The pile of three month’s mail filled the plastic carrier bag like one a postman (alright post person) would log for a typical route of three long streets. At first site, I suspected my wife had not bothered to sieve through the junk and only bring the relevant bits. Luckily, there were other empty plastic bags which I hastily fashioned into a bin to separate and discard the ubiquitous unsolicited correspondence.

There were some offering credit cards, loans and a smattering of solicitations to sponsor some cat, dog or bird from cruelty and neglect. No surprise there. Most of them came in white envelopes, but so did the one from the banks, troubled and troubling.

With 70% of the heap conveniently in the bin earmarked for disposal I got stuck in to sieving through the rest with avid enthusiasm. I had been cut off from the rest of the world a good thirteen weeks my children and broken up and returned to school and I had missed all that. One sure way I could catch up with society was to read the mail they had to offer. Statements I knew by sight, I had no worry about that, so I kept them for last.

Enquiries I had made about other mundane matters I also shelved for later, they had very little promise; receipts, small packets and statements from my mail order foraging, I also kept aside. I wanted to get to the real thing. If you have been following this blog, you would know what I was after.

Finally I found it. It was a brown A 5 envelope and judging by the postal stamp on it was sent a good 5 weeks ago. I was surprised my wife had not bothered to open it. It was addressed to both of us. But then again so were the bank statements and numerous other bills which she had not cared to sniff at them. My hands trembling, I ripped open the letter and pulled out a 3 page stapled document. Typically such letters always begin with an introduction, the kind that tells you what you already probably knew even before you opened the letter. And then I looked at the next paragraph, the one that tells you a decision has been made. But I didn’t’ find a clue about what was being said. Were we approved? We were just not cut out to be the fostering types. I read on.

I was onto the third page and suddenly I had a list of re-constructions or re-application. Hold on, what’s going on here? I went on, plodding through a maze of advice and unwanted and probably unhelpful information and more names and numbers to boot. I looked at my wife; she was nonchalant to my quest for answers. So I flipped to the other pages right to the concluding paragraph. That must have been some give away.

Having read that and not finding anything in the semblance of joy, I went back to paragraph 1, page 1 and read it like a comprehension exercise. Then it dawned on me why. By the end of paragraph 5 I knew things had not been well while I was under. I looked at my wife again for answers; the expression on her face was one, looking for answers too.

“What’s going on here? What happened?” I stammered.

“How could you do this to us, Frank?” she asked. “How could you?”

While I didn’t know what I had done, I assumed I had done something while I was unconscious. It wasn’t my fault I was stabbed and left for dead, but apart from that what else could I have done?

“Why? What have I done? “I blurted.

“We’ve got no credit anywhere. I was at sea what she was mumbling about. “How are we going to live? We are going to loose the house!”

And that’s when it hit me. I had seen statements and kept them aside, believing all is well. I had seen bills, knowing that they were all covered by the direct debits and standing orders. But the one thing that could tip these furious drains on my resources on a balance to my favour was missing. Or if I were to be completely frank, (yes I like the pun) just 1. I opened the first statement. It said we were well overdrawn, but just then I saw the second and the third. The other correspondences from them were letters asking me to respond within days; days which had built up into months. And then I saw the court order.

“Why…” my voice trailed off. The court order was 1 month old and the date of hearing was gone 8 days with the appeal only a couple of weeks to lapse. Suddenly, the haze began to make sense, even though it shouldn’t do so.

“Where is the rest of my payslip?” I asked her.

“What payslip?” she replied “How can you have a payslip without a job?”

“What are you talking about?”

“How do you expect us to manage? How can we feed three children and pay the mortgage with my salary? How could you do this? How could you resign?”

“What are you taking about? Why would I resign my job? I’ve been here all this time. How could I-“

And then she showed me.