I’m sorry, but I can’t go and sit back down there. I have to hear about this.

“Come on,” I say quickly to Elly. “We don’t need to stay. We’ve got our press packs. Let’s go and have lunch.”

There’s a pause – and for an awful moment I think she’s going to say no, she wants to stay and hear about personal pensions. But then she grins and takes my arm – and to the obvious dismay of the girl at the door, we waltz out of the room.

Extract 5

After lunch I wander out into the garden with one of Mum’s mail-order catalogues, and go and sit on the bench by the apple tree. A moment later, I hear a voice from over the garden fence, and look up. It’s Martin from next door. Hmm. I’m not feeling very well dis­posed toward Martin at the moment.

“Hello, Becky,” he says softly “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” I say shortly. And I don’t fancy your son, I feel like adding. “How are you?”

“Oh, we’re both well,” says Martin. “I suppose.” To my surprise there’s a forced cheerfulness to his voice. He glances at Janice, who frowns and shakes her head slightly.

“Anyway, you must be pleased with the news,” I say brightly. “About Flagstaff Life.”

There’s silence.

“Well,” says Martin. “We would have been.”

“No one could have known,” says Janice, giving a little shrug. “It’s just one of those things. Just the luck of the draw.”

“What is?” I say, puzzled. “I thought you were getting some huge great windfall.”

“It appears...” Martin rubs his fate. “H appears not in our case.”

“But... but why?”

“Martin phoned them up this morning,” says Janice.

“To see how much we would be getting. They were saying in the papers that long-term investors would be getting thousands. But–” She glances at Martin.

“But what?” I say, feeling a twinge of alarm.

“Apparently we’re no longer eligible,” says Matin awkwardly. “Since we switched our investment. Our old fund would have qualified, but...” He coughs. “I mean we will get something – but it’ll only be about £.100.”

I stare at him blankly.

“But you only switched–”

“Two weeks ago,” be says. “That’s the irony. If we just held on a little bit longer... Still, what’s done is done. No point whining about it.” He gives a resigned shrug and smiles at Janice, who smiles back.

And I look away and bite my lip.

A nasty cold feeling is creeping over me. They took the decision to switch their money based on my advice, didn’t they? They asked me if they should switch funds, and I said go ahead. But now I come to think of it... hadn’t I already heard a rumor about this takeover? Oh God. Could I have stopped this?

“We could never have known these windfalls would happen,” says Janice, and puts her hand comfortingly on his arm. “They keep these things secret right until the last minute, don’t they, Becky?”

My throat’s too tight to answer. I can remember exactly now. It was Alicia who first mentioned the takeover. The day before I came down here. And then Philip said something about it in the office. Something about with-profits holders doing well. Except... I wasn’t really listening. I think I was doing my nails at the time.

“Twenty thousand pounds, they reckon we would have got if we’d stayed,” says Martin gloomily. “Makes you sick to think about it. Still, Janice is right. We couldn’t have known. Nobody knew.”

Oh God. This is all my fault. It’s all my fault. If I’d used my brain and thought for once...

“Oh, Becky, don’t look so upset!” says Janice. “This isn’t your fault! You didn’t know! Nobody knew! None of us could have–”

“I knew,” I hear myself saying miserably.

There’s a flabbergasted silence.

“What?” says Janice faintly

“I didn’t know, exactly,” I say, staring at the ground. “But I heard a sort of rumor about it a while ago. I should have said something when you asked me. I should have warned you to wait. But I just... didn’t think. I didn’t remember.” I force myself to look up and meet Martin’s astonished gaze. “I... I’m really sorry. It’s all my fault.”

There’s silence, during which Janice and Martin glance at each other and I hunch my shoulders, loathing myself. Inside, I can hear the phone ringing, and footsteps as someone goes to answer it.

“I see,” says Martin eventually “Well... not to worry. These things happen.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Becky,” says Janice kindly. “It was our decision to switch funds, not yours.”

“And remember, you’ve been under a lot of pressure yourself recently,” adds Martin, putting a sympathetic hand on my arm.

Now I really feel like dirt. I don’t deserve these peo­ple’s kindness. I’ve just lost them £20,000, through being too bloody lazy to keep up with events I’m sup­posed to know about. I’m a financial journalist, for God’s sake.

And suddenly, standing there in my parents’ garden on a Monday afternoon, I’m plunged to the lowest ebb of my life. What have I got going for me? Nothing. Not one thing. I can’t control my money, I can’t do my job, and I haven’t got a boyfriend. I’ve hurt my best friend, I’ve lied to my parents – and now I’ve ruined my neigh­bors.

Half an hour later, sitting in my bedroom, I’ve read the letter from Flagstaff Life six times and I’m sure there’s something fishy about it. How many investors must have switched funds after receiving this crappy carriage clock offer – and missed out on their windfall? More to the point, how much money must Flagstaff Life have saved? Suddenly I really want to know. There’s a growing indignation in me; a growing determination to find out exactly what’s been going on and, if it’s what I suspect, to expose it. To print the truth and warn others. For the first time in my life, I’m actually interested in a financial story.

And I don’t just want to write it up for Successful Saving, either. This deserves the widest audience possible. Eric Foreman’s card is still in my purse, with his direct telephone number printed at the top, and I take it out. I go to the phone and quickly punch in the number before I can change my mind.

“Eric Foreman, Daily World,” comes his voice, booming down the line.

Am I really doing this?

“Hi,” I say nervously. “I don’t know if you remember me. Rebecca Bloomwood from Successful Saving. We met at the Sacrum Asset Management press conference.”

“That’s right, so we did,” he says cheerfully. “How are you, my love?”

“I’m fine,” I say, and clench my hand tightly around the receiver. “Absolutely fine. Ahm... I was just wondering, are you still running уоur series on ‘Can We Trust the Money Men?’ ”

“We are, as it goes,” says Eric Foreman. “Why?”

“It’s just...” I swallow. “I think I’ve got a story that might interest you.”