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.
‘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.
35
‘Shall we go and visit Kasha today?’ Mel suggested to Kelly next day. ‘She says that she can’t stand up because her skin’s too tight for her boob implants!’
Poor Kasha had been nowhere for almost a week, so battered and bruised was she after the latest session under the knife.
‘OK, it would be interesting to see how they managed to stuff more silicone into that area without it resembling a scene from Alien.’
Kasha was looking very sorry for herself and her eyes were not quite focussing, due to the hefty analgesia she was taking. She had been suffering from ‘cabin fever’, stuck in the house whilst the nanny was taking her children into school and rumour had it that she was afflicted by some romantic tropical disease and had definitely not had a boob job at all. Kasha was a very thin person, so her breasts looked like huge architectural statements protruding from her upper chest area. The seams of her voluminous clothes were straining.
‘Why did you do this, Kasha? Does it hurt?’ winced Mel.
‘Oh no, no! It’s no problem at all. I am releasing my inner me. This is the size I was always meant to be but my hormones ran out. Really, I’m much happier like this.’ Her perky smile was twisted into a sort of grimace of agony.
‘So what have you been doing while I’ve been away?’ Kasha was staring at the ceiling above their heads as she watched the strange hallucinations induced by the opiates and tramadol she was taking for the pain.
‘Oh, not a lot. We’ve had Poppy, Tarquin and Algy the Hellboy over for a barbecue,’ cringed Mel.
‘And we’ve finally made it to Aphid World and gazed in wonder upon the Aphid of Doom,’ finished Kelly.
Kasha gulped. ‘Well, at least that’s something I’ve managed to avoid! The kids have been on at me for months to go there, but I’m too squeamish to embrace my inner insect, I’m afraid!’ Kasha said, pseudo-shamefacedly.
‘I know the feeling,’ agreed Kelly.
‘So what’s your bra size now?’ asked Mel, cutting to the chase.
‘I’m a thirty-four HHH now, I think. Mr Homerton assures me that my skin will soon stretch to fit, but it’s proving difficult to find the right bra size. I’ve had to start surfing the ‘Feed Me’ fetish sites on the Net for my underwear. It would be easier if I was fat as well but, well, for my career, that wouldn’t really be so good. Thank goodness for the Internet … you can get anything on that.’
‘Why do you want such big boobs?’ asked Kelly.
‘Well, since the children have gone to school, I’ve needed to find something that would fit in with their school hours and earn enough money to keep us in the manner to which we have become accustomed. I tried phone sex for a while, then a bit of lap and pole dancing, but now I feel that my crowning glory will be on screen. They call it “porn” but as Jamie says, people never recognise great art until the artist has gone. My talents are wasted on these philistines, Jamie says. Have you met him yet? He is the most sensitive, creative man – born before his time. But our movies shall be a testament to his genius. He tells me that filming and directing the scenes is so intoxicating that he finds himself in a permanent state of artistic arousal!’
‘Does he indeed?’ Mel and Kelly spoke as one, mouths agape. ‘That’s … ahem … very romantic?!’
‘I thought so,’ replied Kasha, without even the ghost of a smile. ‘He’s so supportive.’
36
Next day at school, Poppy approached Mel and placed a confidential arm around her shoulder. ‘Thanks so much for the other evening. Alan’s help has been an absolute godsend to Tarkers and me!’
Rupert was hanging around in the corner, fiddling with his shirt buttons just as he had at Aphid World. It was rather hot and humid and Mel couldn’t fathom why he always wore such formal gear.
‘Good,’ replied Mel distractedly. ‘I don’t know what it’s all about. It sounds very complicated. Alan tells me you’re planning on buying to let property now? Do you want the fuss of being a landlord? Especially in properties in Greenwich and well … Portland? Where is t
hat anyway?’
‘One word, Mel … Olympics? Portland’s in Dorset. Property will go sky high in the places where it’s being held! We’ll have agents to handle all the landlordy stuff. We have bigger fish to fry. Anyway, that’s beside the point. Tarkers and I would love to treat you to a night out sometime soon. We have a lot of contacts so take your pick. The ballet, opera, theatre, Ascot, Henley, Browns. You name it. You’ll be assured VIP treatment. Just give me a bell on this number, OK?’
‘Oh, it’s all right, Poppy. You’ve given us all your contact details, remember?’
‘I like to use this number for special friends and close family, you understand. I do consider you very close friends now. Don’t give this number to anyone else.’ Poppy winked and touched Mel’s elbow as she walked away.
It all seemed rather over-the-top treatment for a little bit of financial advice, but Poppy was a very strange fish. She was probably just a little eccentric and enjoyed weaving a shroud of mystery around herself.
The Meltdown of a Banker's Wife Page 12
