The Meltdown of a Banker's Wife

by Gill Davy-Bowker

  ‘What did she want?’ asked Imogen with a barely-suppressed snarl on her face.

  ‘Oh, just being friendly. She wants to treat us to a night out.’

  ‘Does she now? I’d rather trust some nasty plague germ than that,’ said Imogen, sighing heavily. ‘If you ask me, she’s up to no good.’

  ‘You really are very cynical. I was just starting to feel guilty that I’d misjudged her so badly. I’m sure I didn’t used to be this bitter and distrusting. First impressions aren’t always right you know! Hey! Talking of first impressions … did you know that Kasha’s contemplating a glittering future in the porn movie industry since she had her operation? I always thought she was dead straight-laced, in all her county set clothes and tweeds. She even goes mock-hunting. I didn’t realise that she had other uses for leatherware and whips!!’

  ‘Good grief! Really? I wondered why her chest seemed to grow bigger every six months. Have you seen her since this latest op then?’ giggled Imogen.

  ‘Oh yes! She’s hallucinating on the painkillers, and she can’t stand up straight … got to wait for the skin to “give” or something.’

  ‘What does her husband say? What’s his name … ?’ asked Imogen.

  ‘Jamie. He’s very supportive. Aroused by the filming, she says …’

  Out of the corner of her eye, Mel saw Rupert slink off with his children in tow. But, she was too intrigued by the Kasha situation to make any remark to Imogen about Rupert.

  ‘Fancy popping over for a coffee tomorrow? My house? I’ve got Kelly coming over,’ asked Mel, glad to change the subject.

  ‘OK. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Amy and Michael had taken their aphid souvenirs into school today and had presented a ‘show and tell’ to the class.

  ‘… and Mummy, I told the teacher that when baby aphids are born, they have the next geranium of aphids inside them, ready to pop out! Did you know that, Mummy? The teacher said that they sounded like Russian dolls … You know, those ones with one doll inside another inside another?’ Amy was full of excitement.

  ‘And Mummy … I told the teacher about the ants farming aphids so they can get Slush Puppies and 7 Ups like we did at the restaurant!’ shouted Michael.

  ‘Slush Puppies? How do they get Slush Puppies out of aphids? I didn’t know ants liked Slush Puppies!’ But now anything was possible, as far as Mel was concerned. The whole world seemed to be sucking something out of something … parasites and victims. She still needed to correct her children’s grammar though, there had to be some order left to hold on to.

  ‘Amy, by the way, it’s “generation” not “geranium”.’

  ‘I got a gold star!’ whooped Amy.

  ‘So did I!!’ yelled Michael.

  ‘Marvellous!’ exclaimed Mel. Well, that was positive anyway. It was a relief to know that her children were approved of for a change instead of being considered for inmateship at an approved school. There hadn’t been approved schools for decades as far as Mel knew, but she was sure that the school would have reinvented them just for her offspring, the way things had been going recently. She had heard the news. Britain locked up more children in prisons and similar facilities than any other European country. With narrow-minded teachers like the ones here, she wasn’t the least bit surprised.

  ‘Hi babe!’ growled Alan huskily, as he did his newly-rediscovered ‘Master of the Universe’ pose on entering the house. These days, Alan seemed to be going from strength to strength, in work at least. Most of the time, his nose was bright red and he sniffed a lot. He never sat down to relax. He was either at a frenzied full speed (for eighty per cent of a twenty-four-hour day) or unconscious. The bill for the kitchen was already paid but Alan seemed driven by something more than mere necessity these days. He didn’t stop fiddling with his phone from the moment he came in. It was really starting to get on Mel’s nerves, but she knew better than to question. If she was blessed enough to get a response these days it was always rather arrogant and dismissive.

  ‘Fancy going out to the West End and then flying to Monaco in the boss’s private jet this weekend?’ Alan mumbled, whilst simultaneously doing things with bits of gadgetry.

  ‘What about the kids though? Can we take them on a weekend of debauchery and drugs?’ asked Mel, carefully and justifiably.

  ‘Well! If you’re going to be ungrateful you can bloody well stay at home. I only asked you because Poppy and Tarkers wanted you to join us!’ he yelled.

  Mel felt as if he had kicked her in the stomach, but she managed to remain calm and asked if the Cuthbertsons were leaving Algy at home alone.

  Alan observed her as if she had just crawled out from underneath a stone and was as unable to speak the Queen’s English as a woodlouse.

  ‘They’ve got a nanny. Why don’t we leave the kids with their nanny too? I’m sure they won’t mind!’ suggested Alan gleefully, acting as if he had just discovered penicillin. Leaving the kids – especially Michael – with his erstwhile harpy, Algy, was still a total anathema to Mel. She felt her guts twist. She felt utterly isolated and alone. Alan was like another species. He now seemed to possess none of his old morals, integrity, understanding or compassion. She didn’t have the heart to continue this conversation as she realised that whatever she said it would be pounced upon unless it agreed exactly with what he had in mind. She tried to make some light, pointless conversation, but it was like trying to communicate with a rather angular piece of rusty garden furniture, so she gave up and went to bed.

  She lay awake for a while, wondering when he might join her. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to, as it would only be to start a row about, say, ‘why had she gone upstairs so rudely?’ Most communication these days seemed to be conducted under the influence of Alan’s testosterone level which doubled everyday, if his moodiness was anything to go by. Mel tried to ignore the persistent whisper in the back of her intuitive mind, which appeared to be suggesting cocaine as another culprit in changing his behaviour so devastatingly. Mel had taken to having a little tipple in the evenings, before he came home, just to help her remain calm and unresponsive to the pain his weirdness and cruelty caused her. If she had been her normal self, she would have kicked him into touch, but so low, powerless and stupid did she feel, her spirit was afraid to show its outspoken and brave self. She just had to trust that the real Alan would soon return to her when he had settled into his new-found banking success.

  What the hell was she going to do about this binge trip to Monaco? If she said no, he’d call her ‘Mother Theresa’ and tell her that there were plenty of other girls who’d die for the chance of going on a jolly with him and Big Swinging Dick. But, if she gave in to him to keep the peace, she would be failing her children.

  37

  ‘Mummy!’ shouted Michael the next morning. ‘Can I stay with Algy at the weekend please? His mummy asked me and Amy yesterday!’

  ‘Did she now? And you want to do that?’ Mel was amazed.

  ‘Yes! Me and Algy are best friends now. We’re in a secret club!’

  ‘Yes! Please, Mummy! Algy’s mum said that we can play in their dance and drama studio and wear make-up and swim in their pool. And she promised we could go wherever we want and eat whatever we want all weekend!’ concluded Amy.

  Mel felt a strong urge to vomit, right there and then. On the surface of things, it seemed wonderful that Michael was no longer getting bullied and that her dilemma of appeasing Alan was solved so neatly by this little plan. But she couldn’t shake the deep-down fear that all was not as it seemed. That there was a threat over everything she held dear. It was like living in a place that was poisoned by something undetectable to the five senses … like radioactive fallout. It made her spine tingle, but despite this, she decided to submerge and drown her misgivings.

  ‘Yes. What a lovely idea! I’ll speak to Algy’s mum.’

  38

  ‘You’re going to let your cherished ones stay with the Addams family for a whole weekend? Have you completely tak
en leave of what little sense you ever possessed Mel? What has that woman been feeding you?’ demanded Kelly with eyes bulging out of her head.

  ‘Well, I’m thinking of the long-term, bigger picture. You know, I’m worried about our marriage. Alan’s totally lost touch with me as well as reality. I can’t change his behaviour, but I can change my own. So I thought that if I was more accommodating to his needs? … And …’ burbled Mel, trying to convince herself.

  ‘Excuse me! But just how accommodating are we aiming to be here? Are we all going to end up in swinging groups and porn movies like Kasha, just to suit our men? Really, Mel, I always thought you had more about you than that! And what’s all this sudden lovey-doveyness with that bloody Poppy woman? You’ve told me over and over again that she’s about as trustworthy as a cockroach … and now you are abandoning your children in her dark, damp lair and buggering off to Monaco with her!’ Kelly had finally run out of indignant breath.

  ‘Yes, but maybe I just haven’t been open-minded. Perhaps the problem is with me. Maybe I’m too judgemental. I’ve been feeling cynical a lot recently so maybe it’s not the world that’s changed but my hormones. Or maybe I need to go on Prozac?’

  ‘Mel … you are not depressed, OK? Your moral compass has always been bang on as far as people are concerned. I mean, you’ve seen me in states other people would have me banished to hell for being in, but you’ve always known who I am and stayed by me. You know that I’m not really some raging lesbian, bad-tempered, aggressive lush, don’t you?!’ Kelly was nodding her head vigorously in expectation of a mirrored affirmation of her statement from her friend …

  ‘Er … Mel? I said that you know I’m not a raving dipso, don’t you?’ now Kelly was a little less sure of herself.

  ‘Yes … yes … absolutely, Kelly,’ reassured Mel.

  Kelly sighed with relief. ‘There you go then, you silly moo! You’re right on the button with people stuff.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Mel was more convinced than ever that she was doing the right thing. Of course she’d misjudged Poppy. Alan, Amy and Michael couldn’t all be wrong. They were all great friends and they do say that out of the mouths of babes … That settled it, then. So she ran the plan past Willy the spider for good measure, because she sensed that he could also tell no lies. Willy’s whole being shivered with apprehension at the prospect. If Mel had looked deeper into his multitudinous eyes, she’d have seen the warning signs in every single one of them.

  39

  ‘Alan! Good news! Poppy and I have arranged for the kids to stay at theirs over the weekend, so I can come with you on your jolly!’ Mel enthused that evening.

  ‘OK. OK,’ replied Alan, downloading something onto some sort of new gadget.

  Mel decided that this trip would be the perfect opportunity to reignite their love. She was going to have to pack some rather luscious little numbers for the evenings. Maybe some furry handcuffs?? She felt very nervous, as if she was going on a first date or something. She hardly knew Alan these days, so it would be a bit of a challenge, especially in the presence of all those high-flyers! Private jet? Monaco? Big Swinging Dick … oops … must stop calling him that … she’d have to repeat ‘Brent Scheissgesicht’ to herself like a mantra to ensure that she didn’t make that particular booboo on the trip. When she was little and in the Brownies, she’d been given the part of Grandmother in The Brownie Story play. When she’d first learnt the script, the 1930s wording was thus, ‘Oh Tommy! Your knickers!’ This she had faithfully memorised and since it sounded a bit naughty and therefore funny to a girl of nine, she had adopted that line as her favourite. But then, Brown Owl had changed those words to, ‘Oh Tommy! Your trousers!’ in order to prevent outrage amongst the parents who had come to see their little cherubs on the stage of the Scout hut. Mel had tried very hard to relearn this line so that she could put on a politically-correct performance her parents and Brown Owl could be proud of. But when the time came, she couldn’t help it … ‘Oh Tommy! Your knickers!!’ was reverberating around the hall’s wonderful acoustics before she could stop herself. She was treated like a social pariah and handled as though she had Tourette’s syndrome by the Brownie pack. She was doomed always to be the Seconder and never the Sixer of the Imp Six. It was the beginning of the end of her potentially glittering career in the Guiding movement. When she left Brownies and started at Guides she felt that she was already a marked person. She was blackballed and as such was never to rise to the dizzying social stratosphere of Seconder again. And as the Guide leader was obsessed with sewing and embroidery badges Mel realised that she was, alas, beaten. No … she must never make such a huge social error again. She had learnt her lesson. Big Swinging Dick! … His name is Brent Scheissgesicht!!

  And those were the first words she mumbled as she woke up alone in the king-sized bed the next morning. She went downstairs and found Alan with his face on the table, white powder in lines all over a mirror and a mound of milky cornflakes hanging from his nose and ear. She had now found a good use for another of her Tupperware boxes. She already had cannabis in one and now she would have to use the bigger size for Alan’s mirror and … dare she think it? … Alan’s cocaine. Thank goodness the children hadn’t witnessed this. She set to mopping up the mess and cleaning illicit drugs and breakfast cereal from Alan’s face. Mel shook the feeling of impending doom from her shoulders. Plenty of people live like this, she thought, probably everyone in finance, maybe even the next-door neighbours. That’s all it is … I’m just too naive and boring, Mel soothed herself. Alan needed to do this for the family and she needed to support him one hundred per cent. It would all settle down in the end.

  ‘Can I take my big rubber caterpillar to Algy’s, please Mummy?’ begged Amy that Friday after school.

  ‘And can I bring my Sylvanian Families tree house? Please, Mummy!’ piped up Michael.

  ‘Well of course,’ said Mel. That’s proof that Michael isn’t being bullied by Algy any more. He trusts him with his most precious toy! She finally laid her misgivings to rest. Mel had turned her heart off and was finding this rational, logical, approach easier by the minute.

  With a deadened heart but logic-satisfied mind, Mel set off to pack for her weekend of passion with the ‘beautiful people’. She would just have to make sure she followed all the ‘What Not To Wear’ rules for her rather pear-shaped figure. Bit of lace here and there at strategic points where the cellulite was most obvious and ‘Bob’s your uncle.’

  Big … No! Brent was really quite a small, baldy little man. Either he was deluded about the size of his appendages, or his entire post-pubescent growth spurt had been invested heavily into the development of his dangly bits. Mel could see no obvious evidence. She could not spy any telltale bulge in his impeccable suit trousers and one leg did not appear wider down the length of his thigh than the other. Never mind, just have another drink, Mel, stop being so sceptical! He probably has his special supportive foundation gear on, made only for millionaires who possess huge ‘members’. Yep, that’s what it was! She threw herself into being Poppy’s best friend and Poppy returned the favour. Mel felt very suave and sophisticated as she fell out of the club at four in the morning with all the other ‘beautiful people’. Yes, she was definitely fitting in and having fun now!

  All the way to Monaco in the private jet, Mel tried to anaesthetise herself further so that she didn’t have to listen to the posturing and boasting going on all around her. Poppy was lapping it up as usual. She was in her element in this scorching atmosphere full of stimulant drugs and pulsating male hormones. Even Tarkers looked vaguely manly for a change. She hadn’t communicated with Alan at all really since the weekend had begun, but she observed that he was right in there, buzzing with Brent. Obviously, Alan’s balls weren’t allowed to be as big as the boss’s. There was a definite wolfish hierarchy which was adhered to despite the influence of mind-blowing concoctions, but Alan obviously believed that his genitalia had grown massively in size over the past few weeks since his epiphany in
banking.

  Mel recalled waking up on a deluxe yacht full of staff in full gilded uniform on some stretch of water off Monaco. She didn’t remember much about Monaco itself or her short stay there but was now alert. She noticed that the staff had done nothing as far as actually sailing the yacht was concerned, despite being dressed up in uniforms which rivalled those worn by the top brass of the world’s navies. Their main function appeared to be to attend to every little whim of their boss and his guests. If that meant holding Saskia Borowiski’s toy poodle over the side of the boat every ten minutes so that it could relieve itself, then so be it. Some staff even appeared to have the sole purpose of accompanying the boss into the loo … sorry … restroom. Mel could only imagine why. The whole experience of sitting on the yacht was completely surreal. People that didn’t look quite like people moved around in her vicinity. The women had faces like Barbie dolls and it was very difficult – actually impossible – to read the expressions of any of them. They may as well have been wearing burkhas for all the non-verbal communication they could manage. Their facial muscles were so paralysed with botulism that the women could hardly open their mouths and skin was so stretched from south to north on their bodies that if they smiled it pulled their big toes up. The men were covered in what appeared to be leather hide, so much had their skin been roasted under tropical sun rays. Huge troves of expensive jewellery weighed the guests of the boat down to such an extent, Mel was surprised that the coastguard hadn’t noticed how low the plimsoll line was. But then, the coastguards were probably in the pay of these people too and would happily leave the crowd to their own devices.

  There were at least twenty-five luxury cabins on this ‘yacht’. Mel and Alan had been allocated one but Mel didn’t remember much about being in it. She certainly couldn’t remember Alan sleeping in the huge tacky waterbed at all. He seemed to spend most of his time either with Brent, or in the midst of the band of Russian ‘models’ who decorated the boat.