The Day the Bank Tried to Say No by Sally Evans
It was the day we were to move. Our offer had been accepted, the bank had promised a bridging loan, the buyers of our former house were practically in place. Our books had all been packed into the lorry. Most of the furniture lay waiting for the second load. The cat, highly suspicious of all the activity, was shut in a room with a litter tray. My husband phoned from town.
“Listen carefully,” he said. “The bank says we can only have the bridging loan if we put down a deposit of five thousand pounds. “
“What?” I said.
He repeated the incredible statement.
“How much have you got?” I said.
“Under a thousand. Plus what's in my wallet. I've called my best customers, and I'm practically giving them bindings, to raise a bit more.”
“But we just spent three thousand pounds on the bindery!” I said. “Everything was settled, and we got the chance!”
“Just listen,” he said. “We have to go through with this now. I want you to phone Big Jim (an antique dealer we know) and get him to call round at the house and buy the garden seat - and any of the furniture he will buy. Tell him it's a crisis and it’s urgent. Then phone me back.”
I called Big Jim. Luckily, he was in and agreed to come round. He knew we had a Victorian porcelain garden seat, or he probably wouldn’t have come. The garden seat was our pride and joy. It was a magnificent two-seater in Scottish pottery, with criss-cross fake branches and little birds on the sides. It was the centrepiece of our small town garden and everyone admired it.
Big Jim turned the garden seat over to inspect the underside, and offered me seven hundred pounds.
“Is there anything else you want,” I said. He looked at my mother's neatly carpentered bookcase, a chest of drawers and something else small; I've forgotten what it was.
Eight hundred pounds altogether, he said. I knew that in the circumstances, eight hundred was a generous offer.
“No more?” I asked.
“No.”
So I accepted, and thanked him very much. He sent a van round with packing for the garden seat. The van came so quickly it was probably round the corner all the time. I phoned my husband.
“I've got eight hundred pounds for the furniture,” I said. “Here, in my mitt. Will the bank take two thousand for the deposit?”
“No they won't,” he said. “I’ve tried twisting their arm. My guy's sorry but it’s their head office that's stipulated this. Now you have to do something else. You have to phone your brothers and ask them to lend you fifteen hundred pounds each. Remember it's an emergency. And they have to let you have it today.”
I quailed. But my husband was right. Family is family at a moment like this.
I first tried James. He found it hard to credit my story but then he said, “I can let you have a thousand. David might be able to help you; you'll have to get in touch with him. What is your bank number? I'll see to it now.”
Time was ticking by. I phoned David. He was out. I left a message, asking him to phone me very urgently. I wondered what to do next, or what order I should do it in. My husband phoned and I told him about James.
“Good,” he said. “We have two hours bank time left. I've got our van man here. He can hang about a bit, he'll go back for what's left of the furniture, and he thinks it's funny.” I tried not to not laugh.
“I'll get back off the line,” I said. “David might ring.”
David did ring. “You were lucky,” he said. “We were just going away for the weekend, you could easily have missed us. What was it about?”
I knew at once it was going to work out. David knew we were in mid-move and had guessed it would be money, even though I had never asked either brother to help me before. When I had told him he said, “Right. Two thousand pounds. It should come through tonight. I'll want it back, though.”
“You'll get it back,” I said.
It did come through. Both my brothers had come up trumps, and added to the money from the furniture, my husband's afternoon sales efforts, and the bit we had to start with, the bank's condition was met. I drove direct to the new place with the cat in a basket in the back of the car, not helped by the cat's insistence on mewing "Go Away!" audibly and plaintively throughout the journey. I met hubby and the van man, and there was another ten minute wait in a lawyer's office next door to our new property, as his phone call confirmed the transactions. We were home.
