The Meltdown of a Banker's Wife

by Gill Davy-Bowker

  21

  When Alan came staggering in at eleven o’clock that evening, Mel was still up and waiting for him. They had been like ships that pass in the night for long enough. The formal reason for her to wait up for him like the worried mother of a teenager, was that she needed some backup from an alpha male to get the kitchen done. But really, although she didn’t want to admit it to herself, Mel was worried that Alan was always so late and they never had time to talk to each other about anything. She knew that City banking people were up to all sorts all the time and that it was extremely unusual and rather lucky that Alan and Mel had been married quite happily (she thought) for seven years. She didn’t feel great about herself these days. She felt blobby and wobbly and totally mumsy. She felt she had nothing to talk about and nothing to contribute. How could she compete with the Bright Young Things on their way up in the City or with the gaggles of gorgeous call girls who seemed to be part of corporate entertainment? The more she thought about it and the more she discussed it with close friends, the more she doubted his fidelity. Sabrina, one of the fellow City wives, was always telling horrific stories about this or that or the other affair, where the woman had known nothing until she caught some horrendous infection, complete with suppurating sores and all the works. Because their husbands were always late back from work and always doing extra time on the weekends, they’d just innocently presumed that their men were wooing their usual mistress, i.e. money. How would Mel know if Alan had transferred his allegiance to another, more threatening adversary? True, she had never seen any lipstick on his collar, but his floozy on the side might have been wearing that new, non-transferrable lipstick that boasted lasting twenty-four hours without a retouch. Oh God! Mel squirmed at the depths of her paranoia. She poured herself a gin and tonic and sat and watched stuff on the TV that she would never have touched with a barge pole if she hadn’t been so angst-ridden. Slowly but surely she got rather tipsy so she thought it best to soak up the alcohol with biscuits and chocolate. She didn’t want Alan to think she’d turned into a raging lush when he came home and she needed all her faculties intact to detect the essence of a rival woman on his person. By the time Alan came back, Mel had drunk rivers of gin and tonic and had chocolate and biscuit crumbs all down her front and surrounding her on the floor and furniture. She pretended to be avidly watching a darts match because she didn’t think about what was actually on the TV. If she’d had any sense, she’d have had something intelligent like a highbrow drama, but no, Alan came in to find Mel a bit tipsy and cross-eyed covered in melted chocolate and biscuit crumbs, watching darts on the telly. Nice. How cultured. Of course Alan wouldn’t have an affair with a burger when he had this gorgeous, succulent steak at home. He looked rather shocked, she thought, to see her. Yes … definitely shock, not surprise … nasty not nice, she thought in her paranoid, paralytic state.

  ‘Hello love! You still up?’ said Alan.

  ‘You weren’t expecting me to be up, were you? You can’t keep your dirty little secret any more! I’m onto you!’ slurred Mel, madly lunging towards him and sniffing him all over, peering closely at his collar. ‘Who is she then? Hmm?’

  ‘Who’s who? Will you stop sniffing at me like that!’ protested Alan.

  ‘Don’t come the innocent with me. Oh yes … I expect you thought you could get away with your smutty little tryst forever, didn’t you? Who is she then?’ repeated Mel, trying her best to fix Alan with a cold, hard, knowing stare. It’s a difficult thing to do when you keep swaying and burping and hiccupping.

  ‘Mel, there isn’t anyone else. Honestly! Where did you get that idea from? What’ve you been drinking?’

  Alan’s eyes looked shifty and he had a sort of hunted look about him, Mel thought. He was definitely a guilty man.

  ‘Empty your pockets, Alan!’ she demanded. There was bound to be incriminating evidence in his pockets. ‘Come on!’

  ‘Mel, this is ridiculous. Look, sit down and I’ll get us both a cup of tea and we can talk about this sensibly.’

  So Mel plunged her hands into each pocket in turn. Well … no condom packets. There were receipts, however. She’d keep them for later inspection and perhaps to present as useful and damning evidence in divorce court one day. Alan just stood there pretending, she thought, to be perplexed, but at least he didn’t stop her. Maybe he’d covered his tracks as far as his pockets were concerned. She’d have to check his phone and his underpants later, before he had a chance to put the latter in the washing machine.

  ‘Come on! Get your trousers off!’ demanded Mel.

  ‘Why? Do you want it right now? I’ve only just got in through the door! Let’s at least sit down first!’

  ‘If you won’t take them off, I’m going to rip them off!’ screeched Mel like a mad banshee.

  Alan tried to run into the kitchen … a sure sign of a guilty man, Mel decided. He ran through the door and was almost impaled on a protruding bit of plumbing before Mel caught up with him, pulling at his trousers, which proved no match for her gargantuan drunken strength. Down they came while Alan’s bottom was in the air as he held on to the cement bags to prevent becoming skewered by the piping, tools and spirit levels which festooned the room.

  ‘Mel, really! What are you doing? Have you gone mad?’

  Mel was scrabbling around trying to check out Alan’s Calvin Kleins. She wasn’t quite sure by this time what she was trying to locate as evidence on said underwear. She was too far gone to even think sensibly now.

  All thoughts of having a rational conversation and presenting herself as a dignified and supportive though wronged wife had completely gone out of the window. They were now both on the floor surrounded by bits of metal and tiles.

  ‘What the hell’s the matter with you, Mel? Have you gone totally insane? And what the hell has happened to this kitchen? How much are we paying for this? Or rather, darling …’ he added sarcastically, ‘… how much am I paying for this while you swan around at the hairdresser’s all day with your frilly friends? Hmm? Look at my suit! That was Savile Row!’ He picked up the trousers and waved them at her. ‘Look! You’ve torn the crotch!’

  Mel started to cry. Not quiet ladylike sniffs, but great huge, gut-wrenching sobs and wails.

  ‘You’re having an affair, aren’t you? You are! You have to tell me the truth. You must think I was born yesterday if you think I believe you’re spending all this time at work! Give me your shirt! I’m going to get a private detective and have you followed!’ Mel cried.

  ‘I think we need to talk, Mel,’ stated Alan curtly.

  ‘Oh God,’ thought Mel. She didn’t like the sound of that. And as they were trying to pull themselves to their feet, the children appeared at the door, the cat jumped onto Alan and the dog wandered away, whining with his tail between his legs.

  They do say be careful what you wish for, because you might just get it.

  That thought spiralled around Mel’s agitated and squiffy brain like a cartoon Tasmanian Devil, as she picked herself up off the floor ready for her long-awaited talk with her husband. First of all, however, they would both have to show solidarity in front of the children who were staring, wide-eyed, at the scene. Michael was clutching his favourite Barbie doll as his insecurity over this episode had thrown his worries about looking ‘like a girl’ (as Algy had taunted) totally into the shade. Amy clutched at the velvet pouch which cocooned her spider and kept her other arm firmly around Michael’s shoulder. The dog turned around a few times behind the sofa and collapsed in a heap and the cat was all spiked up as though he had had an electric shock. So, Daddy and Mummy stood and smiled benignly at each other and at the children. Then Daddy asked Mummy if she would like a cup of tea … despite the fact that he was dressed in Calvin Klein underpants and Savile Row suit jacket, ripped shirt and tie.

  ‘Yes please, darling. Earl Grey would be lovely!’ trilled Mel. This little ritual calmed and normalised the atmosphere and the children; even Iggy and Ozzie relaxed at last.

  ‘Up to be
d now, sweethearts!’ said Mel, beatific smile fixed on face as she and Alan decided to increase the corniness by joining with the children in a reassuring ‘all family together’ hug.

  ‘Don’t worry … it’s just Mummy and Daddy playing tag,’ laughed Alan lamely.

  The children, relieved, went off to bed and Mel was left feeling totally sober and rather sick about what she might be about to hear. All those ‘I have a bone to pick with you’ moments came flooding back to her and she just hoped that Alan wouldn’t compound the problem by also calling her by her full name of ‘Melanie’. ‘Melanie’ was, she supposed, a very nice name, but she had only ever been called this when she was in trouble.

  ‘OK, Mel. Let’s go and sit down in the garden. I’m so sick of being indoors at the moment. Let’s look at the stars and dunk some biscuits in our tea.’

  She felt the weight drop off her shoulders as they both went outside to sit in the swinging seat. Although it was midnight, it was hot and muggy, but the fresh air lightened their spirits. Suddenly, Mel didn’t think Alan was having an affair. She felt daft ever to have contemplated it. He had put on some jogging bottoms but was still wearing his ruined shirt with tie loosened, collar button undone and sleeves rolled up. God, he was sexy like that!

  ‘I know I’ve been out a lot. I’m not surprised you were feeling as you did, although I think you could have presented your hypothesis a little more rationally than by tearing my trousers off! You only had to ask,’ he laughed, which was quite amazing really, considering that she was responsible for a minefield of a kitchen and very expensive torn trousers.

  ‘I’m sorry. I really am, Alan. It’s just that you’re never around and I get scared because I know what people are like where you work. I’ve seen it so many times in hospitals too. Doctors and nurses working long hours in a world cut off from normal life. From what I’ve heard, it’s the same in banking. There must be affairs raging torridly everywhere at Ponsonby and Tosser!

  Alan sighed and nodded slowly. ‘There is a lot of that, I have to be honest, Mel.’ Then he turned to her and looked unflinchingly into her eyes ‘But I promise you that we are different. I love you, Melly. I would never cheat on you. For one thing, I’d be too scared of what a nutter like you would do to me if you found out. And for another, I’m far too knackered to even contemplate an affair.’

  ‘So what is it then? Is Big Swinging Dick coming over?’

  ‘He is. He arrives tomorrow. I’ve had to put in some presentations with boss man Phil breathing down my neck whispering not so gently about balls and axes. We’ve sold as much as possible to as many as possible. We’ve bought loads of investments like frenzied lemmings. My balls are definitely right out there!’

  ‘I can see that,’ observed Mel, giggling.

  Yep … now she knew she could tackle Gordon the builder and Poppy the bitch tomorrow. All was well.

  22

  Gordon and the boys always arrived before she left with the kids for school, despite the original agreement that the builders would time their arrival not to coincide with the morning rush. The first morning, they had unexpectedly turned up and since then they seemed to have totally lost all sense of time. Still, she would deal with him later. Now to get the children to school. At the gate, she gave them each a big fat cuddle and tried to transmit courage into Michael’s soul.

  ‘Michael, don’t stand for any nonsense from Algy and Toby. They must be very sad and lacking something in their lives to be bullying you. Look at them straight in the eye. Don’t cry. And if they do anything, tell the teacher straightaway, OK?’ Michael nodded and attempted a smile. Sometimes she really felt she’d like to take them out of school. Educate them at home … but then they’d probably develop no social skills and wouldn’t be strong enough to face the real world. On the other hand, what sort of social skills would they be developing, mixing with the likes of Algy and Toby? What was she doing, telling Michael not to cry? She’d always sworn that she wouldn’t turn her children into emotionally-stunted automatons. She’d allowed them, within reason, to express themselves honestly and not be stuffed into stereotypical moulds. But she didn’t want Michael to be vulnerable, leaving the gate wide open for every little harpy to pick at him as he grew up. It was horrible that vulnerability and sensitivity were taken advantage of, but then, mused Mel, how far from gorilladom have we really come? We’re still gorillas. Gorillas that can send other gorillas into space; can hurl themselves around at high speed in metal boxes and think they can control the world around them. If she looked at Poppy for example and saw her as she really was, a hairy gorilla with pendulous arms and equally pendulous breasts, the woman seemed rather pathetic … rather like King Canute telling the sea to turn back. With this in mind, she went over to Poppy, who was air kissing and indulging in excessive social grooming practice with the school governors and members of the PTA that she thought might be able to help her climb the greasy pole one day.

  ‘Hi Poppy,’ smiled Mel nonchalantly.

  ‘Oh hi, darling,’ replied the distracted Poppy. Poppy obviously had bigger fish to fry at this little social gathering. She ignored Mel and carried on chatting, giggling and fluttering her eyelashes at Bob, the PTA treasurer. Mel stood where she was and had a little chat with Rupert, who was on the fringes of the PTA and not quite considered ‘one of us’. Rupert was rather a shy individual who reddened every time he was addressed. It amazed Mel that he’d put himself up for election as Chair recently. Needless to say, he got nowhere although his experience as managing director of a software company should have made him eminently qualified. It was always the same, wasn’t it? People that get elected know the right people but know nothing. That’s why the world is in such a mess, thought Mel. The most powerful nations of human gorillas in the world were led by the most stupid and self-serving, because the stupidest ones never had to try to learn anything since their life was mapped out at birth along a straight, diamond-encrusted path and the self-serving used the intelligence that had pushed them up from the bottom of the pond to ensure that they were ‘all right Jack’. To get anywhere on the winding road to power, one had to pick the lice, fleas and ticks from the coats of those born to it. Just as Poppy was doing now, as a matter of fact.

  ‘Oh, Martha! You are so witty!’ she laughed inanely. ‘Oh, we really must meet up for drinkies soon. Why don’t we make a date for an evening next week? Bring your hubby and we could make a foursome with Tarquin!’

  Mel was glad to see that Martha looked rather non-plussed at the prospect although, to be honest, Martha always looked like that. She didn’t know if it was because she was emotionally stunted or had been given too much botox, but Mel had never seen anyone who was not comatosed look more vacant and gormless. Finally, Poppy pulled herself away from her lovely friends and found Mel still standing there, arms folded.

  ‘Oh hi, darling! Are you still here?’ she laughed, rather surprised. Rupert slowly left Mel’s side, walking off towards his car, staring at his shoes.

  ‘Hello sweetie,’ smiled Mel in a grimacing sort of a way. ‘Do you fancy a cup of tea and a chat?’

  ‘Oh … well maybe tomorrow, Melly. Have to get to my personal trainer. I always meet Pedro in the morning. You know … Pedro Monterez? He trains all the “names”. He’s recently been interviewed by Hi! magazine.’

  ‘Has he now? Has he really?’ Mel nodded her head and kept eye contact with Poppy. She could not conceal the sarcasm.

  ‘Sorry. I’m afraid that this can’t wait.’ She took a deep breath.

  ‘Has Algy got any problems at home at the moment, Poppy?’ she enquired.

  She was sure that Poppy appeared slightly startled for a moment, before regaining her composure. ‘No, of course not. He’s very creative, which makes him rather sensitive and highly-strung, but it’s always like that for the gifted, isn’t it? I find it myself. I bleed within if someone cuts the branch of a tree. I cannot bear to watch ‘Children in Need’ or look at someone with a disability. It hurts me too much.
Algy is just the same, poor mite!’

  Mel suddenly realised that she was staring at Poppy with her mouth lolling open in amazement. She closed it quickly and it seemed that fortunately, tender little Poppy hadn’t noticed any sign of incredulity in Mel’s expression. Poppy carried on.

  ‘I’m a bit of a poet, actually. In the Romantic genre … you know … Wordsworth, Keats? Obviously I’m not as good as they are, but I am just completing a collection at the moment and have had some very favourable feedback from a few publishing houses.’ She attempted to look modest in an immodest, obvious sort of a way. Mel was speechless … the woman actually believed in the mythical personae she was depicting herself and her demonic son to be. She truly was sick, possibly psychotic. Somehow, Mel was going to have to get through to this deluded individual so that she could put the poor woman on the track to reality. She’d thank her for it one day, she told herself. Yes, of course she would. So she informed Poppy of her son’s bullying behaviour towards Michael in the calmest voice she could manage.

  ‘Well, I’m sure that Algy didn’t mean it in that way. Your son’s probably just too sensitive. Is he still playing with dolls?’ asked Poppy, thinly veiling her bitchy intention with a pseudo-concerned expression. Now, at this point Mel felt that she was hypocritical not to just slam her fist into Poppy’s nasty little mouth, or undertake an intricate anal surgical procedure without anaesthetic, but if it was all right for Poppy to be totally insincere then it was for her, too. ‘Slowly, slowly catchy monkey.’ She would make sure that the teacher was aware of the situation. She would write an articulate and rational letter to the headmistress and she would take Michael to boxing lessons. There was absolutely no point in confronting Poppy with the truth about her offspring because she was obviously too stupid to understand.