The Trust

Chapter 5: Tear it Up

"I mean, I've never seen anything like this." Our financial advisor Simon pauses, lost for words. "Most of my clients improve each year, progressing from one year to the next, eventually realizing their goals. They're on an upward trajectory. You two..." He looks down at our financial records, a paper trail of missed opportunities and shattered dreams. His face is a mix of scorn and pity. "You two are in trouble. This is bad."

I shrink down in my chair. Clive sits calmly, glancing at his watch as though he has a more pressing engagement. I can smell the stink of marijuana from his brown corduroy jacket. It's got leather on the elbows; he thinks if he puts it on, he's still a distinguished professor and people should treat him as such.

Simon handled all our investments at the bank, back when we still had them. Now, they've been liquidated like everything else, and we have come to him, cap in hand, to help us get out of the mess we're in.

My face is inflamed as though I have a fever and my stomach is in full churn. I never liked Simon; he was always a pompous ass, but he gave us good advice back when Clive had a great job and we had money to plan with. Now, I felt like the poor kid again at the back of the class, getting a lecture from the teacher about how I needed brand new shoes for gym class, not scuffed hand-me-downs — didn't they already send the note home?

"Look, we have the plan. We'll cut our expenses down, like we talked about. If we could just borrow a bit on the equity in the house to pay down some debt, that would really be helpful," I say, wanting to end this exercise in humiliation.

He made a 'tch' sound with his tongue, like he was scolding a cat. "I'd like to believe that, really. But it feels like groundhog day with you two. Didn't we have this discussion last year? I put you both on a plan to see your finances improve and you didn't do any of it."

"I assure you; we will do better this time. Won't we, my dear?" Clive straightens his tie and glances in my direction. I want to smack him in the head.

We?

I hear a roaring in my ears, like a train about to come straight through the tasteful, cream walls of the bank. I realize It's coming from inside me.

"...and you don't solve money problems with money," Simon is saying. "Obviously, there's something else going on here." He makes a little tent with his fingers, leans forward. His eyes seem voracious to me, like a vulture waiting to tear chunks of flesh from the roadkill.

"Perhaps it's a therapist you should speak to, not a financial advisor. Really see what's underneath all this financial turmoil. My neighbour's cousin is wonderful marriage counsellor, I could get the name—"

"The equity loan?" I cut him off, I've had enough. I already know the answer, and I'm not sitting through any more of his bullshit to get it.

"I'm afraid it won't be possible at this time. Your income is minuscule Darcey, and I don't see the potential for improvement. Now Clive's got some real earning potential. Just get yourself back in the saddle, old boy. Go back to academia, get another job as a professor and we'll make it happen." He actually winks.

I glance at Clive to see if he's hearing what I'm hearing, but he's grinning at Simon as if they were frat brothers about to clink beers.

"Understood and can do! It's been a pleasure chatting today." Clive is all brisk cheerfulness.

I push my way past him and I'm out the door in seconds. The fog is rolling in off the harbour, thick and cold. It covers me like damp cotton and suddenly, it's hard to breathe.

Why is everything so hard?

"That was very rude," Clive says to me when he finally catches up.