‘I think you must have made a mistake,’ she said, raising her voice a little. A mistake, that’s what this was. A customer with a similar name, maybe. It would be sorted, they’d apologise, then they’d all laugh about it. It would be a story they could tell for years to come to entertain their friends. ‘We don’t have a mortgage on our home, it was cleared a few years ago.’

Roberts looked back to the screen then slowly shook his head. ‘Six months ago, you remortgaged it.’

Not a mistake then. Molly stood, paced the room from wall to wall and sat again. ‘How much for?’

‘Two hundred and fifty thousand.’

A quarter of a million pounds. Molly fought to keep her expression neutral. ‘And you say we’re in arrears?’

‘Two months. A letter was sent after the first repayment was missed.’ He hesitated, then shook his head. ‘You are obviously unaware of all of this, Mrs Chatwell but’ – he waved toward the computer screen – ‘we have the remortgage application on file, you have signed it.’

‘Yes, yes, of course, I remember now.’ She managed a shaky smile that she held despite his eyebrows rising in disbelief. She had to keep it together until she got out of there. ‘So how much are the arrears?’

‘You took it out over ten years. The repayments are three thousand a month. Currently, you are six thousand in arrears.’ He held up both hands. ‘The interest rate on the arrears are high, Mrs Chatwell, you’d be advised to clear it as soon as possible.’

Her eyes widened. Between credit cards and the arrears, they owed almost 50K, so she wondered how they were supposed to do that. They had used almost all their savings to pay for Freya and Remi’s university fees. She remembered being surprised that Jack had insisted they paid the full amount up front. Now, she knew why. At least the children wouldn’t suffer for his stupidity, or for hers. Because, of course she’d signed the damn remortgage application.

She remembered distinctly; she was in the middle of cooking when he had come in with a sheaf of papers.

‘I’m changing our insurance,’ he’d said, tapping the papers with his fingers. ‘I want to make sure Remi and Freya’s belongings are covered while they’re away.’

She’d been touched that he’d thought of it. ‘I’ll sign later,’ she’d said, lifting fingers that stank of raw onion. But he’d insisted, and she’d given in and signed each page beside the X he’d so considerately marked. And no, of course, she hadn’t read what she’d signed.