Death and Tea at Three

2 Harold and the Lady in the Dark Blue Suit

It began with the turn of a handle. Had Harold known things would change so drastically, he would never have opened the door. He would have retreated into even greater solitude, living off whatever supplies he had at home. This, however, was no longer an option. The door was already opening.

Harold looked out upon the world, and there stood a woman dressed in a dark blue suit. Her brown hair was tied back tightly into a bun. She looked quite professional and important. This surprised Harold, and quite frankly should have been his first warning that things were about to change. He was not used to having people like her knock on his door. The only people who knocked on his door these days were salespeople and Jehovah's Witness representatives - both of whom Harold had no time for.

Harold stood silently, staring at the woman.

After a beat, Carol reached out her hand. "Hello, I'm Carol from Imperial Bank. How are you today?"

Harold shook it reluctantly, still unsure of her purpose. If she attempted to sell anything to him, Harold would not have it. Harold kept one hand on the door, just in case he needed to shut it quickly in dramatic fashion.

"Are you Harold Francis?" Carol asked.

How she knew his name, Harold was unsure. But this was not a good sign. He immediately prepared himself for the worst. "Yes, I'm Harold. Can I help you?"

He didn't really want to help her. Quite frankly, he wanted to tell her to get lost and leave him alone. He wanted to tell her that he had more important things to consider, like his whether life was worth living. He didn't want to waste whatever energy he had left entertaining some pompous snoot.

"I'm here because you have an outstanding mortgage payment," Carol said.

"Pardon?" Harold replied.

"Yes, it says here that you are a few months behind on your mortgage payment." Carol shuffled through the papers in her hand and showed Harold a document confirming his outstanding debt.

Harold couldn't understand what she was talking about. He had paid off his mortgage some time ago. He was always very careful about paying bills immediately, and in his younger years, he had liked to brag about his credit rating to those willing to listen – and at times, to those who weren't. And for those currently wondering what that rating might be, it was over eight-hundred.

"I don't understand. I paid off my mortgage quite some time ago."

Carol seemed flustered, as if she had not expected Harold to challenge her. She shuffled her pile again, pulled out another piece of paper, and handed it to Harold. "Yes, it says here you remortgaged your home four years ago."

Harold slowly took the paper from Carol and began to scan it. Everything Carol had told him was true. He had remortgaged his home four years ago. There was no way he could deny that.

Four years ago. The words floated through his mind like smoke. It was just over four years ago that Julia had become ill. Harold had known Julia's fight was a losing one, but he'd spared no expense in her treatment and comfort. This act of love – or desperation, whatever you chose to call it, had drained his finances. When he'd remortgaged his home, he hadn't thought too much of it. After all, the woman he loved was dying and he didn't think he would live much longer either. Unfortunately for Harold, he was still quite healthy to this day, and very much alive.

"I feel like the bank should have sent me a notice or something to warn me about this. How can you just come up to my door and demand payment? You're supposed to be a bank, not the Mafioso!" Harold pleaded.

"Uh, yes, it says here that we've sent you quite a few notices in the mail, which you wrote down as your preferred means of communication."

"You did?"

"Yes. Actually, we've sent you one per month for the past six months. It says here we even tried to call you. To be precise, we called you three times this month alone."

Harold looked at his mailbox. He couldn't lie to himself. He had cut himself off from the outside world, and it was very plausible that phone calls and mail had gone unnoticed. He looked back to Carol. It was the middle of winter, but a bead of sweat dripped off his brow.

"If those forms of communication aren't ideal, we could always switch to email or even text messages," Carol said.

"Email? Text messages? I'm not a child. I don't know how to use those bloody things. The mail is fine. Showing up at my door isn't. And to be clear, I don't quite trust anyone that shows up to my door demanding money. But if I did owe you money," Harold muttered. "How much would I owe exactly?"

"Eighty-five thousand dollars."

Harold swallowed hard. His leg began to jitter. "What if I scramble up thirty thousand and we call it even?" he offered.

"No, it doesn't work like that."

"Okay, I might be able to do thirty-five thousand, but that's my final offer."

Carol's professional demeanor was fading. "Sir, this isn't a negotiation. You owe a specific amount, and that amount needs to be paid in full. You don't get to choose how much you want to pay"

"Dammit! I know, you silly woman. I... wasn't expecting this. I didn't plan for this. You need to give me a fucking minute."

Carol tugged on her suit and straightened. "I would appreciate it, sir, if you refrained from cursing. I understand this is a lot to process..."

"You... you don't understand anything."

Harold fidgeted awkwardly. He felt like a lost child. His breath became heavy, and his heartbeat quickened. Surely his health was finally on the decline. Perhaps he would die right here, and this nightmare would be over. He stared at Carol, who stared back with an empty look of her own.

"I don't have that kind of money." Harold's eyes lowered, unable to make eye-contact.

"Then we'll have to find another way to get the money from you. I'm sorry, sir, but that's what happens," Carol said with authority.

Harold's heart sank lower than it had for three years. All morning, he had been wishing to die. Now, the last bit of light seeped from his life. If only he had ended it all before the kettle went off this morning.