The more Alice thought about it, the more she convinced herself this was for the best. Embarking on a radical career change at her age? It was ludicrous. Better by far that she focus on taking the next sensible step she’d always planned: buying a flat of her own. So, as the next days drifted past in a blur of subclauses and residual payment exemptions, Alice swallowed her disappointment and turned her attentions instead to estate agent brochures and home-décor magazines, dreaming of the one thing that would make her steady wage worthwhile. A home all of her own.
***
“Miss Love?”
“Yes, hi.” Alice bobbed up from the row of scratchy blue seats. After two long afternoons there filing paperwork about her stolen card, she felt like the bank was a second home to her now, full of familiar leaflet stands and a row of tired assistants behind the glass partition. This time, however, she was actually there by choice, not necessity.
A graying man stuck out his hand, coughing slightly. “Mr. Weatherton, I’ll be your adviser. If you’ll just come back here…”
Alice shook his damp palm and trotted after him, clutching her neat binder of statements and payroll records. She was starting to feel excited about venturing onto the property ladder. Scared, yes—after all, it was only her entire life savings she was putting on the line—but confident too. This was what adults did, wasn’t it? Put down roots, made a home. And finally, she’d be able to pick the color of her paint and the style of her curtains without some onerous landlord watching her every move.
Mr. Weatherton ushered her into a cluttered office and gestured for her to sit. “Now, you’re thinking about loan options?” He peered at some papers.
“A mortgage, yes. Your HomePlus variable package.” Alice pulled out the thick wedge of application forms.
He looked up, frowning. “I’m sorry, I, uh, think we have our wires crossed. I thought you wanted to talk about extending your overdraft, or some kind of loan arrangement.”
“No…” Alice shook her head slowly. “It’s a mortgage I need. See, I’ve already filled in most of the application.” She passed him the papers, marked with pencil, just to be on the safe side. “I just need you to complete the rest. Do you need a minute to find the right file?” she asked, watching him flip through the folder.
Mr. Weatherton looked awkward. “There seems to have been some misunderstanding. I’m not sure who you’ve spoken with, but we have very clear borrower guidelines, and, uh, given the recent change in your credit rating, and lack of funds with the bank…” He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m afraid you just don’t qualify.”
Alice looked at him, speechless.
“See, it states quite clearly in the literature that all agreement is based on your reliability as a borrower.” He helpfully slid her application back to her, as Alice scanned her own leaflets, trying to follow what he was saying. “Our credit checks show the, uh, worrying state of your current finances, so the best you can hope for is a high-rate loan.” Mr. Weatherton glanced down at his file. “Also, I see here that you’ve emptied your savings account with us. Ms. Love, I shouldn’t need to tell you that you’ll have to show some proof of your ability to pay a deposit before we can even begin to work a mortgage agreement. It’s all laid out in the subclauses…”
Alice stopped listening. All she could hear was her blood, thundering loudly in her ears, and those few, terrible words.
It took her an eternity to remember how to breathe, and another few moments until she could manage to speak.
“What do you mean, ‘emptied my savings account’?”
Chapter Five
Mr. Weatherton broke off his lecture on fiscal responsibility and stared at her, surprised. “The Super-Saver account you have with us. The contents were transferred out two days ago.”
Alice shook her head, almost in a daze. This couldn’t be happening.
“I never transferred anything,” she stumbled, her voice no louder than a whisper. “There, there were over thirty thousand pounds in that account!”
He stared at her. The expression on Alice’s face must have been vivid enough to convince him, because suddenly, Mr. Weatherton gulped.
“You’re…sure?” Their eyes met, a mirror of panic.
“Oh, yes.” Alice nodded faintly. “It was my deposit, for the flat…” She trailed off, helpless.
There was silence.
“Wait here,” he ordered, lurching to his feet. Alice managed to obey him for all of five seconds before leaping up herself, following him across the branch floor.
“It’s gone?” she exclaimed, her voice picking up volume now. Mr. Weatherton had seized control of somebody’s computer and was frantically clicking through the files. Alice felt dizzy. She gripped hold of the partition wall for support. “It was in my account and someone just…took it? Don’t you have security?” she demanded. “What about all those questions I have to answer just to talk about my balance?!”
“Please, Ms. Love, if you could just stay calm and wait in my office!” Mr. Weatherton didn’t look particularly calm himself. In fact, a strange vein was bulging on the left side of his forehead.
“But I don’t understand!” Alice repeated, louder. She was vaguely aware she sounded hysterical, but she was beyond caring. “Shouldn’t you have some kind of alert set up? Especially after my card fraud! How can someone access my account and take that much money without you knowing?”
The amount flashed into her head, and Alice felt sick all over again. Oh, God. She let out a whimper.
“Please, Ms. Love, give me a moment here.” Mr. Weatherton hurriedly summoned a pimply assistant and had him guide Alice back, away from the now-nervous-looking customers. She followed him to the small room, numb. She hadn’t checked her account the past few days, but why would she? Nobody logs on every night to make sure someone hasn’t stolen a vast amount of money; besides, the only problem she’d had was with a misplaced card and PIN, and that was over now, Ahmed at the call center had reassured her. Over. How was this even possible?
“Can I, uh, get you anything?” The boy hovered awkwardly, and even though Alice shook her head, he reappeared a few moments later with a paper cup of cold water.
She took it silently.
Thirty two thousand pounds. Thirty two thousand pounds. The words spun around in her head so often, they began to lose all meaning. This wasn’t a shopping spree of lingerie or a shiny new iPod bought using her card. Alice didn’t even know how to picture that kind of money. It was nothing but numbers to her, black print on her mortgage agreement, but to whoever took it—that was money to them now. Real money.