The doorbell rang just as she was sinking her third gin and tonic. Kasha, Kelly and Imogen had managed to turn up at the same time. The husbands were staying at home babysitting and the girlies had even brought sleeping bags. Well why not? It’d be fun to act like a kid again. They were all rather fed up with trying to be adult all the time. Children don’t realise that the child never really goes away when you grow up. You act and speak sensibly as an adult, but mainly you are just going through the motions. Mel didn’t like repeating rules like a mantra over and over again. She didn’t enjoy grocery shopping, cleaning, cooking or eating healthy food very much. If she was honest, she’d serve and eat rubbish. It was only her love for her family that pushed her into sensible, grown-up mode. She often found it very hard to argue the case for broccoli or fruit or the joys of lentils with the children in any convincing way. She felt like a bit of a hypocrite when she preached about the benefits of healthy living! Well, the kids weren’t around to witness the sins of the mothers tonight. They would never know the depths to which an adult can sink when totally true to him or herself!
The girls had had the same idea. They hauled huge bottles and boxes of plonk and calorifically explosive food through into her dining room. They had brought overnight bags full of make-up and hair dyes and nice smellies. This was going to be good.
Alan phoned to say goodnight, which was very sweet considering that he would probably get accused of being ‘under the thumb’ by the other boys. For once, Mel wasn’t going to be paranoid and read some deeper meaning into his phone call.
No, stop it, thought Mel. I am free from my insecurities today. Have some more gin, Mel … Thanks very much.
So they all curled up on the sofas and put an eclectic collection of music on: Blues, Motown, Reggae, Garage, House … not too loud though, of course. They had to be reasonably sensible for their own good or they might get dragged off to a police cell for disturbing the peace. Imogen had even managed to get her hands on some cannabis. She was a dark horse, that one. Normally she was a big noise in the local Pony Club and Brown Owl in Brownies, but today she was a totally hippy chick. They piled through the door into the garden to indulge in that particular vice, hoping the miserable neighbours wouldn’t smell the perfumed smoke and alert the authorities. They all instantly regretted smoking the stuff, apart from Imogen, who was totally mellow. Mel ended up being very sick in the blackberry bushes and climbing roses. Kelly and Kasha were white as a sheet and lying on their backs on the grass, holding onto the the lawn with whitening knuckles for dear life.
Finally, they staggered inside, put The Blair Witch Project on the DVD and started on the beauty treatments. It could be argued that this was possibly not the ideal time to embark upon projects involving permanent hair dye and bleach, but they could hardly string two words together let alone get into any intelligent debate on the finer points for and against. They tried chocolate face masks – actual chocolate. They cleansed, toned, moisturised and made each other up. No one’s hand was steady so it was just as well that nobody could see themselves straight in the mirror. It would have frightened them.
‘Where did Alan say he was going tonight?’ slurred Kasha.
‘It’s a jolly with the yankee contingent of Ponsonby and Tosser. Apparently he’s got a humungous swinging dick!’
‘Hic … I remember when Robert first went out on one of those things with the advertising and PR people. He was never the same again. Apparently, PR doesn’t just mean Public Relations … it can also mean something to do with bottoms and insertable objects. I really didn’t know what he was going on about the next day, but soon after that he started wearing strange woodland animal costumes and … well … other stuff,’ Kelly revealed.
‘Other stuff?’ Did Kelly know what Mel had seen that night then?
Was she aware that Robert was dressing up in lady clothes?
‘I wouldn’t mind,’ continued Kelly, ‘but he keeps breaking my undies because he’s far too big for them and he uses all my best make-up. I’ve started hiding all my expensive things and leaving cheap stuff around,’ yawned Kelly, not really seeming at all perturbed by her revelation. Well, at least that was one secret Mel didn’t have to keep. Kelly obviously had known all about it for very long time. ‘You know Mel … we really should call those lovely girls we met down in Brighton … what do you think? Have you still got their phone number?’
‘Who? Sophie and …’
‘Yep! Sophie, Tracey and Felicity.’ So Kelly had remembered all their names despite the state she was in … Interesting … But not something into which Mel wished to delve further, thank you very much! ‘No … I don’t know where their numbers are,’ she lied.
‘You know,’ piped up Imogen, ‘I had a crush on a girl once. She was in the sixth form when I was in the fourth at boarding school.’
‘Oh!’ exclaimed all the others except Kelly, who had dropped off to sleep on the floor with her face covered in false hairs (from a broken set of eyelashes), chocolate and red glossy lipstick.
Kasha and Mel just looked at each other and took a large swig of cheap plonk. Their taste buds were so anaesthetised by now that they could have been drinking vinegar and not noticed.
25
‘Oh shit!’ slurred Alan as he lumbered through the door and fell over Kasha’s inert body. ‘What the hell’s going on!?’ He surveyed the room. Three women (one his esteemed and sensible wifely wife), were sprawled on the floor covered in all manner of foodstuffs. Their faces were painted like horror film dolls and their hair was glowing strange, vibrant and unnatural colours. The cat and the dog were crawling around the bodies, cleaning up like vultures. It was truly an apocalyptic scene.
‘Oh hello, love,’ grunted Mel as her beloved husband fell over her. ‘How did it go?’
‘I’ll tell you when you’re in a fit state to listen, I think! What have you all been doing? You look like a bunch of extras on Casualty! And now the dog’s been sick in the corner. Well … I’ll clear it up then I’m off to bed,’ Alan huffed loudly. ‘And you won’t believe what the cat’s dragged in!’
Mel managed to get to her feet. Luckily the huge calorific intake seemed to have counteracted the effect of the almost as huge alcohol consumption and she found she was able to safely navigate her way to the kitchen and lo, the kitchen floor was besmirched with the contents and viscera of some poor unidentifiable animal. It couldn’t even be ascertained whether the animal was flesh or fowl. Mel was at a loss to identify whether the thing had been furry or feathery. And Ozzie was sitting on the kitchen worktop, licking his paws and delicately cleaning the blood and gore from his impassive and guilt-free face. Can you imagine how scary a human would be if he or she had a killer instinct and morals like that? Ozzie was like some mass murderer. It looked like whatever the unfortunate thing had been, it was the size of a small Labrador. It always amazed Mel the diversity of wildlife that could be found in a metropolitan garden. She’d only been aware of its biodiversity since they’d had a cat. However, the wildlife was mostly dead thanks to Ozzie.
‘I suppose at least he eats most of it,’ observed Alan as they both tried to clean up the crime scene.
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ agreed Mel. Kasha came wandering in, apparently a little worse for wear, to say the least. ‘I think I need coffee and a bacon sandwich. I really, really need coffee,’ she groaned. ‘I’ll never make it to school with the kids in the morning otherwise.’
‘You are not intending to travel home and take the kids to school in four hours’ time, surely!?’ Can’t Simon do it?’ suggested Mel.
‘Mmm. Yes, probably. I wasn’t really thinking straight. We must have coffee … now.’
One by one, the girls wandered out into the garden with coffee. Mel found herself grilling large quantities of cured pig meat and they all tucked into bacon butties. Remarkably, they all looked relatively human by daylight.
26
Poppy seemed to have been waiting for Mel when she reached the school gates wi
th 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 po
or 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?
The Meltdown of a Banker's Wife Page 10
