The Meltdown of a Banker's Wife (20 page)

53

‘Well, I don't know what's going on. My friend Kim said that there's a man fitting Rupert's description lurking about near Poppy's house … yep!' Kelly had phoned Mel after Alan had dragged himself to work the following day.

‘There's nothing I can say about Poppy. I've really no idea what's going on. That's their business. Do you fancy taking all our kids out together today? I'm totally at a loss as to what to do with them and they've only been off for a couple of weeks. Do you ever think about going back to work, Kelly? Do you remember what it was like to have your own life and not just live through everyone else's?'

Mel really missed nursing. She knew she'd have to do a back to nursing course when she decided to return and it was the only thing that put her off. She thought she had put studying and exams behind her long ago. She didn't really relish the prospect of writing pointless essays full of jargon again. She knew full well that the course wouldn't really help her to be a better nurse. It would just make her better at writing essays about a load of rubbish. As long as she mentioned ‘self-awareness', ‘taxonomy' and ‘qualitative research', she was bound to pass. It wouldn't matter whether she knew which way up a patient was as long as she managed the blurb the tutors wanted. Nevertheless, she really missed having her own career and earning her own money, even if it was a pittance compared to Alan's income. She made a mental note to herself that she would get in touch with her old friends and colleagues and enquire about returning to nursing as soon as she came back from Madagascar.

54

So Kelly and Mel decided to take the children to the Play Pit. The kids spent their afternoon knocking each other to pieces with punch bags, throwing plastic balls and hurtling down impossibly steep tube slides. It was a miracle they weren't sick. It really was amazing how much energy children had.

‘I was in touch with those girls we met in Brighton. You know? Sophie, Tracey and Felicity? They're going on some sort of rally in London and said they know your sister Briony. Apparently, they've travelled with Briony and Zeus. Is that his name? It's a very odd name, isn't it?' Kelly remarked.

‘One of her sons is called Jupiter.'

‘Strange. Do you remember when people were called normal names like Janet and John? Now we've got no end of Pixies, Skips, Summers and Trixiebell Zoot Zoots. Even Venus. No Mars yet, but it's bound to happen. Where do these people get their ideas from? Do you think someone might call their offspring Bluebottle, Wasp, Octopus or Brick any time soon?' marvelled Kelly.

‘Mummy! Michael tried to push a plastic ball in my earhole!' screeched Ivan.

‘Don't be silly. It's far too big to stick in your ear. Now just go and play, OK?' said Kelly, wanting to get back to the conversation.

‘Sophie seems very anti-banking and capitalism. She says we'll all see why, very soon. What do you make of that? Rob seems as though he's possessed by evil spirits at the moment ... He's like a cat on a hot tin roof. Says work is getting impossible and he needs something to help him through the day.'

55

Alan was certainly worse for wear that evening when he arrived home. Mel suspected he was back to his old tricks again. Thank goodness they were going away soon.

Time went by. The teepee was hired to be picked up at the airport in Madagascar, because the thought of taking one on the plane these days with all the anti-terrorism checks made Mel's blood run cold. A bag containing a teepee would be too suspicious for words.

‘Have you seen the news?' gasped Kelly next morning.

‘What news?' Mel was busy building a wormery with Amy and Michael. Kelly had phoned and Mel was holding the phone between chin and shoulder while she tried to scrape the muck off her hands.

‘Wall Street has crashed!'

‘Crashed? Crashed into what? Has something crashed into it? It's not some terrorist group again, is it?' she yawned.

‘No … no … this huge investment bank has just gone bust and shares are crashing all over the place,' said Kelly.

‘Oh. It'll settle. I'm sure it's not serious.'

‘Well, it looks just like something from the newsreels of the Great Depression on the telly. How can something so big go bust just like that in this day and age?' Kelly marvelled.

Mel switched the TV on. The newsreader and all the people being interviewed were deadly serious. There was even some rumour that someone was going to jump off the roof of one of the tallest Wall Street bank buildings, because he had just lost everything he owned. It was surreal.

‘Maybe it's a joke. Is it the first of April?' Mel racked her brains.

‘No, Mel. We're off to Madagascar soon, remember? You don't think this'll affect us, do you?' shuddered Kelly.

‘Well … it's only one bank. They'll probably do something to rescue it if it's that important. I don't know much about finance and stuff, but they've literally got rocket scientists with brains the size of planets operating these things. I'm sure it won't affect us!'

But in the back of her mind, Mel knew she was grasping at straws. Alan had become more and more frantic recently. He was permanently manic. His eyes were almost shut and his skin was red and flaky. She was sure he was now taking something noxious to put himself to sleep as well. He was like some 1950s star; he used drugs to wake himself, drugs to keep going and drugs to put himself into total unconsciousness. Something was obviously not right. Half the time, he'd even slept at work during the past week or two and when Mel had had a swift natter with him, it transpired that most of his work colleagues were doing the same thing.

‘Do you want to pop over? I'm making a wormery,' she suggested simply. Well, what else can you say when Armageddon strikes and society as we know it is about to blow to kingdom come?

‘OK. See you in a minute.'

As soon as the phone went down, it rang again.

‘Oh my God! Have you seen the news? I hope our investments are safe. We've just moved them into something else, but now I don't know what's safe. Tarkers is having a screaming blue fit! Is Alan there?' gibbered Poppy.

‘No, he's at work like he is all the time at the moment. I'm sure your investments will be safe, I mean, aren't most of them in warfare stuff? We're bound to have a dirty great war. It always happens when there's a huge financial crisis
because it's the way those at the top get us to attack, blame and kill each other instead of going for who is really to blame. And of course, a nice world war will get the population down.' Good grief, thought Mel, I'm getting rather political in my old age!

‘And you're buying houses … and, as they say, there's nought so safe as houses! This is Britain, I'm sure they'd be sensible over here. Why has that bank collapsed then? It's probably to do with some rogue trader like last time, remember? I wouldn't like to be in his or her shoes, but I daresay it's something quite small and self-limiting like that,' Mel reasoned.

‘They've mentioned something about bad investments in housing in the States. They're saying that people took out hundred per cent mortgages without a hope of paying it back and now, all these things based on them, called securities, I think, have been found to be worth nothing. It doesn't look like “safe as houses” rings true any more, does it? I feel just like I did when I saw those planes flying straight into the Twin Towers. It's like I'm watching a trailer to some film or something.' Poppy was snivelling on the other end of the phone now. ‘Can I come over? Please, Mel. It would be nice for Algy to have someone to play with for a bit. He's been quite lonely recently. We keep buying him things, but he really needs some little people to play with.'

It was true. Algy didn't have a toy box. He had an amusement arcade. Algy didn't have a garden. He had an entire fairground. But at the end of the day, it couldn't be much fun playing with it on his own all the time. Did Algy have real friends? Did they like him or did they just like what he had? Mel had tried to explain this to the children, but they had been unconvinced. Why Mummy couldn't just go to the hole in the wall and get a wad of money out and buy them ponies and gaming systems and swimming pools, they just couldn't understand. She was obviously just the meanest Mummy on the planet.

‘Yes, course. Come over. Kelly's on her way with her two as well.'

Amy and Michael were covered in dirt from the wormery, but Mel felt a sort of warm satisfaction that she was making something with them … something real, honest and dirty. The doorbell rang and before she could answer it, Kelly, Ivan and Matilda had slipped through to the back garden.

‘Have you heard from Alan yet? Is he all right?' asked Kelly.

‘I've tried to phone him, but all the lines are busy and his mobile is switched off. Mind you, there's nothing unusual about that at the moment. Alan's either permanently wired for days or unconscious. I've only seen him twice this week and he looked as if he'd just ascended from the pit of hell.'

‘Oh! Nothing drastic then!' quipped Kelly.

‘I hadn't really thought about it, to be honest. I feel like it's always been like this.'

‘Well, no Mel. A few months ago, before Big Swinging Dick arrived, Alan was just like the rest of us. Then he decided to join the big boys. Even a couple of weeks ago, he returned to the old Alan when you went to Rome together for a couple of days. It looks like a pretty dramatic change to me,' observed Kelly.

And she was right. Big Swinging Dick had sold his American dream to Alan. They'd all been brainwashed to the point that the very air of the City of London buzzed with testosterone. There was so much testosterone that even the women had started to look, speak and walk like men. It must be a bit like the oestrogen and progesterone from the contraceptive pill in the water supplies. All those stories about the increase of male infertility and fish growing boobs. Maybe there was some truth in it. So maybe, if there was enough male hormone in the air, it could have the same effect? Whenever doubts about what Alan was doing tried to push their tentacles into Mel's brain, she had switched off in the same way as Alan
had decided to do. It must be all right … everyone was doing it! It was making loads of money! It must be all right because the greatest brains in the Western world were running it. The people at the top of these institutions had firsts from Cambridge, Oxford, Yale and Harvard. And it made the West rich. It made their family rich. Britain didn't make much any more. It had no real exports. Mel had often wondered how the country managed to make the money to keep the essential public services going. Then Alan had explained that Britain was now the money tree of the world and that was how the country stayed rich. Who was going to question what was going on?

56

‘Have you heard from Alan, love? You're all going away soon, aren't you?' It was her father. ‘It looks pretty bad.'

‘No, Dad. I'm sure it's fine. Just a storm in a teacup. If that bank is so important, the US authorities are bound to save it. You know the markets. One little rumour and everyone goes mad. It's like Chinese Whispers.'

‘I only wish you were right,' replied her dad in an ominous tone. ‘Let me know when you've heard from Alan, won't you?'

‘God, Mel! Can't come home … Can't come home! What a mess! What am I going to do!?' wailed Alan on the phone at about eleven o'clock that night. Dependable, rational Alan was submerged by drugs, alcohol and panic, standing somewhere outside his workplace in a tiny, narrow street with the towers of the financial world of London bearing down on him.

‘Alan, calm down. What's going on?' asked Mel. Alan's tone was worrying her. ‘Why don't you come home?'

‘I can't! I have to sort stuff out! I'm going to lose my job, Melly! We'll be ruined.' He started to cry and then switched off his phone.

Mel couldn't sleep at all that night. She didn't know what to do. She couldn't go and search the City for him, not with two little kids in tow. Kelly had offered to look after them for the night when Alan hadn't returned by eight o'clock but Mel was used to his arriving home later and hadn't thought
it was necessary. Now, she regretted it. But really, how would she find him in the Square Mile anyway? The place was like a rabbit warren, even in broad daylight. God knows what it would be like looking for a frenzied husband in a rabbit warren at night. It was bedlam there, if the news reports and the background noise on Alan's mobile were anything to go by. So she just spent two hours at a time lying and turning and writhing about in bed, interspersed with periods of staring at all-night television and downing cups of tea. She thought about gin and tonic, but the children needed at least one responsible adult to look after them and what if Alan called and needed to be picked up from some godforsaken hole? What if the police turned up and … ? And what? … Why was Alan panicking so much about something that happened in America to a totally unconnected bank?

The next morning, Alan still hadn't returned. Mel hadn't slept a wink and every nerve was twanging. She phoned her parents. ‘Oh God. Alan hasn't come back! He's been away all night and he sounded terrible! What should I do?' she cried.

‘Have you tried his mobile again?' asked her mother.

‘Yes … it's saying “unavailable” and “may be switched off”. I expect it's run out of charge by now. He could be anywhere. I can't call the police, can I? Would that be an overreaction, do you think?'

‘Actually no. If you're worried and he sounded that bad when you spoke to him, it would be a totally reasonable thing to do. I would do that if I were you, then phone us back. We're not going anywhere,' said her mum.

Well, it would be highly unusual if they were going anywhere at the moment, as it was only seven in the morning. Her parents had always been early risers. It made sense when they were working, but Mel couldn't understand for the life of her why they would continue with this masochistic tradition when they didn't have to. Still, she was grateful for their little quirk now, because the night had seemed to last forever
and the scary demons of her imagination had grown larger and larger as it had progressed. He could be anywhere. She imagined him being fished out of the Thames, all bloated and fly-blown … only identifiable from his dental records.

‘Oh, Alan! Where are you?' she called out loud.

Willy the Spider heard; he knew, deep down inside, that Alan would be all right. Maybe not right now, but one day he would be all right. He just wished he could get the message through to Mel.

Poppy phoned at about ten o'clock that morning. ‘Is Alan back yet? Oh my God! I'm so worried!'

‘You're worried!? You are worried, are you, Poppy?!' shouted Mel, unable to maintain any façade of calm and politeness. ‘How do you think I feel? Alan hasn't come back yet! He's been out all night and the last time I heard from him he sounded like something howling from the depths of the abyss! What have you got him mixed up with, Poppy?' There … it was out. Mel's suspicions had bubbled over. She had not allowed herself to examine her suspicions before, but her emotions were now scraped raw by the long night of worry.

‘Nothing. Nothing at all, Mel. He's just arranged mortgages for us and to transfer money from our Swiss bank account.'

‘So why had it all been so hush-hush then? Why did you want hundred per cent mortgages when you could buy these properties outright without even noticing? What have you got my husband mixed up in?'

‘I'll talk to you again when you're more reasonable. Goodbye,' said Poppy stiffly.

‘And how come you know all these powerful people . . ,' continued Mel to thin air.

‘What's the matter, Mummy?' Amy and Michael came downstairs. It was late for them. They had spent a long time playing like perfect little angels together in Amy's bedroom. Amy had been talking to Willy as well. She'd been talking
to him about her father and how he was never there. Willy had listened patiently, as always.

‘Oh, it's all right darlings. Mummy's just a bit tired today,' answered Mel. ‘What do you want for breakfast?'

‘Nothing, Mummy. Where's Daddy gone? Why have you been crying?' asked Michael, putting his arms around his mum's leg and looking as if he would start crying as well.

No answer, switched off, not available … Alan had well and truly disappeared, it seemed. If only they had gone off to Madagascar before this lot had blown up. If only they'd known. How hadn't they known? Alan worked in banking! He had been surfing the wave's crest since Brent had arrived from the States. They had been to Monaco, mixed with the so-called beautiful people who were more plastic than a Barbie doll, Mel had to admit, but these people were in the hub of it all. There had been hedge fund managers, entrepreneurs, venture capitalists … everyone who should know what was likely to happen had been there. How could this possibly happen?

It became more and more apparent that this bank in America was just the tip of the iceberg. It looked like with global capitalism, every financial institution was connected to this one huge leviathan. Employees of the bank were seen on the news broadcasts, walking out of their erstwhile employer's palaces, their whole working life distilled into a cardboard box or two. But at least many of these people had been able to put money away while they were earning. What about the cleaners and the more humble workers? No, surely this couldn't have far-reaching consequences. Mel fervently hoped that it wouldn't be as profound and extensive as the news seemed to be predicting. Oh, where was Alan? It was no good … she would have to call the police. She contemplated calling all the accident and emergency units of all the hospitals in and around London.

‘Heard anything yet?' Briony was on the phone. Not so long ago Mel had thought that her birth family didn't give
a toss. She and her sister hadn't communicated for at least three years but now, just at the time she needed them most, her family had pulled together and for that Mel was infinitely grateful.

‘Nothing.' She tried to stop the telltale catch in her voice, but it was no good for the tears were already welling and tumbling from her eyelashes and she was sobbing like a baby.

‘Oh, Melly! We've got friends up in the City at this moment. They're there on a protest march. You've met them already. I was telling you about how they met your friend, Kelly, in Brighton and thought you were her girlfriend? Do you remember? I'm sorry I was so bitchy! I knew you weren't really batting for the other side … I just wanted to bring you down a peg or two. I feel so rotten about it now.'

‘You didn't bring me down “a peg or two”, Briony. But does it matter anyway? It doesn't seem very important any more, does it?' said Mel.

‘Look. I can phone Sophie. See if she has seen someone fitting Alan's description, I'm on my way over … I can send them a photo of Alan via my mobile. That's probably the best thing to do.'

Briony lived in a teepee! Since when had the organic and ecologically-friendly princess embraced modern technology? Maybe she'd discovered it left a smaller carbon footprint than sending smoke signals, which Mel had hitherto believed may be Briony's favoured communication route.

‘But you're miles away!' protested Mel.

‘No I'm not. We're almost at your house. Look down the road!'

And sure enough, there was the painted hippy bus, turning the corner into the avenue. Mel just wanted to run right now and hug her sister to bits. Blood really was thicker than water. At last she could be herself. She could lean on someone else and not be strong Mummy for the children or funny, entertaining and capable friend. Just for a little while.

‘Aunty Briony! Uncle Zeus!' yelled Amy.

‘Gabriel! Jupiter! Whee!' squealed Michael. It would be good for the kids too.

‘We'll need an extremely clear photo of Alan for this, OK? No, not a wedding one … he's got more head hair and less nose hair on those. Hardly representative of today's Alan!' quipped Briony, trying to cheer her sister up.

‘Cheeky sod! How about this one?' suggested Mel. It was a photo of Alan that she treasured. Unsurprisingly it was taken pre-Alan's epiphany in banking. He was relaxed, smiling, sitting on a park bench watching Amy and Michael playing. The sun was glinting on his strawberry-blond, slightly thinning hair and his eyes were dancing. It seemed as if it had been taken an eternity ago, but this photo was just one year old. How could things change so much in a few short months? Now he was a complete cokehead, rivalling the snorting prowess hitherto only found within the elite of the rock and pop world. Now he was a success in banking. Now he was … where? In a cardboard box? In some crack den? Floating in the Thames? Mel shook her head in an attempt to flick the thought, like a troublesome fly, out of her head.

‘Oh, yes,' said Briony, inspecting the photo. ‘That would be just right. Has he changed much since this was taken?'

Mel shook her head. ‘No, not really. Um, his nose is a bit redder and his eyes rather more hooded, but he's basically the same Alan.' Mel hadn't kept more recent photos, of their trip to Monaco, for instance, as she had wanted to forget that brush with the beautiful people as soon as possible. So Briony put the picture onto her mobile and texted Sophie, who was ready and waiting to receive it. Soon a ‘pling' sound was emitted from Briony's phone and the deed was done.

‘Have you phoned the police yet? They're all around the City at the moment, so Sophie informs me … waiting for civil unrest. Somebody was saying there might be a run on the banks … Ah …' she continued, reading Sophie's reply.
‘There are rumours floating around that some British banks are going down as well and that no one's going to rescue Bonkerman Bank in the US after all. She says that we should switch the telly on. BBC is reporting from right outside Alan's bank now.'

And there, on national TV, was a scene of protesters shouting up from the streets at the windows of the tower of Ponsonby and Tosser. And the Ponsonby and Tosser employees were hanging out of those windows heckling the crowd and waving big wads of money at them. The police were closing in with riot gear and horses and Mel just hoped and prayed that Alan wasn't one of the odious, arrogant prats taunting the protestors from above. Well, part of her hoped that, but another part would have preferred that to the possible alternatives. It was certainly rather a threatening-looking scene.

‘Look at them, the bastards! People are going to lose their jobs, their businesses, their minds … everything! This is how the last world war started! You wait … there'll be Fascists marching down this very street in a couple of months because of this! You mark my words!' raged Briony.

This was all just a bit too close for comfort and Mel burst into floods of tears.

‘Oh my God! What about the kids? What have I brought them into? At least when we had the Cold War, no one would start anything. Now there's nothing to keep strange little groups and cults from causing trouble and misery.' She never would have believed that she could miss nuclear weapons. She had been in nuclear disarmament groups from a very young age, going on protest marches with her mad grandmother. But compared with now, in retrospect the Cold War era felt cosy! Briony put her arms around Mel. ‘You're tired and overwrought! Things will work out, you'll see. They always do. It's only money after all. Money is only bits of paper and metal and figures on computer screens. These things only have worth because we attach worth to them. I mean, the
way they're going on, you'd think this was a force of nature, not just some virtual reality thing which we could control if we'd just stop acting like a herd of panicked gnus!'

Mel looked at her sister in wonderment and new admiration. She really was very insightful at times. She had forgotten that.

‘I am so glad you came, Briony!' Mel sniffed.

The kids were playing outside and Iggy was drooling all over the carpet (a very posh, expensive designer carpet), as the sisters ate biscuits, when Ozzie entered, carrying what appeared to be a large crow … it was a live crow … Ozzie let go. At first it fell to the floor and remained still, eyes blinking and beak open, panting in fright and shock. Ozzie wound his way around Mel's legs with a very self-satisfied look on his face. He obviously thought that Mel needed an edible present at the moment and was expecting a reward, as he purred and rubbed against her legs. Iggy, however, was completely disinterested in the live quarry. Iggy didn't think of anything as food unless it was cooked and well presented with a garnish or unless it was one of the biscuits he was watching disappear down his cruel mistress's throat at this very moment. After a short while, the crow flapped its wings and was suddenly in the air, whizzing around their heads. Of all the times for a live bird to be in the house … Wasn't it supposed to be unlucky? Mel started to feel like a cavewoman, believing in omens and portents of doom. She tried to calm herself. The bird was obviously more scared than she was, as the poor bloody thing had just been speared by the dreaded megahunter, Ozzie. Briony went out to the kitchen and returned carrying a tea towel. Calmly, she opened the windows and approached the bird. Briony firmly but gently wrapped the bird in the tea towel and took it outside, because it was still too stunned to fly through the window. She placed it in a bush to recover and before long it had flown off. Ozzie looked rather affronted as he had obviously intended this
bird to act as a balm and a comfort to Mel in her hour of need. Mel stroked his head. At least he had brought it in alive, not disembowelled and eviscerated as was usual.