The Meltdown of a Banker's Wife Read Free Page B

unspeakable polymer-like substances which could only have been rivalled in viscosity and tensile strength by something produced in the cracking process of an oil refinery. The children were pulling at her sleeves, bounding up and down.
    â€˜Mummy! Mummy! What shall we do today!?’
    It was only eight-thirty in the morning. She could barely get her brain past getting into the shower, let alone plan a whole curriculum diem , honed in such a way as to keep both children happy and entertained. Her children were so diverse in their interests that she would need an awful lot of sustenance, grit, water to wash with and possibly advice from Kofi Annan. A tall order … Very, very tall indeed.
    â€˜We’ll ring Kelly and see if she wants to go on a picnic or something?’ she suggested.
    â€˜Aphid World!’ demanded Amy.
    â€˜We could maybe build that into our picnic day,’ Mel reasoned.
    â€˜You promised! I’ve tidied my room!’
    â€˜Really?!’ Mel was shocked. Was it possible that Amy had achieved this huge feat already today? The full horror of Amy’s room had passed her by last night, so guilty had she felt about scaring the poor little mites with her portrayal of a monster emerging from the bubble bath.
    â€˜I’ll have a look when I’ve had a shower,’ she concluded decidedly. ‘Let me have a shower in peace. Go and watch CBeebies for a bit.’
    It would be all her fault when her illiterate children grew up on a diet of virtual reality games, only to become sociopathic, homicidal maniacs as teenagers. But somehow Mel just didn’t have the energy to commit to beating herself up about it this morning. She was sure that Teletubbies hadn’t caused psychosis in any children yet … Although she wasn’t so certain that it hadn’t had an adverse effect on her own beleaguered mind.
    â€˜Yes. Go and watch CBeebies,’ she confirmed and then dived behind the shower door, putting the water on full in an effort to knock some sense into her mind and soul.
    Upon descending the stairs, Mel heard Amy and Michael bickering over which Teletubby was carrying the handbag and whether it was a boy or a girl. She thought it wise not to get into that particular conversation at the moment and walked on to the kitchen.
    Smoky!!? It was more like a scene from the pit of Hell itself. There was an evil-smelling haze hanging in the air like a brick. The windows were open full but very little fresh air had managed to battle through. There were blackened strings of dried … what? She snapped a piece off. Oh yes … it was desiccated sooty cake mix. Of course. The cat sat in the basket staring scarily ahead of him. He had a cat flap but it appeared that the fumes may have overcome Ozzie’s small brain. Admittedly this didn’t take much as Ozzie was aparticularly thick cat who was frightened of slippers and had a very weird meow, as if he had permanent laryngitis. ‘E … eiooo!’ said Ozzie, finally noticing his surroundings and the lack of food in his bowl in particular. The dog’s bowl was also empty. Iggy Pop was hiding under the table, ears down, eyes looking up in a ‘Please don’t beat me again’ sort of a way as the very end of his tail flicked and twitched quiveringly. As usual, Iggy had decided that this disaster was all his fault. He would be minding his own business and suddenly some terrible disaster would befall his pack and his den and he could never work out why. Ozzie had no such qualms. He knew whose fault it was. Disdainfully, he watched Mel, switching his tail and ‘Ee … eeiooing’. OK. Mel knew when she was beaten. She fed the two of them although Iggy refused to touch anything until he had been outside to do a poo, just in case that was what had caused this misery in the first place. It was perfectly possible as far as Iggy was concerned, that he had pooed all over the house and had totally