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CHAPTER
14
Joey spent longer than usual staring into the old wooden cupboard where his business suits hung.
Travelling from Clarence to the bank in Lismore to update his insurance requirements was a suit-wearing occasion, wasn’t it? Trouble was, the look of them hanging there, like blue and grey and charcoal ghosts of his former life, was making him antsy. He really,really, didn’t want to wear a suit.
He slammed the cupboard door shut. Clean jeans and a t-shirt would have to do.
Lismore was as busy as he remembered it. Trucks roared through, filled with cattle from Casino and timber from the mill out at Kyogle. The wide streets were choked with cars, an antique store had a queue of people out front waiting for its doors to open, and a couple of cops were woofing into pies outside the bakery.
Same old same old.
The bank on Molesworth Street had more charm than a city branch, with a brass pot of ferns on display behind the frontwindow, and its name printed on a simple sign rather than in flashy neon.
He checked his watch and saw it was five minutes past opening time, so he pushed the heavy door open and grey carpet scrunched under the tread of his boots. A waft of some overly sweet room diffuser had him wincing, and he swept his eyes over the blandly painted walls, the even blander artwork mounted in pastel frames.
Life in finance. He didn’t miss it a bit.
A woman in a pinstriped jacket and a fussy blouse was standing behind a tall counter, and he was pretty sure she was the one he was here to see, but the other person in the branch, currently depositing a sack of coins into a change machine, was giving him the evil eye, so he headed there first.
‘Captain Killjoy,’ she said. How he hated the nickname his siblings had used back in the day when he’d said no to some activity they’d been hellbent on pursuing (like jumping off the roof with superhero tea towels tied around their necks), because he’d been the unlucky one left in charge.
‘Felicity,’ he said. ‘Haven’t seen you around lately.’
‘You would have if you’d bothered to show up at Bangadoon last weekend for the family dinner.’
‘What’s up your bum?’
‘Since you ask … you waltzing back into town is what’s up my bum. Expecting Mum and Dad to drop everything and work themselves ragged making your place liveable. They’re not young anymore. They’re not—’ She broke off.
‘They’re not what?’
Felicity’s mouth scrunched like a drawstring bag. ‘Nothing.’ She pulled a thick paper receipt from the machine, gave him a dead-eyed stare, and left.
He was frowning after her when the woman in the pinstriped jacket materialised in front of him.
‘Can I help you?’
‘Joe Miles,’ he said. ‘I’m here to see the branch manager.’
‘That’ll be me. Alicia Pickard, pleased to meet you.’
He shook the hand she offered him.
‘Come back into my office,’ she said, leading her way into a glass-panelled room then taking a seat behind a desk. She steepled her fingers, then looked up at him with one eyebrow faintly cocked. ‘I’ve reviewed your file and—frankly—I’m concerned.’
Another kick to the nuts; just what he needed. ‘It’s under control.’
She frowned. ‘That’s not what I’m seeing. I’m seeing a big-ass loan and no principal repayments, Mr Miles. You want to explain to me how that got through head office?’
Not really. He’d rather shove a fork into his leg than explain to anyone, ever again, about the market crash that hammered the stock price of the fund he invested into dust. About quitting his job when his loss on the market was made public and the CEO called him in to her office to discuss the board’s ‘confidence’ in his abilities as a stock market analyst. About the publisher of his (once) bestselling investment advice book pulling out of the contract for a second edition.
Yep. He’d lost it all, including his dignity, in one big crappy shitshow, and things couldn’t have gotten any worse, could they?
Only they had, because that’s when he’d gone home and found someone else’s jocks in bed with his girlfriend.
Good times.
