Case Number
The pharmacist handed across the card reader, and he tapped his debit card like usual, without looking. The reader flashed red, beeped, and simply stated: Transaction declined. He tried again, slower this time, as if paying more attention could change his balance.
Do you have another card? the pharmacist asked, eyes still on the monitor.
He pulled out his second card, the one his salary went to, and again was met by that short refusal beep. Someone behind him gave a loud sigh, making his ears burn. He stuffed the box of tabletsalready requestedinto his pocket and muttered that hed sort it out.
Outside, he stepped out of the way of passers-by and opened his banking app. Instead of the usual numbers, there was a grey box with a message that hollowed him out: Account blocked. Reason: Enforcement proceedings. No numbers, no explanation, just a button for Details and a reference number that looked like someone elses passport.
He stood and stared as if his glare might undo it. His mind raced through all the things that couldnt wait: next week he needed to buy train tickets to Yorkshire to visit his mumshed got a hospital appointment and hed promised to take her. At work, hed arranged for two days offhis boss had grumbled but agreed. Then there were the medicines he couldnt pay for now.
He phoned the banks helpline. The automated voice asked him to rate the customer service before hed even spoken to anyone.
Hello, how can I help? said the operator, her voice practiced, distantly polite, like someone following a script.
He gave his surname, date of birth, last digits of his driving licence. Said his accounts were blocked, there must be a mistake.
There is a restriction on your profile due to an enforcement notice, she replied. We cannot lift the block. You need to contact the County Court bailiffs office. Do you have the case reference?
I can see it. I dont know what it is. I have no debts.
I understand. But the bank is not the initiator. We just comply with the authoritys request.
So who initiated it? He realised his voice was rising.
The document lists the County Enforcement section. I can give you the address, if you wish.
She dictated it, and he wrote it on the back of the pharmacy receipt, his hands shaking from a mixture of anger and embarrassment, as if accused of nicking something.
And the money? he asked. Youve deducted it says withheld funds here.
Thats processing under an enforcement order. For return of funds, youll need to speak to the claimant or the bailiff officer directly.
So you cant help me.
We can log your case. Would you like me to do that?
What he wanted was for someone to say, Yes, theres a mistake, well fix it now. But instead, she started reading out a string of numbers.
Your case number she announced it like a dry cloakroom ticket. Review time is up to thirty days.
He repeated the number out loud, just to fix it in his mind. Thirty days sounded like a punishment, but he thanked her anyway. The gratitude came out automatically, like a goodbye at the end of a conversation that left him feeling belittled.
At home, he opened the drawer with all the paperworkutility bills, agreements, old statements. Hed always prided himself on being careful: bills paid on time, no unnecessary loans, even parking fines sorted the day they arrived so he wouldnt forget. He spread his passport, National Insurance card, and tax number on the table as if these papers could prove his honesty.
His wife came out of the sitting room, saw the table and his face.
Whats happened?
He explained. Tried to keep calm, but halfway through his voice broke.
Could it be from an old fine? she ventured gently.
What fine would freeze everything and take that amount? He pointed at his phone where the restriction shone accusingly. Ive not been anywhere except work.
Im just asking, she said quickly, hands raised. These things happen to people nowadays.
The phrase these things happen made his skin crawl. As if his whole life were just a statistic.
Yeah, well, sometimes people get marked as debtors and have to prove theyre not criminals, he snapped, and instantly regretted it.
She quietly set a mug of water on the table and went off. He stayed, alone with his documents, feeling as though the house was suddenly short of air.
Next day, he headed to the local bank branch. The place was bright and silent, like a freshly refurbished surgery. People sat in rows, staring at their phones, waiting for their number to pop up on the screen.
He took his ticketAccount queriesand sat, bothered by how the very process reduced him from a person to a problem.
When his number was called, the assistant smiled her perfect workplace smile.
How can I help?
He showed her the message, explained the block.
Yes, I can see the restriction, she said, clicking away. We dont have access to the bailiff records. All I can do is print a statement of deductions and a letter confirming the restriction.
Print everything you can, he said. I need it today.
The letter takes up to three working days.
But I need to buy medicine, he heard his voice drop into a reluctant whinge, which was worse than anger.
The assistant hesitated.
I do understand. But this is the process.
He signed the request, received a copy stamped for the day. The paper was still warm from the printer, and he clung to it like his only shield against some invisible engine.
From the bank, he went to the local council office. The place smelled of vending machine coffee and industrial cleaner that couldnt quite kill the tiredness in the air. By the electronic queue machine stood a girl in a blue vest, helping people choose the right button.
I need County Court bailiffs, he said.
Theyre not based here, she told him. But we can take your application, send an enquiry, help you with the government portal. Whats happened?
He showed her the bank form and case number.
Youre better off going straight to County Court, honestly, she advised. But if you like, I can print a statement from your online portal, if theres something showing there.
He didnt really have a choice. He took another queue ticket and sat down. Screen after screen of numbers flickering, people approaching the counters, shuffling back with folders, hissing arguments under their breath. He looked at his own hands, noticed they looked older than yesterday.
At the desk, the advisor took his passport.
Do you have a verified account? she asked.
Yes.
She poked through his online profile, searching longer than seemed necessary.
There is an enforcement order listed here, she said at last. But it shows a different National Insurance number.
He leaned in.
Different how?
See, yours is she rattled off his digits, but the orders number is off by one.
One digit wrong. Relief bloomed, the first hed felthe had a right to protest.
Thats not my debt, he said.
Looks like a data mix-up, she agreed. Sometimes happens with similar names or birth dates.
So what now?
Well take a statement of dispute and some document copies. But only the bailiffs office can resolve it.
She printed off the form, he signed, attached a copy of his passport, national insurance, tax number. He watched his life turn into a stack of A4, disappearing into the scanner.
How long? he asked.
Thirty days, she replied. Seeing his look, she softened, Sometimes less.
Another thirty days. He left with a folder containing his copies and an entry numbermore important now, it seemed, than his own name.
It took another two days to see someone at County Court bailiffs. At the door, security checked his bag, asked him to silence his phone. The corridor was full: people with kids, with folders stuffed with paper. On the wall, a sign read: Appointment Only. Next to it, a list, handwritten names one after another.
He asked the lady in the queue, Is this where I join?
This is just life, love, she said, unsmiling. First come, first served.
He added his surname to the bottom, sat on the window ledge for lack of chairs. Time didnt drag, it fractured: people trying to slip in ahead, someone arguing on the phone that the bailiffs do nothing, someone quietly crying in the loo.
When his turn came, he stepped into the office. The bailiff was a woman in her forties, eyes worn out, her desk cluttered with files and a chunky stamp.
Surname? she asked, head down.
He gave it.
Case number?
He passed her the bank letter.
She checked, mouse clicking.
Youve a loan default here, she said.
I dont have a loan, he said sharply, Check the National Insurance number. Theres an error.
She frowned, zoomed in on the screen.
Youre right, the NIN isnt yours, she said. But the system matched you by name and date of birth.
So thats all it takes for my accounts to be frozen?
She sighed.
We work off the data we get. If its wrong, you need a technical error application and proof of ID. You submitted one?
He laid out his council office paperwork.
Here. Entry numbers at the top.
She flicked through.
That application went through the council. It hasnt reached us yet.
I cant wait for it to trickle in. Theyve taken my money. I cant pay for prescriptions.
The bailiff finally looked up.
You think youre alone in this? she asked softly, without annoyance. I have a hundred cases on my desk. I can take your form here, but the check takes time.
He wanted to shout, but one glance at her exhaustion told him shouting would just be noiseanother troublemaker in someones day.
All right, he said, controlling his breath, Lets do it here. What should I do?
She passed him a form. He wrote: Please remove me from enforcement owing to mistaken identification. Supplying his ID, tax, NI details again. The stamp thudded: Received.
Give it up to ten days for investigation, she said. If wrong, well cancel the measures.
And my money?
Thats a separate application. And the claimant needs to return it. Out of my hands.
He left with a newly stamped forma tiny victory, but over what? At least he was finally recognised as real.
That evening, at work, he asked his manager for another half a day off.
Youre kidding, right? The boss looked at him as if shirking on purpose. Year-end reports, you know.
My accounts are frozen, he said. Im at offices all day.
Look, the boss lowered his voice, Honestlyanything youre hiding? Child maintenance, payday loans?
That stung worse than the pharmacy. His jaw set.
Nothing. Their system made a mistake.
Boss shrugged.
All right, but dont let this affect us. Accounts already want to know why moneys missing.
Back at his desk, he saw an email from accounts: Please confirm whether there are enforcement orders against your name. His heart thudded heavy. He replied, short and plain: Error, resolving, will provide papers. And realised he now had to prove himself, not just to officials, but to everyone at work too.
Home. His wife asked what theyd said.
They took my statement.
Well, thats something, she said, then hesitated. Are you sure its not about your brothers old loan? Werent you his guarantor back then?
He snapped his head up.
I never agreed. I remember refusing.
She nodded, but suspicion lingered in her eyes. The error had done what it always does: planted a crack that cant be sealed with documents.
A week later, a message appeared in his Government Portal: Debtor identification error confirmed. All enforcement measures rescinded. He reread it three times to believe it.
He opened his bank app instantly. The accounts were live again, numbers returned as if nothing had happened. Still, a note hung there: Some activities may be limited pending record update. He tried paying a utility bill. The payment went through, slightly delayed, and he watched the spinning circle until it disappeared.
He went back to the chemist, bought the tablets hed had to leave before. The pharmacist didnt recognise him. He thought of saying All sorted, thanks, but knew that would be odd. So he took the bag and left.
A couple of days on, the bank called.
Weve received notification the restrictions are cleared, said the operator. But it may stay on your credit record until the bureau updates. That can take up to forty-five days.
So, it leaves a stain, he said.
Temporarily.
Temporary didnt comfort him. He pictured himself trying for a payment plan to fix his mums double glazing in a months timeSorry, sir, you had restrictionsand having to explain all over how it wasnt his fault.
He submitted a claim for his withheld funds. The bailiff said the creditorthe bank that loaned money to someone elsewould handle the refund through their accounts team. He sent copies of the cancellation, deduction statement, account details. The bank replied: Your query is registered. Another number.
Throughout, he caught himself speaking more quietly, as if the wrong word might trigger it all again. He refreshed notifications, logged into the portal daily to check Court Orders, reassured only by seeing it was empty. Emptiness, somehow, became normal.
Another day, back at the council office on his mums behalfshe needed an authority form for her resultshe noticed a man waiting, folder on his lap, looking lost as a schoolboy. Clutching his ticket, unsure where to go.
What are you here about? he found himself asking.
They said Ive got a debt, the man whispered. No idea how. Bank said to check bailiffs.
He saw in the mans eyes the same shame and anger hed had not long before.
First, get a statement from your bank with the case number, he said. Then here, you can print off the court recordsometimes shows exactly how they matched up. If the NI or birth dates wrong, file a mistaken ID form. And always get it stamped received.
The man listened like hed been handed a map.
Thank you. Did youhave this too?
He nodded.
Got through it. Not quickly, not completely. But got through.
He left the council office with his new paperwork and paused at the door to put the folder in his bag. It felt heavynot because of the paper, but the habit of collecting evidence. He realised his breathing had settled.
At home, he neatly filed the bailiffs cancellation, the bank letters, his applications into a new document wallet. Using a marker, he labelled it: EnforcementError. Once, he would have been embarrassed by that title, as if it meant admitting guilt. Now, he didnt care. He slipped it into the drawer, closed it, and calmly said to his wife:
If it ever happens again, I know what to do. I wont apologiseIll demand.
She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded.
All right, she said. Lets have some tea.
He went to the kitchen and flicked the kettle on. The sound of water starting to boil felt, suddenly, like proof that life still belonged to him, not to numbers and timeframes.
