The Meltdown of a Banker's Wife Read Online Free
Author: Gill Davy-Bowker
forgotten about it.
The baking tins in the sink swam in nasty, black, sooty water. Mel chucked them in the bin as she didnât think even the most dedicated of recycling people would be able to suss from which material these objects had been derived.
One hour later and she had destringed the kitchen. The walls and windows were slightly less lustrous than they usually were, but it looked less like Hades and more like a fifties pea-souper. She made herself a coffee and went into the sitting room. Amy and Michael were staring fixedly at the television as if mesmerised by Bob The Builder . Perhaps television wasnât so bad after all. Karl Marx might have compared it to the âopium of the peopleâ, as he had thought religion to be. Thinking about it, a TV is a bit like the graven image of a god, sitting in the corner being worshipped. She sat there dunking biscuits in her coffee, thoroughly enjoying what seemed to be the first peace and quiet in aeons. She was justbeginning to think that it wouldnât be so terrible if she just left her children there for another half an hour or so but just as she reached the door there was a squeal. âMichael pinched me, Mummy!â
âNo I did not!â shouted Michael and then they were rolling around the floor trying to pinch each other. Mel pulled them apart, sat them down to reason with them and ended her lecture with the threat that they would have to stay in their rooms all morning if they couldnât act like civilised human beings. She gave them breakfast and got them dressed and ready for the day.
âKelly!!â she cried over the phone. âDo you fancy taking the kids somewhere for a picnic? Maybe Aphid World?â She cringed, quite sure Kelly would give her a withering âNo, not likelyâ for an answer.
âYes!â Kelly jumped at the suggestion immediately.
Good grief, thought Mel. âOh! Well, shall I pick you up later then?â
âWhen?â asked Kelly, in what sounded like a desperate tone.
âHow about eleven oâclock?â âRight ⦠See you ⦠Ow!â squeaked Kelly as she put the phone down.
7
âWeâre going to Aphid World! Weâre going to Aphid World! Na Na Nee Na Na!â whooped Amy triumphantly, dancing like a maniac around a subdued Michael.
âMummy ⦠can we do something I like too?â
âCourse sweetie. Weâll go to the fair orâ¦â
âCould we go to the museum tomorrow, Mummy?â
âThe museum?? Oh yes ⦠OK.â
Museum?! This is amazing, thought Mel. But then Michael liked watching old Open University programmes presented by beardy men in tank tops, so perhaps she shouldnât have been so surprised.
Kelly was already standing at the end of her drive with Matilda and Ivan. Ivan was four, the same age as Michael; Amy and Matilda, at seven years old, shared the same Year 3 classroom and teacher, Miss Beastley. The two mothers were hoping that these four children would make perfect playmates in the darkest days of half-term holiday week. Kelly dived at the car, pulling her two offspring behind her. Matilda and Ivan looked as though they had been sleeping in the bushes. They all got into the people carrier and Kelly let out an audible gasp of relief.
âYou just donât know how much Iâve needed to see another adult! Bloody Robert doesnât come home till God knows when every night and Iâm going slowly mad!â Kelly visibly relaxed in a âmelting into the car seatâ sort of a way. Well, that was the ice broken. Kelly was also finding it difficult; in fact, so difficult and stressful that once the dam of her silence had broken, she could not stop the flood of words from pouring out.
âMatidaâs been experimenting with vinegar and bicarbonate of soda bombs and Ivan has a cap gun. Itâs like bloody Palestine in our house!â It was evident that Kelly was getting very little
The baking tins in the sink swam in nasty, black, sooty water. Mel chucked them in the bin as she didnât think even the most dedicated of recycling people would be able to suss from which material these objects had been derived.
One hour later and she had destringed the kitchen. The walls and windows were slightly less lustrous than they usually were, but it looked less like Hades and more like a fifties pea-souper. She made herself a coffee and went into the sitting room. Amy and Michael were staring fixedly at the television as if mesmerised by Bob The Builder . Perhaps television wasnât so bad after all. Karl Marx might have compared it to the âopium of the peopleâ, as he had thought religion to be. Thinking about it, a TV is a bit like the graven image of a god, sitting in the corner being worshipped. She sat there dunking biscuits in her coffee, thoroughly enjoying what seemed to be the first peace and quiet in aeons. She was justbeginning to think that it wouldnât be so terrible if she just left her children there for another half an hour or so but just as she reached the door there was a squeal. âMichael pinched me, Mummy!â
âNo I did not!â shouted Michael and then they were rolling around the floor trying to pinch each other. Mel pulled them apart, sat them down to reason with them and ended her lecture with the threat that they would have to stay in their rooms all morning if they couldnât act like civilised human beings. She gave them breakfast and got them dressed and ready for the day.
âKelly!!â she cried over the phone. âDo you fancy taking the kids somewhere for a picnic? Maybe Aphid World?â She cringed, quite sure Kelly would give her a withering âNo, not likelyâ for an answer.
âYes!â Kelly jumped at the suggestion immediately.
Good grief, thought Mel. âOh! Well, shall I pick you up later then?â
âWhen?â asked Kelly, in what sounded like a desperate tone.
âHow about eleven oâclock?â âRight ⦠See you ⦠Ow!â squeaked Kelly as she put the phone down.
7
âWeâre going to Aphid World! Weâre going to Aphid World! Na Na Nee Na Na!â whooped Amy triumphantly, dancing like a maniac around a subdued Michael.
âMummy ⦠can we do something I like too?â
âCourse sweetie. Weâll go to the fair orâ¦â
âCould we go to the museum tomorrow, Mummy?â
âThe museum?? Oh yes ⦠OK.â
Museum?! This is amazing, thought Mel. But then Michael liked watching old Open University programmes presented by beardy men in tank tops, so perhaps she shouldnât have been so surprised.
Kelly was already standing at the end of her drive with Matilda and Ivan. Ivan was four, the same age as Michael; Amy and Matilda, at seven years old, shared the same Year 3 classroom and teacher, Miss Beastley. The two mothers were hoping that these four children would make perfect playmates in the darkest days of half-term holiday week. Kelly dived at the car, pulling her two offspring behind her. Matilda and Ivan looked as though they had been sleeping in the bushes. They all got into the people carrier and Kelly let out an audible gasp of relief.
âYou just donât know how much Iâve needed to see another adult! Bloody Robert doesnât come home till God knows when every night and Iâm going slowly mad!â Kelly visibly relaxed in a âmelting into the car seatâ sort of a way. Well, that was the ice broken. Kelly was also finding it difficult; in fact, so difficult and stressful that once the dam of her silence had broken, she could not stop the flood of words from pouring out.
âMatidaâs been experimenting with vinegar and bicarbonate of soda bombs and Ivan has a cap gun. Itâs like bloody Palestine in our house!â It was evident that Kelly was getting very little
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