Chattel

Chapter One Robert In the space of seven months I had fallen from a place of relative happiness and contentment into a pit of stress and deep despair. From feeling on top of the world I had gone to feeling like a piece of dog-turd at the very bottom of the pile. First it had been my job, a mistake I made in the accounting division of a financial institution that shall remain nameless and resulted not only in my removal from the lucrative position propping up my comfortable life but ensured I would never find work in the same arena again. Bankers tend to be quite vengeful when it comes to errors that cost them money – and especially towards those functioning at the less stellar levels of the financial world. The second loss I suffered in my own personal whirlwind of domestic sewage was that of Erin. The love of my life who obviously hadn’t, and didn’t, feel the same way toward her husband of the past twenty-three years. A fact she had hidden well, given the two daughters we had created together who were, thankfully, out of the home and living in different areas of the UK following their respective professional careers. That and the long-term female lover who just happened to be a successful London solicitor and was “apart from the fact I love her”, she told me, “better placed to look after me.” Yeah, right. Until she hits hard times, that is. Then all bets – and vows – are off. Not sure which surprised me most. Was it the fact Erin could jettison me so easily and without a backward glance? Or was it the knowledge she had been carrying on a lesbian affair for the past eight years of our marriage? Talk about clueless. I mean, we hadn’t had any s*x to speak of for months. And still I suspected nothing. But then we had been married long enough to have two grown-up daughters, so s*x was bound to tail off a bit. Wasn’t it? How was I to know she was getting it elsewhere? And from which source? Mandy and Jessica when I spoke to them were as shocked as me, but they only had one mother, I was reminded, and they would not be cutting off from her. I hadn’t asked and hadn’t expected them to, but something in their tacit support and less than vehement criticism of my now former wife – at least once they had recovered from their initial surprise - had me wondering just how far away from the motherlode these particular apples had fallen. Erin, of course, being the big-hearted former wife she now was, had generously signed over the house she’d had me buy when things were going well. Good of her, you might think, until one took into account the re-mortgages I’d taken out for the girl’s education and re-location to their respective universities in Manchester and Edinburgh. If there was still twenty-thousand in equity on the property were I to sell it, I would have been surprised. You’re probably asking yourself why I didn’t. Sell it, I mean. After all, why would I want to stay in a home with all its memories and history? Don’t think I hadn’t given it some thought – at least until the decision was taken out of my hands by the Bank holding the mortgage. But the truth was I had worked hard to buy it in the first place. Selling it would simply tell the hateful b***h – which was how I saw her now, you won’t be surprised to hear – I couldn’t cope without her. To hell with that! The other problem was that I actually liked the place. We had bought it new back in 2003. A new build. One of two houses in a small gated development we thought would give us security as well as a modicum of security and a degree of luxury into the bargain. Four bedrooms, each of them en-suite, a spacious conservatory, a dining-room I could use as a study-c*m-office, and an integral garage. Situated in a two-property cul-de-sac off the high-street in the village of Eynsford in Kent, it was relatively easy for me to catch a train into Cannon Street for the walk to the Bank’s City HQ and there was a healthy choice of good schools for the girls. Our only neighbours on the development were a childless Indian couple in their mid-thirties with whom we were friendly but did not socialise. He – wouldn’t you know it, and without employing racial stereotyping – owned a small chain of mini-supermarkets, while she seemed content to remain at home and take care of things there. So much for my reasons in staying put. Or attempting the feat. Reasons that were made academic when my recent domestic pressures led to the mistake at the Bank and I was let go. That I was released into an already depressed job-market and could find nothing and nobody willing to even interview me, let alone offer a position, did not brighten my mood any, though the severance package my contract obliged the Bank to give me – despite my error that cost them money – did help. A small mercy that was soon exhausted. It was not long before I began to miss the odd monthly mortgage payment. And then missed some more. And a few more after that… Not to mention falling behind with my payments to credit-card companies and the providers of utilities such as gas and electricity. And, in case you were wondering, I was not eating too well either. And so there I sat. In a home empty of wife, children, and the furniture I had sold for buttons in an attempt to stave off the inevitable. In three days’ time I was to be asked/forced to evict myself from the premises and, for the first time in my life, be without a home. I was, as you may imagine, terrified. My name is Robert Samuels. I am a man of forty-four years and, at the time of my divorce, was still in reasonably good physical condition with a thick head of only slightly greying hair. I have also been told, and on more than one occasion, that I am nice looking. At the time in question, I was not only a divorced father of two, but an only child (still am) with no living family, other than a wife who had discarded me, daughters who appeared uninterested, and prospects that seemed non-existent. My home was shortly to be taken out from under me and I had no means of finding somewhere else to stay or friends or family willing to take me in. I was not to know it, of course, but some of the above was about to change. And not for the better.