Pavlo Asked for My Bank Card at Breakfast — I Trusted Him for Twenty Years, Until I Heard His Friday Night Phone Call to Mum About the “Naive Country Wife” Who’d Never Suspect He Was Throwing a Fancy Party With My Money

Author Walton MerrittReading 9 minViews 1

On Wednesday, over breakfast, Paul asked me for my bank card. His tone was just right concerned, but not desperate.

Kate, theres an urgent business expense. Theyve blocked my card, just for two days, could you help me out?

I wiped my hands on my apron, fetched my card from my purse, and handed it to him. He took it with quick fingers, almost as if I might change my mind, and kissed the top of my head.

Thank you, love, always my lifesaver.

Twenty years of marriage had taught me not to ask unnecessary questions. I trusted him. Or, at least, I pretended to.

On Friday evening, as I was ironing the bedding, I overheard Paul on the phone in the next room. The door was ajar, and his voice was light, cheerful nothing like the way he spoke to me.

Mum, dont worry. Ive got everything sorted. The restaurants booked, table for six, lovely menu cocktails, sparkling wine, all your favourites. No, she doesnt know a thing. Why tell her? I said wed celebrate quietly at home, just the family.

The iron went still in my hand.

My clueless wife wont suspect a thing. Simple country girl, you remember, Mum shes from a tiny village. Twenty years in London and still a village mouse. Yes, Im paying with her card, obviously. Mines blocked, but itll be a real do at The Crowned Swan! She wouldnt set foot in a place like that, dont worry. Shell stay home, watching the telly.

I turned off the iron, walked to the kitchen, poured myself a glass of water and drank it in one go. My hands didnt tremble. Inside, it felt as if someone had scooped out everything that made me alive, leaving a cold emptiness.

Clueless wife… Country girl… Her card…

I put the glass down by the sink and looked out at the darkening evening beyond the window. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps I was that trusting and plain, as timid as a mouse. Only, even mice, when cornered, know how to bite.

The next morning, Saturday, I rang the bank and blocked my card. I explained Id lost it and was worried someone might try to use it.

From there, I went across to the south end of town, back to the area where Id grown up.

Michael opened the door in his slippers, eyebrows arching in surprise.

Kate? My word, its been years! Come in, dont just stand there.

We sat in his small kitchen, drinking tea. I told him everything, briefly, not one word more than needed. He listened quietly, without interrupting.

I see, he nodded, Listen, Kate, you saved my family years ago, remember? When my dad was out of work and you brought over potatoes, said they were spare. But we all knew you gave us your last. Now its my turn. The dinners Monday evening, yeah?

The banquet starts at nine. Ill call you once theyve ordered and are ready to pay. Ill square things with the waiter.

On Monday night, I put on my deep red dress, the one Id sewn three years ago but never had reason to wear. I did my hair, put on makeup, and looked in the mirror. Not a mouse…

The phone rang at half past ten. Michael.

Come down, Kate. Theyve just asked for the bill. Pauls about to pay with your card.

The taxi got me to The Crowned Swan in twenty minutes. Lights glittered in stained glass, gold everywhere. Michael met me in the lobby, nodded towards the dining room.

Third table from the window.

The place was full of laughter and clinking glasses. I walked, slow and steady, among the tables, and there they were.

Paul at the head of the table, beside his mother Doris in her brown suit, his sister Mary with her husband. The table littered with empty plates, glasses, the last scrapings of dessert.

A waiter approached with the bill. Without glancing at the figure, Paul whipped my card from his pocket and set it down with the certainty of a man spending his own money.

Fantastic service, he boomed across the table. See, Mum? I told you Id throw you a proper do. Not just a sad little family meal, but a real occasion.

Doris nodded with pride, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

My clever boy. Now this is what I call going all out. Not like some, who do nothing but sew away and hide in corners.

Mary giggled. Paul grinned, clearly pleased with himself.

Well, Mum, you know me. Only the best for you. Glad I have the means.

The waiter took the card and went to the payment terminal. Once, twice he frowned at the screen. Returned.

Sorry, sir, it wont go through. The cards been blocked.

Paul paled.

Hows it blocked? Please, try again.

Ive tried three times. Its invalid.

I stepped up to the table. Doris spotted me first, her face lengthening in shock.

Kate? Paul stammered, leaping up, What… what are you doing here?

I looked at him, calm.

Ive come to the party. The one you organised on my behalf. Without me.

The silence around the table was so complete I could hear the delicate clinking from the next table over.

Kate, listen, this is all a misunderstanding, Paul began, reaching out, but I withdrew.

No, Paul, it isnt. This is a lie. I heard every word you said to your mother on Friday. Every word.

About the country girl, about how Id never suspect, about me sat home watching telly while you all feasted here.

Mary stared down at her plate. Doris gripped her napkin as if it might save her.

So you were eavesdropping? Paul accused, flushed with anger. Spying on me?

I was ironing the bedding while you boasted loud enough for all of North London to hear, telling your mum how youd pulled the wool over my eyes. That isnt eavesdropping, Paul. Thats you not even bothering to hide. Thought the mouse wouldnt bite, did you?

Paul tried to gather himself.

Fine, alright, I admit it. But lets not do this here, for everyones sake. Lets go home and talk quietly.

No, well talk here. I blocked the card on Saturday. Reported it stolen, because youd taken it under false pretences to spend on things I was never told about. So now, dear husband, youll have to settle the bill yourself. In cash.

Michael stepped up, arms folded.

If youre having trouble paying, he said evenly, Ill have to call the police. The bill waits for no one.

Pauls complexion turned from white to scarlet.

Kate, do you realise what youre doing? Youre humiliating me!

Me? I gave a grim smile. You brought this on yourself, Paul. The moment you decided your wife from the sticks didnt even deserve honesty.

Doris shot to her feet, finger jabbing at me.

How dare you speak to him that way?! Youre nothing! Worthless! Youd be no one without him!

I looked her in the eye for a long moment, then said softly,

Maybe. But now, Im someone who doesnt have to pretend. And thats far better than being someones naïve little wife.

For the next twenty minutes, they scrambled for cash. Paul emptied his wallet, Doris her handbag, Mary and her husband scouring their pockets for every last pound. Whispering, counting, gathering coins. The waiter stood by, stony-faced. Other diners glanced our way, intrigued.

I stood and watched it all unravel the showy displays, all the pretense, every last lie.

When they finally scraped together enough, I pulled an envelope from my handbag and set it in front of Paul.

Divorce papers. Read them at home.

I turned and walked away, back tall, steps strong. Michael held the door for me and whispered,

Hold your head high, Kate.

The night greeted me with a sharp wind, and inside me welled something warm and light: freedom.

The divorce came through three months later. Paul rang, apologised, but I ignored him. I got half the proceeds from the flat.

A year on, he called again.

Kate, I was a fool. Mum lives with me now and nags me all hours, Ive lost my job. Can we go back to how it was?

No, Paul.

I hung up, never thought of him again.

Sometimes I remember that night in the restaurant. Walking through the room, looking into Pauls eyes, laying the envelope on the table. I realise that wasnt the end. It was the beginning.

Not long ago, I ran into Mary at the supermarket. She turned away. I didnt call after her. Why would I? We live in different worlds now.

Yesterday, Michael came by.

So, Kate, any regrets?

I looked out the window. Spring, sunlight, all of life waiting.

Not for a second, Mike.

He nodded.

Right.

Regrets for the things you never did, not the things you did.

Natalie, You’ve Been Gone Five Years—You Never Cared How I Was or What Became of Me Natalie and Ben had lived together for over five years. Ben wasn’t rolling in money—he was just an ordinary labourer earning a modest wage. Natalie always dreamed of a comfortable, or better yet, luxurious life, so whenever she met someone wealthier than her husband, she was secretly thrilled. Then one day, Natalie’s luck seemed to change—she was noticed by a wealthy businessman who promised her the world. Taken in by his smooth talk, she left her struggling husband to start a new, glamorous life. Ben was shattered by his wife’s decision. He begged her to stay, promising to work harder, switch jobs, make more money—anything to keep her happy. But Natalie remained firm. She was enchanted with visions of sailing on white yachts and shopping in Europe’s finest boutiques—things her poor husband could never provide. No vow of love or grand promise could sway her. Five years later, at thirty-two, Natalie’s rich benefactor lost interest in her—he was now surrounded by younger, more enticing women. He told her she was too argumentative and demanding, and cast her aside. With nowhere to go in London, no work experience, and no means to support herself, Natalie decided to crawl back to her ex-husband. Convinced that his vow of everlasting love meant he would be waiting for her, she set out for their former home. As she approached the door, she heard a rustle inside. The door opened, and a stranger holding a small girl appeared. “Darling, I’ve told you before not to open the door on your own,” the woman said to the girl in her arms. Then she turned to Natalie, “Can I help you?” Natalie stood frozen on the doorstep. “I’m looking for Ben. Is he home?” she stammered, lost for words. “Ben, there’s someone here for you! What’s your name?” called the stranger, then glanced back at their visitor. “Natalie!” Ben exclaimed in surprise when he appeared. Turning to the woman, he said, “Sweetheart, go back inside. I need to talk for a minute.” “Who was that woman?” Natalie asked, staring after the young woman with her daughter. “That’s my wife, Olivia, and in her arms is our daughter, Maddy,” Ben replied. “When did you get married? You have a daughter? Ben, you swore eternal love to me—you promised you’d never love anyone as much as you loved me!” “So many years have passed since that day! At first, I was heartbroken, but then I realised life goes on after you. Then I met Olivia—and I fell in love. She made me happy. She gave me a daughter.” “And what about me?” “Natalie, you’ve been gone for five years, and you never once cared how I was or what became of me. You left for someone else’s money, thinking only of comfort and a wealthy life. Maybe we were never rich, but what you did can’t be justified. Now you come back? What did you expect—that I’d be here waiting for you all this time?” “I was foolish! I love you!” “Natalie, enough of this charade. Please just go—I don’t need you and I don’t want to see you. Your fancy man threw you out so now you come crawling back? Honestly, it’s disgusting. Just go.” Natalie broke down in bitter tears, devastated that no one wanted her, while Ben was finally glad he’d managed to forget her and, in his own way, get his revenge.

“Well, Ginger, shall we head out then…” muttered Val, adjusting the makeshift lead fashioned from an old piece of rope. He zipped his ancient coat up to his chin and shivered. February that year was vicious—slush, stinging wind, cold that cut right through you. Ginger—a scruffy ginger mongrel with mottled fur and one cloudy eye—had walked into Val’s life a year ago. Val had spotted the battered and starving stray by the bins on his way back from the night shift at the steelworks. The poor animal’s left eye was milky with an old injury. A shout sliced through the evening. Val recognised the sneer—it was Steve ‘Squint’, the local twenty-something would-be tough guy. Around him loitered three teenage lads—his ‘crew.’ “Out for a walk, are we, gramps?” Steve jeered. “Just walking,” Val replied curtly, eyes down. “Oi, mate, you paying tax to walk that mutt?” one of the kids laughed. “See, he’s proper ugly—look at that dodgy eye!” A rock whistled past and struck Ginger’s side. The mongrel yelped and pressed close to Val’s shin. “Leave it,” Val said quietly, but his voice had an edge as sharp as glass. “Oooh, Percy the Tinkerer’s found his tongue!” Steve swaggered closer. “You remember whose patch this is? Dogs walk here if I say so. Got it?” Val tensed. Army training taught him to handle trouble swiftly and decisively—but that was thirty years ago. Now he was just a weary, retired fitter who didn’t want any more hassle. “C’mon, Ginger,” Val turned for home. “Yeah, you better run!” Steve called after him. “Next time I’ll finish off your freak for good!” Val lay awake all night, the confrontation twisting in his mind. The next day, sleet drummed on the windows. Val delayed the walk, but Ginger waited by the door with such faithful insistence he couldn’t refuse. “All right, all right. Just a quick one.” They steered clear of the usual haunts, but Steve’s gang were nowhere to be seen—probably hiding from the foul weather. Val was just beginning to relax when Ginger stopped dead near the old boiler house. His one good ear pricked up, sniffing. “What’s up, old boy?” Ginger whined and tugged towards the derelict. Strange noises filtered out—maybe crying, maybe groans. “Hello? Anyone there?” Val called out. No answer, just wind howling through broken brick. Ginger pulled urgently. There was fear in that one bright eye. “What is it?” Val knelt beside him. “What’s going on?” Then, he heard it—a child’s voice, desperate: “Help! Please!” Val’s heart skipped. He unclipped Ginger’s lead and followed into the ruins. Behind crumbling bricks, a boy of twelve huddled, beaten and crying—split lip, torn clothes. “Oh my God!” Val knelt. “What’s happened, son?” “Mr Williams? Is that you?” the boy peered up. Val looked closer and recognized him—Andy Moore, the quiet lad from no. 5. “Andy! Who did this?” “Steve and his lot,” Andy sniffed. “They wanted money off my mum. I told them I’d tell the police. They caught me…” “How long’ve you been here?” “Since morning. S-so cold.” Val shrugged off his coat and wrapped Andy. Ginger pressed close, sharing his warmth. “Can you stand, son?” “My leg… I think it’s broken.” Val carefully examined it. Definitely a break. Who knew what else was wrong? “You got a phone?” “They took it.” Val fished out his battered old Nokia, dialled for an ambulance. “Hold on, Andy. Help’s coming.” “What if Steve finds out I’m still alive?” Andy’s voice trembled. “He said he’d finish me.” “He won’t lay a finger on you,” Val promised. “Not ever again.” Andy stared at him in disbelief: “But you ran off from them yesterday…” “That was just me and Ginger. This time—it’s different.” He left the rest unsaid. How to explain the old soldier’s code—that real men don’t abandon children in trouble? The ambulance came quicker than expected. They took Andy away. Val waited by the boiler house, thoughts churning. That evening, Andy’s mum, Mrs Moore, came to his door in tears, thanking him over and over. “Mr Williams,” she sobbed, “they said if he’d been out there another hour… You saved his life!” “Wasn’t me,” Val said, stroking Ginger’s head. “Ginger found your boy.” “But what now?” Mrs Moore stared anxiously at the door. “Steve’s still out there. The police say there’s no proof—one kid’s word doesn’t count.” “It’ll be all right,” Val promised, though he had no idea how. He tossed in bed that night, restless. How could he protect Andy—and the rest of the area’s kids—from this gang? By morning, the answer was clear. Val put on his old British Army dress uniform—medals shining, jacket crisp. He checked the mirror—a soldier, even if greying and slowed by time. “Come on, Ginger. We’ve got work to do.” Steve’s gang lurked by the shop as usual. Seeing Val approach in full regalia, the youths sniggered. “Here he comes, like it’s Remembrance Sunday!” one crowed. Steve hopped off the bench, smirking. “You lost, grandad? Your day’s done.” “On the contrary,” Val replied, walking straight up. “My day’s only beginning.” “Why you dressed like that, then?” “To do my duty. To protect the vulnerable—from the likes of you.” Steve snorted. “What planet are you on, grandpa? Who cares about ‘the vulnerable’?” “You remember Andy Moore?” The laughter slid off Steve’s face. “Why would I remember some muppet?” “You’d better. Because he’ll be the last kid you harm around here.” “You threatening me, old man?” “I’m warning you.” Steve stepped forward, a glint of metal in his hand. “Let’s see if you’ve still got the bottle—” Val didn’t budge. The old army steel was back. “The law runs this patch, not you.” “And who made you the law?” “My conscience.” Then, something unexpected happened. Ginger, silent until now, stood up tall—hackles raised, a deep growl rumbling from his chest. “Your mangy dog’s next,” Steve started. “My dog’s a war hero,” Val cut in calmly. “Afghan bomb squad. She can sniff out bad guys with her eyes closed.” Utter nonsense—Ginger was no more than a bin dog. But Val’s voice had such conviction, everyone bought it. Even Ginger, who straightened and bared her teeth like a K9 legend. “She’s taken down more villains than I can count,” Val went on. “Think she couldn’t handle one jumped-up yob?” Steve faltered. His mates froze behind him. “Listen carefully,” Val intoned, stepping closer. “From today, these streets are safe. I’ll be walking every alley, every day—and my dog will know every troublemaker. You get me?” He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. “You can’t scare me, you fossil. One call and—” “Make your calls,” Val nodded. “Just remember—I have my own contacts. Blokes in the nick. Life owes me more favours than you could dream.” Not true, but Val sounded utterly convincing. “The name’s Val the Veteran,” he finished. “Remember it. And leave the kids alone.” He turned away. Ginger trotted beside him, tail high. Behind, silence. Within three days, Steve and his crew had all but disappeared. And Val kept his promise. Every evening, he patrolled the estate, Ginger at his side—watchful, indomitable. Andy left hospital a week later, still limping but on the mend. That very day he knocked on Val’s door. “Mr Williams, can I help? With your patrols, I mean.” “You’d best ask your mum first.” Mrs Moore agreed, relieved her son had found such a role model. So, every night, the oddest trio strolled the estate—a retired soldier in medals, a sturdy lad, and an old ginger dog. Ginger won everyone’s hearts; even the mums let their kids stroke her, scruffy as she was. Something about her was noble. Val told the kids stories of army brotherhood and loyalty. They listened, rapt. One evening, Andy asked: “Mr Williams, have you ever been scared?” “Of course,” Val replied honestly. “Still am, sometimes.” “Of what?” “Of not getting there in time. Not being strong enough.” Andy stroked Ginger. “When I grow up, I want to help too. Maybe I’ll have a dog as clever as Ginger.” “You will,” Val smiled. “I’m sure of it.” Ginger wagged her tail. And soon, everyone in the area knew it: “That’s Val the Veteran’s dog. She can spot a hero from a villain.” And Ginger proudly served, no longer just a stray—now a true defender of the neighbourhood.