29
‘Do you fancy booking in for a full pampering day at the spa on Friday?’ asked Imogen when she met up with Kelly and Mel. What a fantastic idea! It had been pretty gloomy lately. Why not? The kitchen was at last finished and pristine and because they had wished to preserve their good name, Gordon had knocked £5,000 off the price. The Portaloo was finally gone and the house looked more like something on Planet Earth than a scene from Dr Who at last. De Vere Spa was so exclusive that just the thought of it made one feel like a princess.
‘Definitely!’ all agreed.
‘Do you want to see my new kitchen? You can actually have some proper coffee out of posh mugs now,’ suggested Mel.
So that’s how all the kids ended up playing together in the garden sandpit, dissecting the few snails to get under the cover when the warm weather came. Ivan and Michael happily played together with Airport Barbies whilst Matilda and Amy gave the baby dolls enemas. They even made an interesting collage out of bits of snail shell and desiccated worm. Very creative. The cat slept outside, determined to burn his pink nose and ears. Mel tried to put factor fifty on his delicate areas but Ozzie was having none of it. No, he was going to get basal cell carcinoma if it killed him, if only to make them all feel guilty for not caring for him properly. Iggy, on the other hand, sat at Mel’s feet, drooling at the sight and smell of the biscuits until there was a puddle on the lovely new granite floor. ‘It’s gorgeous, Mel!’ exclaimed the girls. ‘How much was it in the end?’
‘£65,000!’ Mel replied, rather pleased with herself and her business acumen.
‘£65,000? I thought you had a discount because they took so long! You could kit out a kitchen in a small stately home for that!’ Imogen and Kelly looked quite shocked. Mel had no idea why … it seemed quite reasonable to her. Long ago, when she and Alan had met at university, they had dressed in second-hand weird clothes and been in the Socialist Student Group. That Mel would have been disgusted at the fortune she had just spent so readily. Alan was right … they had grown into the lifestyle which banking provided. It was liberating to have that sort of money but it was enslaving too.
‘Alan’s talking about getting out of banking since Big Swinging Dick arrived. He’s never been so cynical about his job before. He used to think he was providing a service helping people with their businesses, jobs, mortgages, dreams. All filling the government coffers with tax revenue so that the vital services could continue to serve and care for the people of Britain and provide relief to other countries when required. I always thought that a lot of his work colleagues were plonkers but that banking was a pretty reputable business to be part of. The way Alan’s talking these days, he sounds as if he’s in thrall to the Mafia!’ commented Mel.
‘Same with Robert actually. He’s acting very strangely … singing meaningless advertising jingles and throwing empty beer cans at the telly when the commercials come on!’ Kelly allowed concern to flit across her face for a moment.
‘I think we all need to get away … the men too. What do you say to renting a holiday villa or something soon? Could be a laugh!’ suggested Imogen.
‘Yes! Yes!’ shouted the children, who had just brought most of the contents of the sandpit in through the door with them.
‘So … spa on Friday and villa when?’
‘Can we stay at an insect park?’ asked Amy, jumping up and down. ‘We still haven’t been to Aphid World!’
‘You know what we could do? A compromise to suit all of us? We could go to some island in the Indian Ocean … just the other side of the equator! There would be weird insects for Amy, Matilda and Megan. There would be aeroplanes and airports for the boys. Beaches, sun, sea and tropical stuff for all of us! Yes! Oh God, yes!’ Mel mesmerised her friends with the delights that could await them.
‘That’s settled then!’ They shook hands on the proposal as Imogen and Kelly left the house. ‘We’ll meet up after dropping the kids at school in the morning and pop into the travel agents.’ At last! Something to look forward to.
She put Amy and Michael in the bath in an attempt to remove the mildewy sand and bits of invertebrate from their hair and ears. The phone rang and she actually felt like answering it for a change … It was Mum.
‘Oh, hi Mum! What’s up?’ asked Mel. Mum didn’t phone very often as she was usually far too busy involved in her own and other people’s social lives.
‘Hi darling! Just been thinking we ought to catch up! Did you know we haven’t spoken since Christmas? Your father spent the last month in Algeria. He only came back yesterday,’ Mum moaned.
‘What was he doing in Algeria? He’s not joining the Foreign Legion, is he?’ joked Mel.
‘Oh, you know what he’s like. Decided he wanted to see what the desert golf courses were like. Do a bit of birdwatching, that sort of thing.’
‘Birdwatching?’ repeated Mel. ‘Since when has Dad been the slightest bit interested in birdwatching? Why does he have to go to a desert to go birdwatching? There aren’t any trees for one thing. Also I heard that they catch and eat any bird that comes near!’
‘Oh, he’s been birdwatching a lot over the past year. He’s got telescopes, binoculars, new birdwatching clothes. He’s even got a whole gang of birdwatching friends. He went to Estonia last year to see some sort of goose bird. And he’s muttering something about this very unusual bird that only lives in North Korea.’
‘I see,’ she answered, the tone in her voice making it quite obvious that she didn’t see at all. ‘A unique bird only to be found in North Korea? So even birds can’t cross the borders of that godforsaken land!? Well I suppose it’s possible!’
There had to be some other motivation for her mother to be phoning than just to discuss Dad’s strange new stalking habits, surely.
‘How’s the family, Melly? The children must be almost grown up by now. You never bring them up to visit us!’ Here we go … Mel’s mother was going into martyr mode.
‘Your sister Briony is always popping over. Did you know that your nephews are now eight and four years old? Bet you’ve never even thought about them!’
‘Mum. I said that we’d visit several times over the past year and you’re always busy. And I’ve always said you were welcome to stay here whenever you want. It would be lovely to see you!’ Mel felt herself going red with frustration and remembered why she didn’t contact her parents very often. There was always a guilt trip. Compared to her wonderful sister and her offspring, Mel and her little cherubs were always found wanting. She’d given up trying to compete years ago.
‘So what have you been doing recently, Mum?’ enquired Mel, politely trying to guide their little conversation boat away from the rocky shore of years of resentment.
‘Well, I’ve joined another women’s group. I’ve become Chair of the Conservative Ladies Bowling League as well. We recently had The Right Honourable Oliver Chapman at one of our soirées. Lovely chap. He liked my Bakewell tarts! He’s divorced you know. Poor man was all over the papers last year because some young floozy sold a totally unfounded story about some imaginary affair she supposedly had with him to some dreadful tabloid. Perfectly preposterous! Such a charming gentleman. If you ask me, she’s nothing but a dirty-minded little slut!’ Mum seemed to be getting quite enraged on his behalf!
‘Oh,’ said Mel. ‘Has Dad met this Mr Chapman?’
‘No,’ Mum replied tightly.
‘How is Briony doing?’ It was always the same, having a conversation with Mum. Mel had to navigate a safe passage, avoiding danger spots such as politics, religion, her father, knitting, housework, friends … most subjects, if truth be told.
‘Briony’s pregnant again,’ said her mother quickly, almost sounding as if she was covering her mouth with her hand in her reluctance to inform Mel.
‘I thought she’d broken up with Harry?’
‘Yes, she has, darling,’ Mum confirmed brightly. ‘Um … she’s with this lovely artist fellow called … Zeus now. Er … he’s very talented and creati
ve,’ blustered mum.
And broke, thought Mel, but she didn’t say it. ‘Oh, well that’s great!’ she enthused instead. ‘We should all really make plans to meet soon, shouldn’t we? Get the cousins together. Michael’s four and Amy’s seven now. Can you believe that?’
‘Well, it has been a long time, darling. I’ll talk to Briony and see what we can do. You mustn’t start lecturing her again though! She is a free spirit and asks for nothing. She’s not been lucky and money-grabbing like you.’
Mel felt her heart tighten. There was no point in arguing with her mother. No matter what she did, she would always be second best.
‘Bye, Mum. Talk to you again,’ she managed calmly before putting the phone gently down. Even after all these years, it still hurt her. She’d tried so hard to do well at school. To be independent, sensible, reliable. But always she was asked why she hadn’t achieved more. Or if she did achieve more, she was selfish or spiteful. Best close the door on that relationship again for a while. There was no point in being upset. Her future was her own and she would just have to interpret the past and the present in the best way possible in order to improve the future. She wished that she’d had a better childhood. It made her all the more determined to make a great childhood for her own offspring and to rise above the trivia and small-mindedness so that she could live her life as she wanted to. If Briony and Zeus could be free and true to themselves and still be loved unconditionally, then it meant that being true to herself and her own little family could do no harm. Yep – that was decided – she would talk to Alan tonight about a trip to … ooh!? Madagascar? Mauritius? It would be the trip of a lifetime. All they had to do was get out of their gerbil wheels and live life before it was too late. Why should they fit into the mould they had been hammered into? She wanted to give her children the chance to be wary of the ever-narrowing tunnel of education to work to pay the mortgage, to seek more and more material gain, ending in debt and enslavement. She wanted them to be able to recognise the trap and be wise enough to avoid it. She really ought to talk to Briony about it. Maybe get some advice? Trouble was that her sister would probably gloat. But on the other hand, it might lead to the rebirth of their once very happy sisterhood. That would be wonderful. The last time their children had met was at Michael’s christening. Briony had looked disgusted about all the religious proceedings. Briony was a pagan. She had taken her children to Stonehenge at the summer solstice and Mel thought it entirely likely that she would go off to some ancient forest to bear her next child.
Mel decided to launch the subject of the proposed adventure to the other side of the world that evening. She was so excited, but bit her tongue so as not to put the children’s hopes up too high. She felt so restless that she vacuumed the house and decluttered her wardrobe after she had taken the dog and the kids for a walk. Michael was nagging for a hamster, promising faithfully that he would look after it. Meanwhile, Amy was telling him horrific stories of how hamsters can’t be kept together because they get a taste for meat and rip each others’ throats out. They were peering through the window of the local pet shop on their walk when this charming subject came up. Pretty brown and white hamsters were sleeping in straw, one to a cage, apparently perfectly innocent and harmless. Was it really to be believed that these furry cuties could suddenly morph into vicious, blood-sucking monsters? If they put two hamsters in a cage one evening, would they really come downstairs to find one hamster with blood dripping from its fangs, surrounded by the limbs and entrails of the other? Well, at least this little conversation took her mind off the trip and how she was going to persuade Alan. They should Google ‘carnivorous hamsters’ later … get the kids to do a research project on it.
30
‘Alan! How was your day?’ asked Mel brightly as her husband dragged himself through the door and dropped his case on the floor.’
‘Not too bad today, as a matter of fact! I decided to switch off my morals and at least part of my brain. I found I could perform much better like that. I went in this morning, determined to believe in the money tree. I think I lost my grip on sanity a bit. You know … I think I was verging on the psychotic by mid-morning, looking back on it, but at least I felt I was one of them. I actually got the essence of modern banking today. Any suggestions about someone I can sell a rip-off product to, whilst I’m in sociopathic mode?’
‘Remember? I have the perfect clients in Poppy and Tarquin! Let’s arrange a meeting this week.’ Mel smiled. Well, to break free and become true to themselves, they would need to make a bit of money first, wouldn’t they?
‘Is Poppy that Algy’s mother? I don’t know if I could be professional in my advice to her, you know,’ replied Alan uncertainly.
‘Oh, Michael and Algy seem to be getting on rather better now. Let’s give her the benefit of the doubt!’ Mel was not at all convinced that Poppy and Algy had suddenly turned into decent human beings. She knew well that Poppy was doing her usual social grooming thing to get where she wanted to go. Well, Mel could be just as cynical.
31
‘Mrs Simkins, could I have a word with you, please?’ asked Mrs Beastley, Amy’s teacher, as Mel arrived to pick up the children. She had just been making plans for the spa day on Friday with Kelly, Imogen and Rosa. Kasha was going into The Swanfield for a boob augmentation so she obviously would have to miss it. Kasha already had substantial boobs so why she was having them done was beyond Mel. If she got any bigger, she would need scaffolding rather than a bra. Anyway, after a lovely chat about lovely plans, here was the charming Mrs Beastley wanting to spoil her day by having a word with her.
‘Is there a problem, Mrs Beastley? Amy seems very happy and settled at school …’ Mel ventured.
‘Oh yes … yes, Mrs Simkins … I am not worried about her school work. She does however, seem to have developed rather a passion for painting pictures of rampaging rodents in the grip of blood lust. Let me show you an example.’
Slowly … gingerly, Mrs Beastley held up the offending picture, searching Mel’s face anxiously as she did so. ‘I was just wondering if you could shed some light on the reason for Amy being so angry?’
‘Angry? Amy’s not angry. She just has a very vivid imagination …’
‘Ah, but you see all this red? All these jagged edges? I mean … look at the hamster’s eyes!’ Mrs Beastley contemplated the picture for a moment and shivered visibly. ‘I was wondering if you thought it may be beneficial if we involved the educational psychologist? See if he can help Amy?’ suggested Mrs Beastley.
Mel’s stomach tightened up. ‘Does Amy seem particularly angry and disturbed in any other way, Mrs Beastley? I mean, has she started marching around the school with a machete or are we just talking about your spurious, quack diagnosis on the basis of one rather interesting picture? Have you no room in your system for creativity and self-expression? Is this school aiming to turn out automatons? I thought we’d left the Victorian era long ago!’ Mel was bristling.
‘Well, no. Amy seems generally happy. But … this picture … I can even identify the eviscerated hamster’s organs hanging from the hamster wheel! Has she been exposed to any material showing such perfect anatomical detail? Has she, for example, been to an abattoir recently? She’s always been interested in spiders and creepy crawlies but … well!’ Mrs Beastley appeared to be at the end of her strength as she lifted her shoulders feebly in a shrug with her palms open to the sky, trembling.
‘Again, I ask you, have you no room for diversity? If Amy is otherwise normal then why should she see a psychiatrist just because she is perhaps interested in a future career in medicine?’
‘No. Not a psychiatrist, Mrs Simkins. I was suggesting the help of a psychologist,’ reiterated Mrs Beastley in a tone reserved for a particularly stupid child.
Oh well, that makes all the difference, she thought. She felt herself redden as she found Amy was now standing next to her.
‘What’s the matter? Don’t you like my picture?’ she asked, bemused.
&nb
sp; ‘No darling! It’s lovely!’ answered her mother in a clipped tone. ‘Very … passionate and colourful!’
‘It’s because we were talking about how you can’t put more than one hamster in a cage. Jonathon told me that hamsters like eating Southern Fried Chicken as well.’
Mel gave Mrs Beastley a ‘told you so’ look. ‘There, you see? The children have been discussing animal behaviour and this is how Amy has represented her research findings. Well done, Amy!’ she said as they took their leave of the conquered teacher.
On picking up Michael, they bumped into Poppy who was accidentally-on-purpose bestriding the entire pathway.
‘Oh, hello Poppy. I’ve spoken to Alan and he’d be delighted to discuss investment options with you. When would suit you?’ she enquired, sweetly.
Poppy’s shoulders relaxed with relief. She seemed awfully keen on a subject which Mel found unfathomably tedious.
‘Algy’s my best friend now, Mummy!’ shouted Michael, running around with his arms outstretched pretending to be a plane.
‘That’s brilliant, Michael!’ she exclaimed. Perhaps the Poppy clan wasn’t so bad after all.
‘So I said to Poppy that she and her husband could come over on Saturday evening. Would that be OK with you? Here’s her card. She said to phone anytime.’
‘Yep! Great,’ enthused Alan, rather surprisingly. ‘Since I’ve switched most of my brain off and given in to my massive surges of testosterone I’ve felt rather keen on this “Greed is good” mantra. We could do with the business anyway. Brent says there’s no one left to trade with. Everyone who can safely afford anything has got everything they’d ever been hypnotised into needing by Robert and the advertising guys, so now we have to target sales of “The Dream” to people who can’t afford it. It’s a neat idea … we can’t lose because this economic subgroup have to pay massive interest and they have been conditioned into believing that they can have the lifestyle of the Beckhams if they buy the same things as them. In fact, advertising has done such a wonderful job of grooming these poor sods that they actually believe that it is one of their basic unalienable human rights under some United Nations treaty. Blokes at work have been revved up to orgasm pitch. It’s actually quite exciting. And if we’re all going on this exotic holiday together, the likes of Rob and I are going to need as many dumbasses as possible to borrow and buy! I’ll ring her now, I think!’
The Meltdown of a Banker's Wife Page 11