Free The Meltdown of a Banker's Wife by Gill Davy-Bowker Page B

Alan, what’re you going to do then? Are you going to sell out and spend every waking minute at work?’
    Alan sighed deeply. ‘I really am going to have to, Mel. For the moment anyway. “If we snooze we lose” they’ve told us. That means my job and our livelihood. They’re going to cut staff and the ones that will stay will be the ruthless bastards who don’t care what they sell or to whom, as long as it makes wads of dosh.’ He really seemed to be unhappy atthe prospect. Mel decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, although she couldn’t see how they could continue any sort of meaningful relationship at all if he was away swinging his balls about more than he was already. But she had to admit that she hadn’t exactly helped the situation by burning down the kitchen.
    â€˜Well, as long as we get a decent holiday all together this year and you leave your bloody work gadgets at home.’ Mel decided to get some benefit out of the situation. ‘And,’ she continued, ‘do you think I could go on a spa weekend with a couple of friends soon? I really could do with a break. I feel like “Old Mother Hubbard” at the moment!’
    â€˜Mmmm. Let’s see what we can do, eh?’ Alan said, noncommittally. Mel decided not to push it. Alan looked too withered and worn and she didn’t want him reporting to her that his stupid misogynistic boss thought he was being henpecked.

17
    â€˜I don’t want to go to school!’ wailed Michael.
    â€˜I don’t either, Mummy!’ chorused Amy.
    Monday morning. The usual frantic routine. Too much to do, too little time.
    Finally they were walking to the school gates.
    Lunchbox? Yes! Uniform? Yes! Hair combed? Yes! Overclothes on top of underclothes? Yes! Good grief! This was organised after a week off from the routine. And all with no kitchen and a house full of builders.
    She dropped Amy off first.
    â€˜Bye, Mummy,’ snivelled Amy, kissing Mel’s cheek. Then off went Michael, all grown up in his uniform. Mel felt overcome with sentimentality and was just about to cry when Poppy came up behind her.
    â€˜Boo! Long time, no see, Melly! How was your week?’
    â€˜I really don’t know where to start and I’m not sure I want to at the moment! How was yours?’
    She knew she was soon going to wish she hadn’t asked that question as undoubtedly Poppy and her megastar deity of a husband, Tarquin, would have been jetsetting over as much of the posh world as possible in a week, taking the nanny along with their child, Algy. Mel wasn’t sure what Tarquin did for a living but they seemed to have a life of opulence and luxury that she could only dream of. And they did it as a family.
    â€˜We popped over to the villa in San Gimignano for most of the week. Just lying about by the pool. That sort of thing, you know!’
    Mel wished she did. It was difficult to empathise with someone who could swan off to her own villa in Tuscany at the drop of a hat when she could only ever hope to spend it with friends throwing up everywhere in the Home Counties.
    Home and daytime TV beckoned. Morning chat and scandal programmes posing as therapeutic, philanthropic clinics. Really they were today’s ghoul and freak shows. Mel would never have admitted it, even to her bestest friend, but she loved watching them. That was how sad she had become. Along with magazines of the same genre, these shows made her feel better … made her feel like at least she wasn’t as badly off as some. People washing their very dirty linen in public made her feel … she shuddered to let the thought take shape in her mind … superior. Mel decided to stop analysing her attitudes and behaviour and just get a cup of coffee and veg in front of the TV for a bit. She already missed the children, although when the children had been there all the time, she yearned for time to herself. Still, Michael was only in