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

limit”,’ you said, “Nothing will stop me now, we’re on the gravy train!” Everything’s the same as usual. No one’s said anything about any banks going wrong in the news.’
    â€˜There’s something wrong with investments that have been made. A bit like credit cards … Too much has been lent out to too many people who can’t pay it back,’ explained Alan in the simplest terms he could muster.
    â€˜Yes, but that’s what credit cards are for. I had three offers of new credit cards just this morning. They’re raking it in with the interest and everyone can afford the minimum payments. It’ll be all right,’ soothed Mel. Alan cringed, then smiled and changed the subject. ‘Anyway, this conversationis bloody depressing me. I want to forget about Ponsonby Tosser Bank for a change. What did you say Kelly’s Robert had been doing?’
    â€˜She told me that he’s dressing up in animal costumes, singing advertising jingles and curling up in the cupboard.’
    â€˜Sounds like a bloody good idea to me. That would be quite an interesting sexual fetish, don’t you think? I could be a sexy wombat and you could be a demure penguin and we could squeeze up in the understairs cupboard and you could peck me and I could do what wombats do … What do wombats do, by the way?’ asked Alan, genuinely warming to the idea.
    â€˜And you said that it was fast food causing the children’s madness! They haven’t a hope, genetically, of escaping insanity with you as a father!’
    â€˜You can talk, Madam! It wasn’t me who had the entire kitchen ripped out on a whim.’
    â€˜OK, point accepted. Let’s go to bed, mon petit marsupial!’ suggested Mel, trying to do an impression of a flirtatious penguin.
    She didn’t have to say it twice. And afterwards, they looked into the front garden and felt sure that the Portaloo was glowing slightly in an extraterrestrial sort of a way.
    â€˜I love you, wombat,’ said Mel. Alan kissed her on the nose. ‘We really have to find out where Robert gets his costumes from,’ he muttered dreamily before going to sleep.

14
    â€˜Morning!’ shouted the builders horribly bright and early next morning.
    â€˜Oh God, I forgot about them! It’s only half past seven! They’ll be switching the water off and we haven’t even washed yet!’
    With that Alan disappeared into the bathroom.
    â€˜Well, I can’t go to work stinking of wombat, can I? You don’t have to spread your scent in the wider community … you’ll be at home all day,’ he reasoned. Mel felt like thumping him. He’d had his way and decided that it was safe for him to be insensitive again. She threw her dressing gown on and dashed down to open the door. Her hair was distinctly dishevelled and she was very glad that she wasn’t famous and a target for Hi! magazine this morning. She was relieved that she wasn’t likely to have every little weight change, bad hair day, body hair day or spot broadcast across the entire planet. Funny world, she thought, that someone could be famous just for being famous and that no one had anything better to do than put more money in their pockets just because they looked more minging today or wasted due to some substance abuse problem.
    She put the kettle on, still wondering to herself how pop stars ended up being more famous for their noses hanging off from shoving cocaine up them than for the talent that first got them there.
    â€˜Mine’s white with two sugars please, love,’ said a workman. ‘Not camomile though!’ he laughed, looking at the barely-used box of said beverage bags. ‘Nasty stuff that!’
    And so the day began. Amy and Michael came down and she decided that the best plan would be to get them dressed and go out for breakfast. The noise and dust had already begun and Mel wondered why she’d done