Exorbitant Interest

As my family sat at the breakfast table, I took occasional glances at the latest edition of 'Snatch' magazine, that my twenty-one-year-old, older brother (by 2 years) Gary, who sat beside me was reading.

More intent was I, upon what the next glossy page of Gary's favourite Girly periodical would reveal, that I had only been half-listening to what Dad, who sat opposite me, had been saying. Still, it was obvious from his tone that he wasn't in the best of moods this morning.

When Gary turned to the next page of Snatch magazine, I was once again disappointed. The full-page, full-colour picture showed nothing below the ankles of the beautiful nude model ? or, to be more exact: no feet. But, as the title suggested, Snatch magazine focused their attentions upon another area of their girls' charms.

I listened more attentively, to Dad's despairing rant that, due to the ongoing banking crisis, was becoming a regular lament these days.

As I listened to him, Dad re-read his mail, and he bitterly bemoaned to us the latest of his ongoing difficulties in securing a Small Business Loan from his bank ? the Northern and General ? at a fair and reasonable, and affordable rate of interest.

Dad was sounding like a stuck record these days, I thought. Rather unkindly, I suppose. Certainly, with a lack of sympathy, understanding, and appreciation. It was, after all, my dad who was keeping a roof over my carefree and ungrateful head.

I suppose I am like many young people of my age: nineteen years old, and still living at home with Mum and Dad. Mum doing my washing, cooking my meals ? even still cleaning my room, I'm ashamed to admit. And because Mum and Dad are reasonably well off, due to Dad's modestly successful small business (a motor parts and accessories shop), they ask only a token sum from Gary and I for our keep.

But, to listen to Dad's voice of doom and gloom, on an almost daily basis, perhaps Gary and I might soon be in for a rude shock. If affordable credit availability didn't improve soon, to keep Dad's small business viable, Gary and I might suddenly find ourselves having to cough up more for our keep. And then we'd have less cash in our pockets to spend on girls, and other essentials.

Dad was ranting and raving in his, by now, all too familiar refrain. In his agitation, he waved his latest letter from the Northern and General Bank at us over the breakfast table. "The manager of the Northern and General, Miss Harding, has knocked me back again! She's refused me a Small Business Loan ? that is, Miss Harding won't give me one at a reasonable rate of interest, that I can afford to repay. It is absolutely vital that I secure another Small Business Loan soon, if I am to have any hope ? any hope at all ? of keeping the business going ... and, of keeping a roof over all of our heads, too, come to that," Dad gloomily informed us all, for the umpteenth time.

I also, had received an unpleasant, harshly toned, and decidedly peremptory letter that morning, from Miss Harding, the manager of the Northern and General Bank.

Miss Harding had made an appointment ? no, more like a summons, really ? for me to see her this afternoon, at 3 p.m. Miss Harding had not asked me to phone her; in the event that this was not a convenient time, or that I might have trouble in arranging time off from work, or that there might be some other problem, that would make it difficult for me to attend at the stipulated time. No. She had simply instructed me to be there. Ordering me to 'appear' before her. As if she was a Judge, who was going to ... sentence me.

And, as luck would have it, I was working the 2 p.m. ? 10 p.m. shift this week. And Miss Harding's letter, in giving me such short notice, robbed me of a chance to try and swap this afternoon's shift with one of my workmates' shifts. So I was going to lose the whole shift!

Miss Harding's decidedly brusquely worded letter (or rather, summons) was concerning my late monthly repayment of my Personal Loan from the Northern