Extract 3

Having been so good, I deserve a little reward, so I go to a coffee shop and sit down outside in the sun with a cappuccino.

I want those Clementine shoes, pops into my head as I take the first sip.

Slop. Stop it. Think about... something else. Luke. The holiday. Our first ever holiday together. God, I can’t wait.

I’ve been wanting to suggest a holiday ever since Luke and I started to go out, but he works so hard, it would be like asking the Prime Minister to give up running the country for a bit. (Except come to think of it, he does that every summer, doesn’t he? So how come Luke can’t?)

Luke’s so busy, he hasn’t even met my parents yet, which I’m a bit upset about. They asked him over for Sunday lunch, a few weeks ago, and Mum spent ages cooking – or at least, she bought apricot-stuffed loin of pork from Sainsbury’s and a really posh chocolate meringue pudding. But at the last minute he had to cancel because there was a crisis with one of his clients in the Sunday papers. So I had to go on my own – and it was all rather miserable, to be honest. You could tell Mum was really disappointed, but she kept saying brightly, ‘Oh well, it was only a casual arrangement’ – which it wasn’t. He sent her a huge bouquet of flowers the next day to apologize (or at least, Mel, his assistant, did), but it’s not the same, is it?

The worst bit was that our next-door neighbours, Janice and Martin, popped in for a glass of sherry and ‘to meet the famous Luke’, as they put it, and when they found out he wasn’t there, they kept giving me all these pitying looks tinged with smugness, because their son Tom is getting married to his girlfriend Lucy next week. And I have a horrible suspicion that they think I have a crush on him. (Which I don’t – in fact, quite the reverse. But once people believe something like that, it’s completely impossible to convince them otherwise. Oh God. Hideous.)

When I got upset with Luke, he pointed out that I’ve never met his parents, either. But that’s not quite true. I have briefly spoken to his dad and step-mum in a restaurant once, even if it wasn’t my most glittering moment. And anyway, they live in Devon, and Luke’s real mum lives in New York. So I mean, they’re not exactly handy, are they?

Still, we made up – and at least he’s making the effort to come on this little holiday. It was Mel, actually, who suggested the weekend idea. She told me Luke hadn’t had a proper holiday for three years, and maybe he had to be weaned gently on to the idea. So I stopped talking about holidays and started talking about weekends away – and that did the trick! All of a sudden Luke told me to set aside this weekend. He booked the hotel himself and everything. I’m so looking forward to it. We’ll just do nothing but relax and take it easy – and spend some time with each other for a change. Lovely.

I want those Clementine shoes.

Stop it. Stop thinking about them.

I take another sip of coffee, lean back and force myself to survey the bustling street. People are striding along, holding bags and chatting, and there’s a girl crossing the road with nice trousers on, which I think come from Nicole Farhi and... Oh God.

A middle-aged man in a dark suit is coming along the road towards me, and I recognize him. It’s Derek Smeath, my bank manager.

Oh, and I think he’s seen me.

OK, don’t panic, I instruct myself firmly. There’s no need to panic. Maybe once upon a time I would have been thrown by seeing him. I might have tried to hide behind a menu, or perhaps even run away. But that’s all in the past. These days, Sweetie Smeathie and I have a very honest and amicable relationship.

Still, I find myself shifting my chair slightly further away from my LK Bennett hag, as though it hasn’t got anything to do with me.

‘Hello, Mr Smeath!’ I say brightly as he approaches. ‘How are you?’

‘Very well,’ says Derek Smeath, smiling. ‘And you?’

‘Oh, I’m fine, thanks. Would you... would you like a coffee?’ I add politely, gesturing to the empty chair opposite me. I’m not really expecting him to say yes, but to my astonishment he sits down and picks up a menu.

How civilized is this? I’m having coffee with my bank manager at a pavement cafe! You know, maybe I’ll find a way to work this into my Morning Coffee slot. ‘I myself prefer the informal approach to personal finance,’ I’ll say, smiling warmly into the camera. ‘My own bank manager and I often share a friendly cappuccino as we discuss my current financial strategies...’

‘As it happens, Rebecca, I’ve just written a letter to you,’ says Derek Smeath, as a waitress puts an espresso down in front of him. Suddenly his voice is more serious and I feel a small lurch of alarm. Oh God, what have I done now? ‘You and all my customers,’ he adds. ‘To tell you that I’m leaving.’

‘What?’ I put my coffee cup down with a little crash. ‘What do you mean, leaving?’

‘I’m leaving Endwich Bank. I’ve decided to take early retirement.’

‘But...’

I stare at him, appalled. Derek Smeath can’t leave Endwich Bank. He can’t leave me in the lurch, just as everything was going so well. I mean, I know we haven’t always exactly seen eye to eye – but recently we’ve developed a really good rapport. He understands me. He understands my overdraft. What am I going to do without him?

‘Aren’t you too young to retire?’ I say, aware of the dismay in my voice. ‘Won’t you get bored?’ He leans back in his chair and takes a sip of espresso.

‘I’m not planning to give up work altogether. But I think there’s a little more to life than looking after people’s bank accounts, don’t you? Fascinating though some of them have been.’

‘Well... yes. Yes of course. And I’m glad for you, honestly.’ I shrug, a little embarrassed. ‘But I’ll... miss you.’

‘Believe it or not,’ he says, smiling slightly, ‘I think I’ll miss you too, Rebecca. Yours has certainly been one of the most... interesting accounts I’ve dealt with.’

He gives me a penetrating look and I feel myself flush slightly. Why does he have to remind me of the past? The point is, that’s all over. I’m a different person now. Surely people should be allowed to turn over new leaves and start again in life?

‘Your career in television seems to be going well,’ he says.

‘I know! It’s so great, isn’t it? And it pays really well,’ I add, a little pointedly.

‘Your income has certainly gone up in recent months,’ he says and puts down his coffee cup. My heart sinks slightly. ‘However...’

I knew it. Why does there always have to be a ‘however’? Why can’t he just be pleased for me?

‘However,’ repeats Derek Smeath. ‘Your outgoings have also risen. Substantially. In fact, your overdraft is now higher than it was at the height of your... shall we say, your excesses.’

Excesses? That is so mean.

‘You really must make more effort to keep within your overdraft limit,’ he’s saying now. ‘Or, even better, pay it off.’

‘I know,’ I say vaguely. ‘I’m planning to.’

I’ve just spotted a girl on the other side of the road, with an LK Bennett bag. She’s holding a great big bag – with two shoe boxes in it.

If she’s allowed to buy two pairs of shoes, then why aren’t I? What’s the rule that says you can only buy one pair of shoes at a time? I mean, it’s so arbitrary.

‘What about your other finances?’ Derek Smeath is asking. ‘Do you have any store card bills, for example?’

‘No,’ I say with a tinge of smugness. ‘I paid them all off months ago.’

‘And you haven’t spent anything since?’

‘Only bits and pieces. Hardly anything.’

Anyway what’s ninety quid, really? In the greater scheme of things?

‘The reason I’m asking these questions,’ says Derek Smeath, ‘is that I feel I should warn you. The bank is restructuring somewhat, and my successor, John Gavin, may not take quite the same relaxed approach as I have towards your account. I’m not sure you’re aware quite how lenient I have been with you.’

‘Really?’ I say, not really listening.

I mean, suppose I took up smoking. I’d easily spend ninety quid on cigarettes without even thinking about it, wouldn’t I?

In fact, think of all the money I’ve saved by not smoking. Easily enough to afford one little pair of shoes.

‘He’s a very capable man,’ Derek Smeath is saying. ‘But also very... rigorous. Not particularly known for his flexibility.’

‘Right,’ I say, nodding absently.

‘I would certainly recommend that you address your overdraft without delay.’ He takes a sip of coffee. ‘And tell me, have you done anything about taking out a pension?’

‘Erm... I went to visit that independent adviser you recommended.’

‘And did you fill in any of the forms?’

Unwillingly, I drag my attention back to him.

‘Well, I’m just considering my options,’ I say, and put on my wise, financial-expert look. ‘There’s nothing worse than rushing into the wrong investment, you know. Particularly when it comes to something as important as a pension.’

‘Very true,’ says Derek Smeath. ‘But don’t spend too long considering, will you? Your money won’t save itself.’

‘I know!’ I say and take a sip of cappuccino.

Oh God, now I feel a bit uncomfortable. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I should put £90 into a pension fund instead of buying another pair of shoes.

But on the other hand – what good is a pension fund of £90? That’s not exactly going to keep me in my old age, is it? Ninety measly quid. And by the time I’m old, the world will probably have blown up, or something.

Whereas a pair of shoes is tangible, it’s there in your hand...

Oh, sod it. I’m going to get them.

‘Mr Smeath, I have to go,’ I say abruptly, putting down my cup. ‘There’s something I have to... do.’

Now I’ve decided, I have to get back there as quickly as possible. I pick up my carrier bag and drop a fiver on the table. ‘Lovely to see you. And good luck in your retirement.’

‘Best of luck to you too, Rebecca,’ says Derek Smeath, smiling kindly at me. ‘But do remember what I’ve said. John Gavin won’t indulge you in the way that I have. So just... watch your step, won’t you?’

‘I will!’ I say brightly.

And without quite running, I’m off down the street, as quick as I can, back to LK Bennett.