CASH & CREDIT 4

His Wife was beautiful, he thought, as he watched her from the kitchen window. She stood in her garden, gently touching the fragile leaves of a delicate flower he didn’t know the name of. She was a child of nature, so in tune with the universe, so unlike him, yet they had been together so long, been through so much.

Sensing his eyes on her, she paused and looked at him, almost shy and self-conscious that he had been studying her. He waved to her in reassurance. Even though she stood at the foot of the long garden, he could see she was smiling.

“Enjoying the weather?” he called to her somewhat superfluously, his voice almost lost in the wind.

She looked almost embarrassed, caught in her moment of privacy.

“Yes................”

He only heard the first word, the wind carrying only the gentle tone of her voice. Why did she choose him? Perhaps because he had an ageless wisdom about him, bought by his experiences and hard times, but also by virtue of an inbuilt intensity and awareness, and a brilliant intuition which he didn’t listen to nearly enough for his own good.

These thoughts wearied him, and he sighed as he walked away from the window. Despite his great gifts, life had somehow always been an uphill struggle for him, he was an outsider, a misfit. He had wanted the best for his Wife and children, but seemed unable to provide it for them. With his lack of practicality and shortage of experience and formal education, no one had ever been willing to give him a chance to prove his worth in the World. The years had rolled by, and he had missed the boat. All he had was a mediocre position as a clerk in an office, a job any fool could do.

By this time in his life, the dark forces had gathered against him, and when his bank offered him a chance to apply for a large overdraft, much larger than his salary justified, he made a fatal decision to go for it. He so badly wanted to provide his Wife with something nice in her life for a change, instead of the struggles and deprivation that had attended so much of her life, even before he had met her. Her childhood traumas had been something he was able to help her with emotionally, but her need for social respectability and quiet security matched his own, suffering as they both were from a lack of self-esteem, and the temptation of the overdraft beckoning was too much to bear.

Finally, he filled in the forms giving the information he thought they would like rather than the whole truth. He said he owned his house outright when it was in fact, mortgaged to the hilt; he overvalued the property by 50%; he gave his occupation as ‘Manager’ instead of ‘Clerk’; he stated his income was four times greater than it was in reality.

Some weeks later, the bank telephoned him.

“Your application has been accepted,” said the Manager, sounding like a benevolent Father Christmas.

“Thank you,” he said, stammering and hesitant, trying to take on the implications of a new beginning. There was a moment of euphoria, a feeling of sudden success after such gloom.

The first few months were an uplifting time, a time to suddenly enjoy the fruits of life, new clothes, a car, a holiday. His Wife was smiling again, she knew little about the reason for the change in their fortunes, accepting his explanation of a promotion and increase in earning power, which had prompted the bank to extend the gold hand of substantial credit towards him.

“We’re becoming rich!” she said, her eyes sparkling and happy.

These were good days.

At first, it had all gone well, so well in fact that further banks contacted him and offered him similar facilities as a response to their competitor’s success. Within a few months, he had built up a considerable overdraft facility. He found he had a real talent for convincing bank managers and institutions to accept his applications readily, he somehow knew what these institutions wanted to hear, wanted to see. Even at personal interviews, when they proved necessary, he charmed the gullible managers without any difficulty whatsoever, and to him, the lies were white rather than black. After all, he was paying the money back, wasn’t he?

Soon, it had all gone so well that they were able to buy a new house, the house of his Wife’s dreams, with a beautiful garden, a six-bedroom Georgian house in the best part of Town. Life gained a cosy domesticity and peacefulness they had never previously known.

“I’ve never been happier,” she said wistfully one day, looking at him in admiration, the architect of their fortunes. There seemed so much money available that he felt able to give up his employment, the very thought of performing such a menial task seemed now to be beneath him in any case; they felt akin to the rich and successful. Their immediate neighbour was a famous Cabinet Minister, the other residents of this exclusive address were eminent professional people, retired Lords and Ladies, up and coming nouveau riche. Days were spent on shopping expeditions buying goods that they mostly did not need and usually never used. At nights, he would stroll to the Village pub to dream a while away, making impossible plans, while at home, his Wife happily fussed around the house she was so proud of.

These were the rainbow days, but they were an illusion, for the house was built on cards, not bricks.