him right now!

32

‘So you've got Alan to agree to our tropical adventure! That is just brilliant! Rob is up for it too. We need to find a new perspective on things … Ah, this is bliss!' sighed Kelly contentedly.

Imogen, Kelly and Mel were having their pampering day at the spa. Just now, they were all in a row with their faces stuck through the head end of the couches, being massaged with hot stones and sumptuous oils. They had been in the sauna, had a swim in the very glamorous mosaic and real marble Romanesque pool. They had also indulged in a tiny, leafy meal which resembled a doll's house garden washed down with designer mineral water. Mel felt all the chips and burgers oozing out of her system already. She was really up for the colonic irrigation experience they had booked to enjoy together this afternoon. And when all the crap (in the true sense of the word) had been sucked out of them, they were all going to make their bodies into temples. Fresh glowing skin! Lovely slim and lithe with no wobbly bits and squeaky clean colons! What more could a girl want in preparation for prancing around the beaches of some coral island? Then there would be all the clothes shopping! When they were all thin and nubile, they would actually need new clothes, not just for the holiday, but for their new sophisticated and svelte lives.

‘I am never going to put another bite of anything into my mouth unless it's macrobiotic and organic. Never again!' announced Imogen as the tube was removed from her rectum. It had been a strange experience akin perhaps to having a
VAX carpet washer shoved up their bottoms. Not altogether pleasant, but isn't it always the same when something is good for you? It was certainly more pleasant than having the horrendous triple-strength nuclear laxatives Mel used to give to patients prior to major bowel surgery. Not half so much griping or mess and conveniently removed via a tube … the height of decadence. Feeling luscious and light and perfected, the girls left the spa a few hundred pounds (in money, not weight, unfortunately) lighter and set off for the school. A lovely Friday evening after a lovely Friday daytime.

‘We're not going to have any alcohol ever again, are we? My body is a sacred chalice!' ventured Mel. But, now they had left the spa and the freedom of Friday evening beckoned, one wondered how long this saintliness might last.

33

Saturday dawned and the weather was so lovely that Mel took the kids and Iggy to the woods for a ramble. It wasn't exactly a forest, more of a small coppice, but the leafy greenery was healing for the soul. They had a picnic and Mel felt that she was connecting with her children properly for the first time in ages. That was the trouble with life. Most of it was spent running around doing stuff that just needed to be got over with. It was so rare to actually be here in the present tense feeling and enjoying the now. Amy and Michael climbed trees, built a den and played imaginative games. It was like a scene from an Enid Blyton book for a change. Iggy tried to start a fight with a couple of dogs who had the audacity to look at him a ‘bit funny', but it was far too warm to be bothered by it. Iggy was a strange dog, he was a soppy, timid quivering wreck when it came to encounters with a small cat called Ozzie, or with his human pack, but he had these sudden outbursts from his inner wolf when he encountered other dogs coming the other way on a narrow path overgrown with brambles or teetering on the edge of a cliff.

On the way home, Mel popped into the supermarket for some essentials for the barbecue they were having in the Poppy clan's honour that evening. Well, you have to let your hair down sometimes, don't you? She had, after all, been very virtuous for twenty-four hours! One cannot detox too quickly … one might go into withdrawal! Cold turkey from booze, processed meat and chocolate could be horrific! Much worse than giving up easy things like heroin or nicotine, she was sure. No, she was being sensible buying all this lovely
wine and stuff. When Alan arrived home, he had put all sorts of proposals together for Poppy. He'd been at work on a Saturday, which Mel normally hated, but it was all for a good cause, wasn't it? Their holiday of a lifetime.

‘Oh hi! Delighted to meet you!' charmed Alan, as Poppy, Tarquin and Algy followed him into the garden. Algy and Michael went off to play on the swings while Amy stayed close to her mother. Amy had put on her special apron because she had decided to be a waitress at the barbecue. Mel just hoped that Amy didn't decide to barbecue any slugs. She wasn't sure that the survivalist approach Amy tended to favour would go down well in this company.

Alan and Tarquin became the ‘barbie kings' and were in their element with skewered bits of animal burning over the flame. Mel and Poppy poured out wine and the evening began.

My body needs a rest from being a temple, thought Mel. And to be honest, the only way she was going to survive an evening debating the finer points of finance without losing the will to live would be if she got herself quite pissed.

‘So, you're considering alternative investment options, I hear?' began Alan.

‘To cut to the chase,' slurred Tarquin, ‘we need to move our investments away from the horticultural market of Afghanistan and place it into something more secure. We were thinking perhaps armaments, as there is such a buoyant market with huge future potential in that area. But we were also considering property development … it would feel good to have something in bricks and mortar … “safe as houses”, as they say.'

‘You informed me, during our chat on the phone, that Arsch Bank was handling your accounts so I was wondering why you were approaching me,' enquired Alan.

This conversation went on for longer than Mel had hoped. She sat there getting more and more drunk as the adults spoke in Double Dutch and the children raced around the
garden, getting covered in barbecue sauce. Even Poppy was engrossed in the men's conversation, so Mel decided to go and play with the children. She was trying to think positively about the Poppy clan, but even the vast litreage of alcohol Mel was consuming couldn't stop her hackles from rising. There was just something not right about these people, although they seemed perfectly ‘nice'. She hated feeling this way. It made her feel cynical, bitter and twisted. Amy, however, was the perfect little hostess. She cut up rolls and heaped salad onto people's plates. She was very proud of her little girl. It was obvious that Amy wasn't angry or disturbed. Stupid teacher.

She took the children inside as the darkness fell and the crickets chirped. The financial conversation continued. Every so often, Mel looked out of the kitchen window and saw Tarquin signing a piece of paper for Alan. At last though, the horrible trio left and Mel felt instantly better. As if some evil spirit had been exorcised from the house.

34

‘How was your evening with the Addams Family?' asked Kelly the next day.

‘I'd prefer a colonic irrigation with you for company any day!' replied Mel in all seriousness. ‘Let's go to Aphid World today, shall we? Amy was so good last night that she deserves a treat. The company of aphids would be an improvement on the company we had last night! It might actually boost my faith in life to mix with such advanced creatures! In fact, I went and had a conversation with Amy's spider last night in the end. It was distinctly more entertaining!'

Amy, Michael, Ivan and Matilda were running around attacking each other head-to-head wearing plastic aphid feelers and plastic probosces. Trying to persuade them to go down to the cafeteria and eat something was proving almost impossible, even though the food was shaped like bugs, flies, beetles and spiders. It wasn't the most attractive sight for the adults but at least it meant that Kelly and Mel weren't tempted to stray from the post-colonic irrigation path of righteousness today. Rob and Alan had also decided to come along and get used to the group outing experience in preparation for their trip to Mauritius. Rob and Alan seemed more calm and normal than they had been for ages. The company of insects and arachnids seemed a balm to them. It wasn't surprising, given the type of pond life they normally hung out with.

‘What have you found out about Poppy and Tarkers then? Where does their money come from?' asked Kelly, as they
watched repeat loop video of insects devouring other insects on the wide cinema screen of the restaurant.

‘I have no idea. It all sounds very complicated and Alan's being very cagey about it. He says that it's like that in banking nowadays. There are “bundles” of things but no one bothers to check what's in these “bundles” before buying them. He just says “don't look a gift horse in the mouth”. They seem to be getting mortgages for properties in Greenwich and Portland at the moment. I don't really know much more than that … Oh! … Hi Rupert! Are you here with the kids today?'

Rupert was skirting around the edge of the restaurant, close to their table. His children were nowhere to be seen. Rupert was fiddling around with the top of his shirt … it looked like he'd managed to knit all his chest hairs into the buttons and he was wincing a bit trying to prise himself loose.

‘Oh yes!' He seemed startled to have been spotted. ‘The kids have just gone to watch the MaxiFly Digestive Show. I had to come out. Bit too much regurgitation and special effects in 3D for me, I'm afraid!' he said, in a rather more animated and jovial mood than usual.

‘Might go and take a look at that after lunch?' suggested Mel. After all, as a nurse she was quite used to talking about smelly, nasty goo at the same time as eating her sandwiches. Rob, Alan and Kelly didn't seem so convinced but the kids heard the proposal and were leaping hysterically up and down in anticipation so Mel took them into the next showing, and the others were persuaded to follow.

The giant flies landed on the even bigger sausage and started to rumble and shake. The whole virtual reality theatre shook with it and the fly jumped all over the sausage, its feet covered in pretty disgusting excrement. Then the fly puked all over the sausage, mulching it, then sucked it all up through its
proboscis, belching when it had finished. The children cheered and skipped about happily, whilst the adults, except for Mel, dived out of the exits for fresh air, very green in the face. Mel had to admit it was a very realistic experience and maybe one she wouldn't be in a hurry to repeat. When she had worked, she had dealt with huge tsunamis of malaena, sputum and faeces at four o'clock in the morning and not flinched, but it appeared that her sensibilities were returning to that of a normal human being. They spent the rest of the day watching insects sucking the life out of plants and insects eating other insects. They watched a virtual reality spider weave a huge web in which they all got caught up, in a virtual reality sort of a way. They could hear the looming spider breathing heavily through its spiracles as it crept closer to them and the kids were delirious with excitement. Thank God the virtual reality spell was broken just before the spider wrapped them up and desiccated them.

In the car going home, everyone appeared to have found it a gruesome but rather calming experience … a bit like when you have some painful piercing or go for a ride on a particularly scary roller coaster. The endorphins had kicked in and everyone was mellow.

‘Did you see Rupert's family? I couldn't see them anywhere,' commented Kelly.

‘No, but I wasn't really looking, to be honest,' replied Mel.

‘I really enjoyed milking the aphids, did you, Mummy?' asked Michael. In the restaurant the drink machine was in the shape of an ant-farmed aphid that you had to milk to extract 7 Up from it. There had also been a huge busy Lizzy that they'd had to climb dressed as aphids to compete over who could suck sap from the highest part of the plant before getting caught and eaten by a ladybird. It had all been quite brutal really, but when Mel thought about it, it was a good teaching tool for life … especially a life in banking and social climbing.

‘I wonder what Rupert's up to,' mused Mel. ‘He always seems to be hanging around the fringes of gatherings.'

‘I think he's just shy,' offered Kelly.

‘Maybe,' muttered Mel.