Page 111 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

Since our engagement almost six months ago, it’s been non-stop, what with trying to sort out the wedding, find a new house and organize our finances. There’s been so much paperwork involved remortgaging the flat, taking out a business loan and setting up a joint account, plus all the complicated international money transfers for the new business as it’s registered abroad. There have been times when I feel like I’m drowning in it.

Luckily Theo is so good with stuff like that. He’s the one that reads all the small print, then just asks me to sign it. To be honest, I don’t know what I’d do without him. All that legalese sends me dizzy. Probably something to do with me having an artist’s brain and using the left side, or is it the right? He’s the one with the business brain.

‘Only, your account will accrue interest unless you clear the sum overdrawn.’

‘OK, can I transfer money from my Rewards savings account?’

‘Yes, would you like me to check the balance on that for you?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘OK, one moment while I look into that for you, if you’d like to hold the line . . .’

Annoying elevator music starts playing. I wish they’d just let you wait in silence. I gaze absently at the passers-by. It’s a grey day and the skies are leaden. Everyone’s wrapped up in winter coats, scarves and gloves. It’s hard to believe I’m going to be in bright sunshine and thirty-two-degree heat in a couple of weeks. I wonder again about a beach wedding. I’m not great in the heat, especially not if it’s humid. I’ll go red and sweaty. Not exactly the blushing bride, more like beetroot. I feel a pang of doubt and imagine a winter wedding, somewhere local in the countryside, all my friends, something stylish with sleeves, woodburning stoves and whisky . . .

‘Hi, Ms Fletcher?’ The voice comes back on the line. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’

‘It’s OK.’

A part of me wishes I hadn’t let Theo persuade me. But he was so adamant. And I didn’t want him to go into one of his moods. Anything to avoid that.

‘That account’s been closed.’

‘Closed?’ I snap back.

‘Yes, account ending 3774 was closed several weeks ago and its funds were transferred to an external account.’

I rub my forehead, trying to remember doing that. Like I said, there’s been such a lot of financial paperwork recently – moving funds around, setting up new accounts – that I’ve lost track a bit. I must be getting mixed up with another account. I must have closed this one and not remembered.

‘Would you like me to try a different account?’

‘Um . . . yes . . . can I give you mine and my fiancé’s joint account?’

‘Yes, that’s fine; if you’re both named on the account, you can both withdraw or manage payments. If you want to give me the sort code and account number . . .’

It’s started to rain. I try to seek shelter underneath the awning of the department store, while I juggle various screens on my phone, trying to find the details of our new joint account. I can feel my happy mood fast disintegrating as stress begins to take over. I’m looking for a screenshot Theo sent me when he opened it. The one that showed our balance so I could check our money was safely deposited. I think it’s in my photos. Or is it my emails? Ah, there is it is. Quickly, I read out the sort code and account number, then wait again as the person on the other phone disappears and the elevator music returns.

OK, so I might not be the one with the financial brain, but I’m not going to take any risks when it comes to my life savings and Dad’s inheritance.

‘I’m afraid we can’t find an account with that number.’

‘Excuse me?’ The person from the bank is back on the line, only they’re making no sense.

‘Can you repeat the numbers, please? We’re unable to verify it.’

It’s really raining now. Coming down hard and fast. I say the numbers again, slower this time. Pinching the screen of my phone with wet fingers as I haven’t got my glasses, making sure I haven’t got them the wrong way round. I can do that with numbers sometimes. I always need to check and check again.

‘No, I’m afraid nothing’s coming up.’

‘I’m sorry, I must have the wrong details.’ I hear myself apologizing. ‘I’ll have to speak to my fiancé, is that OK?’

‘Yes, of course. Would you like me to give you a call back later today?’

‘No, it’s fine. I’ll call you. I’m not sure when I’ll get to speak to him, he’s working abroad.’

‘That’s fine, Ms Fletcher. Just be aware that as you’ve gone over your pre-authorized overdraft agreement, your account will be blocked until we’ve received funds to clear that amount.’

We both hang up. I think about my sarongs and flip-flops put to one side at the cash register. The sales assistant is keeping them for me. I should really go back inside and explain but somehow I can’t face disappointing her. She was so excited for me, so hopeful for herself; after all, if this customer in her forties had finally found love and was flying off to a romantic beach wedding, why shouldn’t she get her happy-ever-after? But it’s lost its sheen, somehow. The rain is really coming down now and despite the awning, I’m getting wet through. I need to go home, talk to Theo, sort it all out. I’ll come back for the sarongs another day.