The Meltdown of a Banker's Wife

by Gill Davy-Bowker

‘Well, if you could just talk to him about it,’ she suggested. ‘As Algy is so sensitive in nature, he is bound to appreciate your kind guidance. I expect he would be very upset that he could have hurt Michael. I do hope he can cope when you tell him. Break it to him gently would you? I don’t want him to feel hurt that his good intentions have been so misunderstood,’ smarmed Mel.

  ‘Oh, of course,’ assured Poppy. ‘Social skills are something children need to learn, don’t you think?’ It did indeed seem to be of paramount importance to some people. Mel had judged her adversary perfectly. She was turning to leave when Poppy called, ‘Oh … by the way, Mel …’

  Oh no …

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I was wondering if I could have a chat with you in the near future about investments. That sort of thing. Perhaps you and Alan, Tarquin and myself could get together in the near future. I’m not sure that our investments are doing that well for us at the moment. We have a lot invested in the Middle East oil fields you see and with the wars going on and on, we’re seriously considering moving into something safer. We thought about arms and military equipment. What do you think? Your hubby’s something in the City, isn’t he?’

  Oh, thought Mel, so we do score some points in the social hierarchy after all!

  ‘Of course,’ assured Mel, ‘I’m sure that Alan would be delighted to meet you both. Leave it with me.’ She patted Poppy’s hand. As expected, this patronising gesture was lost on her.

  The kitchen was in complete turmoil when Mel returned home. She felt like walking back out again. At least the dog would get an earlier walk than usual. Mel didn’t feel like confronting anyone else this morning. All she wanted to do was to watch a load of crap on the TV, curled up on the sofa. But the nettle had to be grasped and grasped right now. Heartened by the success with Poppy, she felt it probably wise to sort Gordon out there and then.

  ‘Gordon, can I have a word please?’ Aha … Gordon displayed the same desperate expression she always felt she had when confronted with this phrase.

  ‘Er … yes, of course, Mrs Simkins … Any problems at all?’

  ‘Only that you have been in this kitchen for approximately twelve out of at least forty-eight working hours that you were contracted to have worked by now. The kitchen looks like Baghdad and we’re sick of eating kebabs and chips. I seriously think we will be facing a humanitarian disaster in this house if it continues much longer and the media may be extremely interested.’ Mel liked the use of the veiled threat.

  ‘I do not understand how you can possibly imagine that this shoddy and tardy workmanship can really be worth the price we’re paying.’ She was nonchalantly leafing through the Radio Times and found a write-up on the consumer programme ‘Cowboys Inc.’ She read it with pointed interest, holding it in front of her for Gordon’s edification.

  ‘I am very sorry, Mrs Simkins. Very sorry indeed. Right boys, we have two more days in which to finish this job. How would that be for you, Mrs Simkins! We’ve had a lot of trouble with trounce lining and silver gizmo plugs. Not to mention bevelled buggers and distals! But I’m sure you understand that.’

  ‘Well, no … I don’t actually. I do not believe that any of those terms mean anything but then I’m only a lay person and you’re the expert. All I know is that I feel it is doubtful that you shall be paid in full and that I expect a large discount for the amount of time and trouble caused and of course, to maintain your good reputation,’ added Mel sweetly.

  Gordon’s face expressed all Mel needed to see to reassure her that her message had sunk in. They’d have a new kitchen very soon, she was certain.

  23

  Iggy Pop was behind the sofa, nose rested on one paw, ear half pricked up, hoping for the words that brought joy to his life. She whispered ‘Walkies’ very quietly and immediately Iggy became a frenzied dervish, jumping up at her with tail spinning like the blades of a helicopter. His legs were shaking with excitement. Anyone would think he never had a walk! She wished she could get excited this easily. Ozzie the cat watched the display in disgust. Mel could almost see the think bubble over his head … ‘Dogs! Absolutely pathetic!’, as he turned and stalked out of the room with his tail poked haughtily up in the air. When she finally attempted to put Iggy’s lead on it was difficult to find the bit of writhing furriness that should have a collar on. The lead got wrapped around all his legs to the point where his lower limbs looked like the pins at the top of a French knitting doll, but he didn’t notice. His paws kept moving and his tongue kept licking even when he had trussed himself up on the floor like a chicken. It took a long time to untangle him enough for him to walk. Finally they were out. Iggy pulled and coughed as his collar choked him, but he was totally oblivious to the pain and the lack of oxygen and carried on pulling Mel up the road like a traction engine. She really would have to see about some training for this dog. Perhaps then she wouldn’t have tennis elbow. If the dog was hypoxic because he had choked himself, it would make no difference to his brain function, because he was completely mad anyway. Just once it would be nice to go for a sedate and dignified walk, where he could be trusted not to stick his nose in someone’s crotch or take all the food from picnicking families. And just as they had left the grassland of the park behind and embarked upon the busy, traffic-lined road, the dog decided to squat and do a huge runny poo in the middle of the crowded pavement. Yes, she was prepared. Yes, she had a poop scoop and plastic bags but … oh, the misery of trying to clean up sloppy, stinky stuff in front of loads of well-dressed shoppers! People kept almost falling over her as she scrabbled around and Iggy nearly pulled her face down into the mess on several occasions. She let the warm weight drop into the scented nappy sack. Iggy was pulling again before she had time to knot the bag and she was sure everyone was looking at her and her little steaming parcel in utter revulsion. And would you credit it? There wasn’t a dog litter bin for what seemed like a mile. She had to pass food shops, designer boutiques and nail bars and even met two friends on her way. She didn’t want to seem rude so she stopped and chatted superficially for long enough to be amicable but short enough for the smell from the contents of the sack not to have insulted their nostrils. All the while, Iggy was being extremely friendly in the most disinhibited of ways just when everyone seemed to have a dress on … well, the women anyway. A couple of chaps were even wearing kilts. Why, oh why? By the time Mel was dragged over the threshold, she was mortified beyond belief and never wanted to be seen in public again. Seriously, if she even went out of the door in future, she would have to wear a comedy beard and a paper bag on her head. Ozzie opened one eye and peered at them both. Mel looked in the mirror and saw what he saw … a deranged-looking, sweaty, red-faced mad woman with hair partly plastered to her head and partly sticking up on end. Iggy seemed totally unperturbed by the whole affair. He lunged at his water bowl, sloshed water all over the room with his great lolling tongue, climbed into his basket, circled it several times, then collapsed in a contented and satisfied flump.

  The boys were hard at it in the kitchen. There seemed to have been more progress in the past two hours than in the past fourteen days. This, at least, lifted her spirits a little, but she decided that crawling under the bed covers for an hour’s siesta was the only way she could recover from her morning ordeal and be human enough to cope with the children after school. She was just dropping into that lovely snoozy phase when the phone rang. Normally, she’d have put it on answer phone, but she’d forgotten in her post-walkie mortification period. It rang on and on … in the end she thought she’d better answer it because it might be something more important than a cold call from a double glazing company. ‘Yep,’ she answered, non-committally, just in case she had to pretend to be some religious maniac from a strange sect to put said caller off.

  ‘Mel, it’s Alan. I’m going to be late tonight. Big Swinging Dick insists we all go out on the town with him for some team bonding.’

  ‘You’re going out tonight. Gosh that’s a bloody surprise, Alan! Fine … we
ll you have a marvellous time out on the piss with your lovely mates! Suppose this means you want me to give your dinner to the dog again, does it?’

  ‘Oh Mel, love, don’t be like that. I’ve told you what’s at stake. We talked about it for hours in the garden. It’s just going to be extra late tonight. Probably won’t be back until three or four tomorrow morning. Most of the guys are booking into a very swanky hotel, but I would rather come home.’

  ‘What? You want to come home when you could be entertained by the entire population of top-class prostitutes in a swanky hotel? Oh, I am honoured. Is Big Swinging Dick paying for all this frivolity then?’

  ‘His name is actually Brent Scheissgesicht.’

  ‘It really helps to learn that fact, Alan. I feel as if I know him already,’ Mel replied. ‘OK, well obviously you chaps must cavort around like a bunch of morons and if you have enough to drink you won’t be able to get it up no matter what these amazing nubile beauties do anyway, so why should I see this as a threat!? Who is buying the Krug tonight then?’

  ‘Well, you know how it is. We’ve got to do plenty of buying because it is the accepted way of showing the others how well we’re doing. Phil says that it is of paramount importance for my future life in banking that I invest in plenty of the best bubbly…’ Alan didn’t sound convinced by this but Mel knew from past experience that this was indeed how these people progressed up the career ladder. One did not just use one’s credit card to buy the crowd Marks and Spencer champagne, these little jollies involved taking out a loan secured on your house and possibly your life in order to throw as much Bolly and Krug down your bosses’ and colleagues’ throats as was possible before they fell over. Not to mention ensuring a bountiful supply of Columbian marching powder to counteract the effect of the booze and bonking prostitutes into the early hours. It wasn’t testosterone which bounced off the walls at these events, it was paranoid, stressy, out-of-their-head people. And what was really terrifying was that these same people were in charge of the economies of the entire Western world. God help us all, thought Mel. It was utterly stupefying that the cash spent on just one of these jollies could pay for at least half of an MRI scanner for a hospital. It was certainly a very weird world.

  ‘It’s OK, Alan,’ Mel soothed. ‘I do understand. I just think it’s so totally outrageous that people who act like this get to the top in this world, not the ones who save lives, care for people or keep the sewers flowing.’

  ‘We’ll go on holiday soon, babe. We’ll all relax together. Thanks for understanding. I’ll see you in the morning, OK?’

  ‘Hmmph. OK. Well, if I get a nasty rash or some uncomfortable warts down there in the next few weeks you’d better watch out! That’s all I can say. Leave them alone … you don’t know where they’ve been, OK? Just a bit of friendly advice which could make your future easier to bear, that’s all, Alan. Look after yourself, don’t be sick in the helicopter and don’t sing when you get back!’

  So Mel was left wondering how she was going to get through yet another night watching the TV, after the kids had gone to bed. She was not, repeat not, going to sit like some sad thing, stuffing crisps, olives and pickled onions down her throat washed down with gallons of gin like she normally did. Her stomach was already flipping over the top of her waistbands like an extra apron. It was actually starting to look like she was wearing her bottom on her front. No, she was not doing that. A thought popped into her head … Kelly, Rosa, Imogen, Kasha … she would call them over and they could get drunk together … maybe doing each others’ facials like when they were teenagers. She could make some healthy snacks and get some diet mixer drinks and they could all indulge but feel saintly! Yep. She’d pick up the kids and suggest it to the girls at the school at the same time. What an absolute brainwave. She staggered into the kitchen with her make-up spread across her face from dozing on the pillow, only to trip over one of the kitchen workmen who was bent over behind the door, hammering something. When she and the builder had recovered from the shock she gazed in awe at the kitchen … because at last it was indeed a kitchen!

  24

  Michael came out looking as unhappy as he always did at the moment and Algy and Toby followed, smirking rather nastily behind him. Michael had marks and holes all over his trousers. He slunk towards his mother and put his arms tight around her, burying his face in her tummy. Mel fixed Algy and Toby with a stare which she hoped would freeze the blood in their veins … if they had any … but they just walked past, heads up, to meet their mothers, laughing rather too loudly. Mel felt like throttling the pair of them, but it wouldn’t have looked good in the eyes of the law, if she actually attacked two four-year-olds, even if she did feel at that moment that they were in fact, the spawn of Satan. She peered over at smug little Poppy who was chatting to Toby’s mum, pretending she hadn’t noticed her shoot angry glances in her direction. The woman was either totally insensitive or she was quite happy that her son was bullying Michael.

  ‘Did you tell the teacher about the bullying, Michael?’ Mel asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

  ‘I tried, but she told me that Algy was only playing around and that I should just ignore him,’ Michael sniffed.

  ‘Hello Mummy!’ called Amy, as she ran and jumped on Mel’s back. At least Amy seemed to hold her own at school … that, at least, was a blessing. ‘Hello sweetie! How was your day?’

  ‘It was good. We made things out of plaster of Paris today. I made a model of a snail. Tabitha said it was horrible so I told her that she was horrible because she is. Then Mrs Beastley told me off and put me in the corner for Time Out. But I don’t care. I hate Tabitha. She’s such an idiot!’ Then she stuck her tongue out at the girl as she came out of the classroom and Tabitha’s mum gave Mel a snooty look.

  ‘Don’t worry, Michael,’ soothed Amy, noticing how upset her brother was. ‘I’ll sort them out for you tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s very good of you, Amy, but I’d better see what I can do or you’ll only get into trouble for hurting younger children. I’m going to see the headmistress in the morning.’ Mel was seething as she marched to the secretary’s office to demand an appointment.

  ‘I need to see Mrs Avery as soon as possible please,’ she almost spat at the secretary. As it happened, Mrs Avery was just coming through her door.

  ‘Mrs Simkins. I could see you now if you like. What’s wrong with Michael?’

  Mel was close to tears.

  ‘Come in,’ offered Mrs Avery. ‘Would you like tea or coffee?’ Mel declined as the lump in her throat was so large, she felt she would have choked on it.

  ‘It’s that dreadful Algy Cuthbertson and his friend Toby Kemp. They’ve been bullying Michael and if you don’t deal with it I’ll … I’ll …’ Mel found herself speechless. She cuddled both her babies.

  ‘Well, I haven’t been made aware of any bullying at St Mortimer’s School, Mrs Simkins. It’s not a problem we normally encounter,’ stated Mrs Avery, glibly.

  ‘Perhaps that’s because you’re ignoring it. Just as schools always have!’

  ‘We have a strict anti-bullying policy…’

  ‘Why? You don’t seem to think that bullying exists here!’ cried Mel. ‘I’m going to have to write a letter to the Board of Governors and may even be forced to bring in the media if this continues! I am not having either of my children subjected to damaging influences that could adversely affect them forever…’

  ‘I can see you’re upset, Mrs Simkins,’ soothed Mrs Avery. ‘Please be assured that I shall investigate this, but Algy is normally such a sensitive and helpful little boy.’

  ‘Ah … so you’re implying that Michael is making it up and that I’m just a neurotic mother, are you? Well, we’ll see about that. I’ll be writing to the authorities tomorrow and I can always take both my children and, of course, their fees out of this school. They’d be better off in the state school than in this place! It’s like Tom Brown’s Schooldays. That Algy will turn into some dreadful sociopathic scho
ol bully … is that what your rotten system condones?’ ranted Mel. She was glad to observe that her words had hit home. Mrs Avery definitely appeared rather perturbed.

  ‘Well, of course, Mrs Simkins, that is your prerogative. I shall discuss this with Michael’s form tutor and we’ll see what can be done about it.’

  Mel knew what she thought should be done about it, but in this age of political correctness, it wouldn’t be allowed.

  ‘Thank you,’ Mel replied. ‘I hope you do.’ She gave her one last hard stare and then left the room. She bumped into Kelly as she walked through the gates. Ivan and Matilda were running on ahead.

  ‘Oh, hi Kelly. Michael’s being bullied …’ and against her better judgement, she started to cry. They all sat on a low wall. Ivan and Matilda came back and the children played hopscotch together on the pavement. Kelly just held her friend and let her dribble snot all over her shoulder. After all, that’s what friends are for.

  Mel had been too upset and enraged to organise a girly night in when she was at the school gates so, after consuming large quantities of comfort food and feeding the children, she phoned them all. At least Kelly and Imogen could come over. It would be nice. At times like this, she wished that she wasn’t the only parent around to deal with Michael’s bullying plight. It would have been so comforting to tell Alan and cry on his shoulder and he could sort it all out, but he was busy entertaining Big Swinging Dick and so that was that.

  ‘Oh well … actually … bugger the crudités and healthy snacks!’ she exclaimed. The children peered quizzically at Mel, but said no more. She took the children to the burger bar and then bought a huge shedload of chocolate, crisps, Irish cream liqueur and cakes. This was going to be a night filled with fat, alcohol, fat, flavourings, fat and sugar and it would be lovely.

  She felt significantly calmer as she put the children to bed. Amy was over the moon because the burger bar had insect cuddly toys that made cute noises and moved on wheels. Michael was happy because he bumped into a friend for a change. He has a friend! Oh joy! ‘Oh, thank God!’ thought Mel. His friend’s name was Jonah. So two contented children tucked in and afterwards they went to get the huge stash of very unhealthy groceries and off-licence purchases. At home, she dumped the stash in a heap on the table with some glasses. She’d tried the domestic goddess bit the other day and it had been a disaster, so this time, everyone could help themselves. There was no point in putting on a show anyway, because the kitchen still looked as though the Americans had suspected that it was harbouring a high-profile terrorist. It was better by far … definitely … but it would need a great deal of effort to get it into a proper working state again.