12March
Tonight Im writing this down because the day has been a strange mix of past ghosts and new resolve.
My exhusband, Graham, once threw Clara out of our flat with the two kids, leaving them to sleep on a cold stairwell. A year later he showed up at my door, drunk on desperation, begging for cash.
Hey, lovebird, his voice crackled through the speaker, sounding as though hed been chewing on the same stale joke for months. Didnt expect to hear from me?
Clara froze, a bottle of perfume still clutched in her hand. The faint scent of sandalwood and ambition that usually filled the walkin wardrobe suddenly felt as heavy as the damp air in that stairwell a year ago.
What do you want, Graham? she asked, keeping her voice steady despite the muffled laughter of Mike and Poppy drifting from the childrens playroom.
She forced herself not to glance back at their giggles.
Straight to the point, then. No how are you? or whats new?we both have two children, remember?
He smiled. The smile scraped at my nerves like a splinter in glass. For twelve months I hadnt heard that grin, that tone that tried to claim ownership of her very life.
Im listening, he said.
Clara set the bottle on the marble bench. Her fingers trembled, but her voice stayed firm.
Money.
Short, plain, no apologies, no preamble. He hadnt changed.
Youre serious?
My jokes are dead, Graham snapped, his anger finally surfacing. I have serious problems, Clara. And you? Living the highsociety life, married to a property magnate, a headline in every paper?
She stared at her reflection, seeing a woman in a silk robe, hair styled as if shed just stepped out of a glossy magazine, not the exhausted mother whod once been shoved out with two suitcases of childrens clothes.
Is it a problem for your new sugardad to see his exwifes former husband begging for a bit of cash?
My business collapsed, you know that. I put money into crypto and it vanished. I need cash to settle debts with some very serious people.
Clara imagined Graham sprawled in a cheap chair, that same cocky smile, confident that shed crumble again under the weight of his guilt.
You tossed us onto the street in winter, Graham. Remember what Poppy said when we were sitting at the station?
Spare me the melodrama, he replied. Im not asking for a manor. £60,000. A pittance for you. Pay for my silence if youll have it.
Silence about what?
About the price you paid for this sweet life. Do you think your fatherinlaw will be pleased if I reveal a few spicy details from our past?
The wardrobe door opened and David stepped in, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his expression calm but his eyes asking, Everything alright?
Clara glanced at him, at his steady concern, and at Grahams hissing through the speaker. Two worlds clashed: the one shed built, and the one he tried to tear down.
So, Clara, Graham persisted, will you help a poor relative? If he has to crawl on his knees a year from now begging for cash, his business is really in the ditch.
She gave David a slow nod, indicating that she had the situation under control. For the first time a cold, sharp edge entered her voice.
Where and when?
They arranged to meet at a bland café in the local shopping centre loud pop music, the smell of popcorn, teenagers laughing. It was the perfect spot for a scream that no one would hear.
Claras habit was to tackle problems where she least wanted drama.
Graham was already at the table, a cheaplooking suit trying to pass for expensive, stirring his drink lazily.
Youre late, he said without even looking up. Its rude to keep a father waiting.
Clara placed her bag on the table, gripping it like a lifeline.
I wont give you £60,000, Graham.
He finally met her gaze, a flash of open envy flickering as he noted her dress, the ring on her finger. Changed your mind? I could just call your David now, get his number no problem.
I can offer you £300,000 and a job. David has connections, he can help.
He laughed loudly, throwing his head back. A few nearby diners glanced over.
Work? You think Ill crawl around interviews like a schoolboy? Youve forgotten who I am, Clara. Im a businessman. I need startup capital, not handouts.
His voice hardened, leaning forward. You sit here all proper. Do you think I dont know how you got your husband? That Im the monster and youre the helpless lamb? Remember when you called me a week before meeting him, crying on the phone, begging him to come back?
Each word was a precise blow, hitting at Claras deepest fear that David would see her as the broken, dependent woman she once was.
She silently pulled out a checkbook, still hoping for a compromise, still trying to settle things nicely.
Ill write you a cheque for £10,000, she said, her voice hoarse. Thats the most I can do. Take it and disappear from our lives.
She slid the paper across.
Graham seized it with two fingers, examined it as if admiring a jewel, then tore it into four pieces with deliberate pleasure.
You think youve humbled me? he hissed. £10,000? Thats your thanks for the years I wasted on you? For the children?
He flung the torn bits onto the glossy surface like dead butterflies.
£60,000, Clara. Either pay up, or I wont disappear. Ill become your curse constant calls, messages, picking up the kids after school, telling them who their real dad is. You have a week.
He tossed a crumpled note onto the table and left without looking back.
Clara sat motionless, watching the shredded cheque. The music blared, people laughed, but inside her something hardened like stone. Fear turned into a cold, iron resolve. The attempt at a settlement had failed, humiliatingly and finally.
The week stretched like a slow torture. She barely slept, flinching at every ring. She searched for an exit, but the sticky fear held her fast. She feared not just for herself, but for the life David had given her and the children.
On the seventh day, she picked up the kids from art class. Poppy was unusually quiet. At home, as she tucked her daughter into bed, she saw a bright candy on a stick in Poppys hand one she hadnt bought.
Where did you get that, Poppy?
The little girls eyes widened with fear. Uncle gave it to me. He said hes my real dad and hell soon take us away from bad dad David. Mum, wont we go with Uncle?
Something clicked loudly inside Clara. Fear and panic vanished, replaced by a cold emptiness that quickly filled with something else a hard, unyielding resolve.
He had the audacity to use her children against her. No more.
That evening, when David came home from work, he was met by a different woman eyes dry, stare steady and hard.
We need to talk, she said, pushing him into the office chair without any preamble.
She recounted everything: how Graham had thrown her out with the kids, how shed slept in the stairwell, the humiliation, the lingering terror that the past might shatter the present, and how hed approached Poppy.
David listened in silence, his face turning to stone with each sentence. When she finished, he asked simply, What do you want to do?
I want him gone. Forever. Not the way he expects. I wont pay him. I want him to realise he made the biggest mistake of his life.
She looked straight into his eyes and for the first time saw not only love and care, but full endorsement of the darker side of herself.
Ten minutes later she dialed Grahams number. Her hands no longer trembled.
I agree, she said evenly. £60,000. Noon tomorrow. Ill send the address. Come yourself.
Graham snorted smugly into the handset.
Finally, a clever one, he muttered.
She hung up. The address she would send wasnt a bank or a restaurant; it was the headquarters of David Ortons property empire.
Graham entered the glass tower with the swagger of a victor. He straightened his shoulders in his best suit, admiring the cold luxury of the marble lobby. He was walking on his money, on his version of justice.
He was escorted to the fortieth floor, into a conference room with floortoceiling windows that made the city look like a toy set.
Clara was already there, seated at the head of a long table, immaculate in a dark navy dress. David stood nearby, and a sternlooking security chief lingered a few steps back.
Sit down, Graham, Clara said, indicating the chair opposite her.
His confidence wavered a little; he had expected a terrified Clara with a suitcase of cash.
Whats this then? A family council? he sneered, glancing at David. I thought wed made a deal.
You made a deal with my family, David replied, his gaze unwavering. This is something else.
Clara slid a thick folder across to him.
£60,000, Graham. You wanted it. Handing it over directly would be too boring. Weve decided to invest it in you, as a sort of venture.
Graham stared at the folder, baffled.
Whats that supposed to mean?
Its your business, said the security chief, his face as hard as stone. Or rather, whats left of it. Debts, a couple of pending fraud cases that are about to surface. Very risky assets.
He flipped through pages of legal documents, account statements, photos of shady meetings. His complexion changed.
Weve cleared your most urgent debts, Clara continued. The ones that would have waited for a court verdict. Consider it a gift. In return
David placed several sheets and a pen on the table.
you sign this. Full renunciation of parental rights and a threeyear employment contract.
Graham burst into a hysterical laugh.
Youve lost your mind? Working for you?
Not for you, David clarified. For one of our subcontractors. In Yorkshire, as a foreman on a construction site. Decent pay, solid conditions. Youll be back in three years, debtfree and with a clean record.
Out with you then! Graham shouted, jumping to his feet. Ill ruin you all! Ill tell everyone!
The security chief tapped the folder. Youll tell them after these papers land on a detectives desk. Your words will be worth less than this paper.
Graham scanned the faces around the table: Claras calm; Davids steel; the chiefs indifference. No doubt, no chance. He was caught.
He sank back into the chair, the bravado draining like cheap gold leaf. A trembling hand lifted the pen.
When the final signature was inked, Clara rose, walked around the table, and stopped directly in front of him.
You once said if a man crawls on his knees a year from now asking for money, his affairs are hopeless, she reminded him softly.
Youre not on your knees, Graham. The floor is just too pricey here. Youve got your startup capital. Begin a new life.
She turned and left without looking back. David followed, laying a hand briefly on her shoulder.
In the expansive conference room, under the indifferent gaze of the security chief, the defeated Graham remained seated the winner who had lost everything.
Lesson:Never let old debts dictate your future; integrity and a clear conscience are worth far more than any pound youre offered.
