The Meltdown of a Banker's Wife (14 page)

41

‘Darling!' smarmed Poppy at the school gates later. ‘How are you? Absolutely wonderful weekend, wasn't it? What fabulous people! I haven't felt so comfortable and in my element for years!'

That figures, thought Mel, but said nothing.

‘You really must let Tarkers and me do something for you soon you know. I feel terrible that you have helped us so much and yet we've done so little!' continued Poppy.

‘Yes, but it's only business, Poppy. This is all in Alan and his bank's interest as well, so you mustn't feel indebted. Your business has helped to ignite Alan's interest in banking again. He had been getting a bit disillusioned if truth be known,' confided Mel.

‘Really? Gosh! How could anyone bore of such a fascinating subject? The people he mixes with every day … Oh! How I envy him! He must leap out of bed to greet each morning!' enthused Poppy.

‘Mmm,' grunted Mel.

Rupert passed and said hello. As usual he was fiddling with his tightly-fastened shirt buttons. Mel watched him go and found herself wondering if he suffered from some sort of obsessive compulsive disorder. No matter what the weather, his shirt was always pristine. The collar buttons were done up stiffly and he wore cufflinks. There were some strange people around.

‘We've booked the holiday, Alan!' Mel announced when he entered the house later. She had already told the children,
but had only given them the vaguest information, because otherwise they would not have slept between now and the holiday in three weeks' time. ‘We're going to Madagascar!'

‘Madagascar?! Are you serious!' blurted Alan. Well, that was a turn-up … Alan had actually heard her and responded in a reasonably appropriate manner. Result!

They sat in companionable silence for the rest of the evening … dog and cat at their feet, Alan fiddling with gadgets until he started to snore on the sofa and Mel reading glossy magazines full of stories of vacuous people's lives. There was no doubt that they needed a reality check as much as they needed some time to bond properly as a family. These magazines were so pointless and boring. Why did she buy them? Closeup pictures of bits of celebrity body ensured that no body hair or dimple of cellulite could be missed by the reader. Deeply psychologically-disturbed celebrities on drugs and alcohol destroyed their lives on the stage of these magazines. Mel shuddered. That meant that these celebrities must actually be paid for making a disaster of their lives. Otherwise, how would some of them live at all? Some of these seemed only to be famous for being complete social failures. Mel couldn't remember why else they were
über
-celebrities. It was actually sick! She resolved not to buy any more of these magazines. Not only was it rather ghoulish to show interest in people's misery, but it made Mel herself feel even less happy with her body, her skin, her life, her possessions. Oh yes, she knew the pictures were airbrushed, but really, how did that help? She kissed Alan on the forehead. ‘Coming to bed, sweetie?'

42

‘Next week I am taking Amy and Michael out of school for a few days, Mrs Avery,' Mel informed the headmistress.

‘But the children have important exams and topic books to finish. This isn't a good time in their schooling careers to remove them from the learning environment, Mrs Simkins!' Mrs Avery reprimanded.

Mel's usual instinctive response was to feel like a little girl again when she spoke to a teacher. Especially one like Mrs Avery, who wore horn-rimmed spectacles and was representative of the generic scary teacher of her past nightmares.

But not today. Mel was a grown-up. She was married to a ‘Lord of the Universe' banker with pendulous genitalia (he reckoned).

‘I'm sorry, Mrs Avery, but it is essential that we take the children out of school next week. We have an important family matter to attend to.' How important could exams be to children of four and seven years old anyway? Michael wasn't even in school full-time until September.

‘Only death or serious illness of a close relative are reason enough for the children to be taken out on leave at this juncture,' informed Mrs Avery.

‘Well … yes … Gertie has died,' mumbled Mel.

‘Oh … in that case, please go ahead. You have my deepest sympathies, Mrs Simkins.' Mrs Avery reined in her scrawny neck and looked a little ashamed.

‘Yes … she shall be sadly missed,' finished Mel.

Gertie the guinea pig had been stuffed and mounted by a taxidermist years ago when Mel was a child. The loss of
Gertie had been Mel's only brush with mortality in her own family. She came home one day when she was six and ran out to greet her pet in the hutch, to find the trusty guinea pig lying flat on her back, eyes staring upward and four feet stuck ramrod straight in the air. Well, Gertie had been real. She was only bending the truth a little bit and the trip to her parents' seemed suddenly to be a matter of life and death. Or at least sanity and insanity.

Ozzie and Iggy came to Mel's parents' house for the week as well. All the way, the car sounded like a menagerie. The cat wailed and meowed in his box and the meowing rose to a crescendo as he was forced to defecate on the cat box's papered floor. Mel drove around a corner and Ozzie did an impression of a fish trying to swim upstream in his attempt to clamber away from the mess. It was easier with Iggy. They could put him on a lead at the service station and he'd do his business just at the right time. Quite unusual for him really, because he normally dragged Mel along as if he were an ox and it all happened at just the wrong moment, but he was on his best behaviour, much to everyone's relief. The rest of the time he spent with his nose pressed against the back window and his tongue lolling out dripping everywhere. Mel always put him in the back with a dog guard up because Iggy really wouldn't have enough sense not to jump through the moving car window after some other dog, cat, small beetle or microscopic morsel of chip. She was always amazed and slightly perturbed when she saw other people driving along with liberated animals bouncing around the car, totally unharnessed or when she saw dogs with their forepaws and head sticking out of the window. There were all these laws to ensure that people were securely fastened in their seats, but the lawmakers seemed oblivious to the fact that a dog or cat is just as much a mortal and as affected by the laws of physics as your average human being.

She spoiled the kids with fast food and sweets at the service stations and bought them little soft toys. Needless to say, they were very excitable and energetic as they arrived at her parents' house. The hippy camper van, painted with large brightly-coloured flowers being eaten by rather sinister black blobby things with teeth, was already parked outside on the gravel driveway. Her parents came out to help with the bags, the children and the animals while Briony and Zeus lurked darkly by the door. She always felt as if she had done something terribly wrong whenever she met up with her sister. The couple hated the ‘bourgeoisie', as they described people like Mel. They went on every protest march against global capitalism and she was sure that she'd seen Briony, heavily pregnant, on television recently having some sort of altercation with the police in the middle of the City of London.

‘The neighbours are coming for the barbecue tomorrow evening. Mrs Elford is making her special raspberry and apricot pavlova because you've always loved that and Miss Timpkins has made some fairy cakes and a chocolate tart.'

‘Ooh, lovely!' said Mel. It was just so nice to be with people who spoke to her for a change. Briony and Zeus were rather broody and dark, but maybe that was normal for these gothic hippy types. The children ran around to the back garden into the teepee and the animals were relieved to be free, although she would have to harness Ozzie to take him out to the loo. She had brought the cat litter, but she really couldn't envisage Ozzie of the Bengal Forest staying indoors the entire time without causing substantial damage. He already had a mad look in his eye and he'd only been incarcerated in his cat box for two and a half hours. He had spent a quarter of an hour doing a splattered star cat impression on the living room curtains as soon as they'd entered the house. Iggy went straight out into the garden and marked ‘his' territory. Obviously there was some dispute over that, from the resident ‘wolf' and ‘tiger' (Doily the border collie and
Ermintrude the cat). Ozzie hadn't noticed them at first, then Doily made his entrance and Ozzie had transformed into the guise of Spikey Toilet Brush Cat and made a low growly noise for a while. No, Mel was definitely going to have to take her animals out for a relaxing constitutional before they settled for the night.

‘Hi Briony! Zeus! Lovely to see you!' called Mel, determined to break the dark and ominous atmosphere surrounding the couple.

‘Oh, hi,' they replied in a non-committal tone. Briony's children (Gabriel aged eight and Jupiter aged four) were hiding behind their mother. Both were dressed in dark, weed-like clothes so they were almost completely camouflaged in the twilight behind the equally darkly-dressed adults. Realising that she was unlikely to entice any further conversation or even basic grunting from them, she beamed as amiably and brightly as possible to demonstrate that she was not the ‘enemy', but they didn't seem convinced. She almost heard the snarling as she passed them on her way into the hall. Amy and Michael came bursting back into the house and tried to involve Gabriel and Jupiter in their game, but their cousins just gazed agog at Mel's children as if they had gone stark raving mad. Jupiter resembled a young Karl Marx, or rather, not so much young as short. Very serious was Jupiter. Mel could imagine him writing the
Communist Manifesto
and Gabriel could easily pass for a Stalin in the making. It really was quite chilling. They both went and sat down on the floor of the teepee and picked up their current reading material, i.e.
Animal Farm
and
The Conditions of The Working Class in England
(the abridged picture book version of Engel's influential work, of course). They settled down comfortably to read in the light of wind-up lanterns. So, she decided to join her parents for the sherry they were offering. She didn't normally drink sherry, but as it was the only alcoholic beverage on offer, she couldn't be picky! Amy and Michael followed
her and had some milk and biscuits while Briony and Zeus lurked in the hallway. Ah, that was better. Everything looked a bit brighter and less challenging after four glasses of sherry. Briony, Zeus, Gabriel and Jupiter joined Mel, Mel's parents and children in the living room at last and there appeared to be a state of uneasy truce for the moment.

‘I've put you in the Blue Room, Mel. Amy and Michael can have the two attic rooms. I hope that's all right?' said her mum.

‘Aw … thank you! That's very kind. The Blue Room is my old room, isn't it?' slurred Mel. Crikey, this sherry was damn strong stuff. She'd have to find out the brand for future reference! She might consider joining the sherry-drinking brigade before her time. It gave everything such a rosy, cosy glow. She hardly noticed the dark, meaningful exchanges between Zeus and Briony ….hardly.

Jupiter was still breastfeeding at the age of four but Briony said that she had done the same with Gabriel and that children feel more secure when they come off the breast of their own accord. Mel cringed when she thought of Jupiter's mouth full of sharp teeth, but ‘each to their own', she reasoned. She just couldn't look, to be honest, because it not only appeared excruciatingly painful, but also quite weird. Amy and Michael couldn't help but stare and Mel decided it was best to try to get them to bed before embarrassment occurred. She had just started up the stairs when she heard Briony say, ‘Well, the children will turn out to be just like their parents. Always searching for succour and approval in their salaries rather than in themselves and their relationships. My children are free spirits! Their characters and needs dictate their bedtime, not the clock!'

Mel decided to ignore this comment. At least Amy and Michael smiled most of the time. Briony's children resembled anaemic bats in their black clothes. If you asked her, they spent too much of their young lives with their noses in very
child-unfriendly books. Mel wondered if Briony's children ever tore up a bedroom or spat all over the carpet like Amy or rolled around with a plastic axe like Michael. Mel wasn't sure if these were enviable attributes but the traits seemed more normal in child behaviour than the sulking, black, serious silence which emanated from their cousins. Then she reprimanded herself. She should really be more charitable. Briony's children were just different to hers, that's all. No, she would not sink to the depths as her sister had done and enter into a competition over their children. Briony obviously felt insecure and that was why she felt she had to criticise Mel and her child-rearing skills.

‘I expect you think I'm insecure, Melanie? Don't you? Well, let me assure you that I am very happy with my lot and would never dream of prostituting myself and my family to global capitalism and all its evils!' proclaimed Briony after Mel had settled the children. Mel didn't really know how to answer. Whatever she might say was bound to be misinterpreted whether deliberately or subconsciously by her sister.

‘Could I have another sherry please, Dad? Or do you have any gin and tonic?' Mel smiled at her sister and received a grimace in return.

‘So what has your banker husband been doing recently?' Briony needled, nudging Zeus. She almost spat out this question and Mel was rather surprised that she hadn't used a rude term which rhymed with ‘banker' as an epithet for her husband. ‘On my last march,' continued Briony, ‘I was talking with some very interesting people. People who know the inside operations of Ponsonby and Tosser Bank. It doesn't sound very wholesome to me. Zeus and I were informed on good authority that the “bubble is about to burst”!' Zeus and Briony appeared nothing short of gleeful to be imparting such information.

Zeus stroked his beard thoughtfully as the children nestled under his black voluminous sleeves. ‘Yes. We were also talking
with some women. They seem to have met you. Maybe you remember them? Names of Sophie, Tracey and Felicity? They say that they met you and your drunken friend in Brighton about two months ago. Ring any bells?'

Sophie, thought Mel … Oh yes! She remembered. Sophie was one of the huge, brick shit-house-sized lesbians who had carried the inebriated Kelly to the car in Brighton that day.

How on earth had they managed to establish the Kelly/Mel/Briony/Zeus connection? As if in answer, Briony informed her that they had been studying reconnaissance photos from the last anti-global capitalism protest and had recognised some people in the pictures. Briony looked very self-satisfied, as if she had caught her worst enemy in a very compromising position. She would say no more on the subject, however, preferring to let Mel suffer in her semi-ignorance. So Mel sank a gin and tonic and followed her mother into the kitchen to chat about something else.

‘How are things, Mum?' asked Mel, relieved to be away from the pressure cooker of emotions at large in the other room.

‘Oh, marvellous, darling. It is lovely to have both my girls at home together. Just like the old days!' Mum beamed. ‘I do wish you would stop arguing with your sister, you know. She is pregnant after all.'

‘I'm not arguing, Mum,' said Mel. ‘The last thing I want to do, believe me, is to row with Briony, pregnant or not. Did Dad have a good trip to Algeria? When did he get back? I didn't know Algeria had a lot of birds. Morocco yes, but Algeria?' commented Mel.

‘Oh darling, of course he was birdwatching. What else would he be doing in Algeria? Joining the Foreign Legion?!' laughed her mum.

‘Has he brought back any photos?' asked Mel.

‘He hasn't had any of them printed yet, but why don't you ask him about it? He hasn't told me that much so I'd like
to hear more about it myself. Who are these ladies that you and Briony know?' Mel's mum was stirring coffee and cutting cake, arranging it on a lovely glass serving plate. She put out the Royal Doulton porcelain and covered each little cake plate with a doily.

‘Right,' she continued. ‘Let's go and sit at the dining table and have a nice little chat like we used to at supper when you were both small!'

Dutifully, she sat down at the table with her parents, Briony, Zeus and their children. The atmosphere pulsated with tension, but Mel and her mum and dad were determined to make light of it.

‘So … how was Algeria, Dad?' asked Mel, genuinely interested.

‘Oh, you know. Few rounds of golf with the natives. That sort of thing,' replied her father, succinct as always.

‘How was the birdwatching?' pursued Mel.

‘Birdwatching? There aren't … Oh … Yes … The bird-watching! Yes. Marvellous. Lot of seagulls and crows,' said her father, looking a bit hunted.