Feeling like her world was collapsing around her, Molly managed to say, ‘I appreciate that, Ms Summers.’ Dizziness swept over her, pinpricks of darkness blurring her vision. ‘I think I’m going to faint,’ she muttered, and proved herself right by keeling over onto the floor.
She wasn’t out long, coming to with the horrified manager kneeling beside her and gently tapping her cheek. ‘So sorry,’ Molly whispered, struggling to sit up. She was helped into the chair and handed a glass of water which she sipped gratefully.
‘You’ve had a terrible shock,’ Harriet said, sitting back into her chair. ‘Is there anyone I can ring for you?’
Molly managed to drag up a smile. ‘I think the fewer people who know about this the better, don’t you?’
‘It will certainly make it easier to get your lives back on track,’ Harriet agreed. She opened her drawer and took out a leaflet. ‘This might be something worth looking into too.’
Molly took it. Gamblers Anonymous. It was time to acknowledge the truth. She folded it, put it into her bag. ‘Thank you. Now, I’d better go.’
‘You sure you’ll be okay?’
Molly stood and straightened her shoulders. ‘I’ll have to be,’ she said, then trying to look efficient, added, ‘There were belongings I had to collect.’
The manager shook her head and stood. ‘No, that was a ruse to get you to come in; we find it’s safer than trying to deal with this kind of thing over the phone.’
‘Just as well, as it turned out,’ Molly said, relieved not to have to carry anything. ‘Before midday tomorrow, I’ll have it sorted. Thank you, you’ve been very kind.’ With a grateful smile, she turned and left the office.
Outside, the rain had returned, heavy and cold. It was perfect weather for the mood she was in. The head office of her bank was in Bayswater. Walking as briskly as she could, feet splashing heedlessly through puddles, she made her way to Paddington station. Minutes on the Circle line and she was back out on the street.
There were only a few people in the bank, and none were at the customer service desk. ‘Good afternoon,’ Molly said. ‘I’d like to speak to the manager please.’
The assistant looked at her with a helpful smile. ‘Do you have an appointment?’
Molly clenched her fists. ‘No, but this is an urgent matter which has come up. It’s vital that I see him.’
‘Mr Victor, the manager, is always happy to see customers,’ the assistant said, in a well-rehearsed line, ‘but unfortunately an appointment is necessary.’ Her smile was forced, insincere.
Glaring at her, Molly put both hands flat on the desk and leaned forward. ‘I need to see him. If you can’t make that happen, get me someone who can.’
Her expression must have mirrored her thoughts because the young woman’s smile vanished to be replaced by a slightly anxious stare. A hand went to the phone, and without taking her eyes from Molly, she picked up the handset, dialled a two-digit number and asked for assistance.
Hoping it wasn’t a secret code for call the police, Molly stood back from the desk and waited.
Only seconds later, a well-dressed man came through a door behind. He glanced at the anxious assistant who nodded slightly to where Molly was standing, and immediately approached her. ‘You’ve a problem?’ he said, without bothering with pleasantries.
A problem? Her life seemed to be collapsing around her – did that count as a problem? She swallowed and took a shuddering breath that echoed loudly in the quiet bank.
‘Come with me,’ the man said, putting a hand on her elbow and leading her through the door and down a long, narrow corridor. He guided her into a small, neat office and pointed to a chair. ‘Sit,’ he said before going to the other side of the desk and taking a seat.
Molly opened her bag, took out a tissue and dabbed her eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she said, looking across at him. ‘It’s been a nightmare of a day.’
‘I can see that,’ he said gently. ‘I was afraid you were going to pass out on me.’
She managed a shaky laugh. ‘If I had, it would have been the second time today. Are you the manager?’
‘No, not the general manager, if that’s what you mean,’ he admitted with the merest hint of a shrug. ‘My name is Spenser Roberts, I’m the customer service manager. Perhaps, if you tell me what the problem is, I’ll be able to help you.’
She would have preferred the general manager, but she wasn’t in a position to make demands. The frown between her eyes deepened and she reached into her bag for her purse. Taking out her two credit cards, she put them on the desk and pushed them forward. ‘I tried to use them this morning to settle a bill, and they were declined.’ She couldn’t stop the quiver in her voice when she added, ‘Both of them.’
There was no change in Roberts’ expression as he picked the cards up. Without a word, he turned his chair slightly to face the computer screen on his desk. One-handed, he tapped a few keys, picked up one of the cards, tapped some more. A single crease appeared between his eyes. Picking up the second card, he tapped the keys and stared at the screen. Apart from the single crease, his expression didn’t change.
He put the cards back on the desk, then using both hands he tapped keys, his focus on the screen in front of him.
Molly watched as his lips tightened and his eyes narrowed slightly; whatever he was reading there, it wasn’t good.
It was another minute before he turned to look at her.
‘It’s not good news, is it?’ she asked, hoping he’d laugh and disagree.
Instead, he looked at her for a moment with calm assessing eyes as if trying to decide how much he should say.
‘It’s better to tell me,’ she said, lifting her chin. So much had been thrown at her recently, she was almost getting used to it.
‘I’m afraid it’s not good.’ Roberts reached out and tapped the two cards. ‘These access a joint account with your husband. Both have reached their maximum limit. What I shouldn’t be telling you, is that your husband also has two more, in his name only.’ He took a deep breath before continuing. ‘They also have reached their maximum limit.’ As if he knew she was going to ask, he added, ‘That’s ten grand per card. Forty grand, in total.’
Forty thousand pounds. Molly blinked and gulped.
Roberts’ eyes flicked to the computer screen before coming back to meet hers. He lifted a hand and rubbed it over his mouth.
Molly didn’t need a psychology degree to know what that meant – the fear of speaking because what you were about to say was going to cause pain or distress. She wanted to beg him to get on with it. To throw whatever it was into the maelstrom that was whirling around her. It couldn’t make it much worse.
It could.
‘Are you aware that you’re also behind in your mortgage repayments?’
Molly stared at him for a moment then gave a confused laugh, stopping abruptly when she saw his face. Whereas before it had been expressionless, now, with downturned mouth, he looked sympathetic, almost pitying.
‘I think you must have made a mistake,’ she said, raising her voice a little. A mistake, that’s what this was. A customer with a similar name, maybe. It would be sorted, they’d apologise, then they’d all laugh about it. It would be a story they could tell for years to come to entertain their friends. ‘We don’t have a mortgage on our home, it was cleared a few years ago.’
Roberts looked back to the screen then slowly shook his head. ‘Six months ago, you remortgaged it.’
Not a mistake then. Molly stood, paced the room from wall to wall and sat again. ‘How much for?’
‘Two hundred and fifty thousand.’
A quarter of a million pounds. Molly fought to keep her expression neutral. ‘And you say we’re in arrears?’
‘Two months. A letter was sent after the first repayment was missed.’ He hesitated, then shook his head. ‘You are obviously unaware of all of this, Mrs Chatwell but’ – he waved toward the computer screen – ‘we have the remortgage application on file, you have signed it.’
‘Yes, yes, of course, I remember now.’ She managed a shaky smile that she held despite his eyebrows rising in disbelief. She had to keep it together until she got out of there. ‘So how much are the arrears?’
‘You took it out over ten years. The repayments are three thousand a month. Currently, you are six thousand in arrears.’ He held up both hands. ‘The interest rate on the arrears are high, Mrs Chatwell, you’d be advised to clear it as soon as possible.’
Her eyes widened. Between credit cards and the arrears, they owed almost 50K, so she wondered how they were supposed to do that. They had used almost all their savings to pay for Freya and Remi’s university fees. She remembered being surprised that Jack had insisted they paid the full amount up front. Now, she knew why. At least the children wouldn’t suffer for his stupidity, or for hers. Because, of course she’d signed the damn remortgage application.
She remembered distinctly; she was in the middle of cooking when he had come in with a sheaf of papers.
‘I’m changing our insurance,’ he’d said, tapping the papers with his fingers. ‘I want to make sure Remi and Freya’s belongings are covered while they’re away.’
She’d been touched that he’d thought of it. ‘I’ll sign later,’ she’d said, lifting fingers that stank of raw onion. But he’d insisted, and she’d given in and signed each page beside the X he’d so considerately marked. And no, of course, she hadn’t read what she’d signed.
Her eyes were bleak as she looked across the desk at the customer service manager whose sympathetic expression made her want to cry… no, howl… she wanted to howl for the perfect life that was slipping from her grasp with such speed she was stunned. From somewhere deep inside, she managed to drag up anger that strengthened her. ‘We may need time to get this sorted,’ she said, meeting his eyes.
He nodded slowly. ‘Please be aware, Mrs Chatwell, that the next mortgage repayment is due in two weeks. If you can make some payment towards that. Any payment,’ he added, seeing her tightened look. ‘It would be viewed kindly by the bank.’
They didn’t have money saved anywhere else. They were both well paid, but even their combined salaries wouldn’t clear the arrears and the next payment. She closed her eyes. She still didn’t know why Jack had been suspended. If he lost his job? She gulped again and met the manager’s worried look with a shake of her head. ‘I’d better go and see what I can do, Mr Roberts,’ she said and stood.
He got to his feet. ‘I’ll walk you out.’ With his hand on the doorknob, he turned to her. ‘Do what you can to make repayments,’ he said, ‘keep the bank informed, if you can’t. We’ll be able to work out some form of repayment schedule.’
In a daze, Molly headed back to the Underground. She remembered Jack’s blasé statement that he played the tables. At a rough estimate, he’d done so to the tune of over three hundred thousand pounds.