Two days later, Claire called the bank from the car park behind the library. She chose the car because Colin had started inexplicably drifting into rooms whenever she was on the phone, always pretending to look for something harmless: a charger, scissors, the spare key to the meter cupboard.
The woman from the bank was polite until she opened Claire’s file. Then her voice changed. She could not share everything over the phone, she said, but someone had requested access to discuss Claire’s accounts. Claire sat very still, watching rain gather on the windscreen. “Was it approved?” she asked. “Not yet,” the woman said. “We need additional confirmation from you.”
Claire said no to everything. No access. No changes. No new cards. When she returned home, Colin was standing by the front window with his hands in his pockets. “Long queue at the library?” he asked. Claire looked at his face and lied for the first time. “Very long,” she said.