The Code Word
I was holding a bag with yoghurt and a loaf of bread at the till in a Sainsburys on a damp Thursday evening, when the card reader beeped and flashed up: Transaction declined. I instinctively tapped my card again, as if I could coax the machine into submission, but the cashier already looked at me with tired suspicion.
Any chance youve got another card? she asked.
I shook my head, fetched out my phone, and saw a text from my bank: Account operations suspended. Please contact support. Right after, another message buzzed in from an unfamiliar number: Loan approved. Agreement No.. My ears burned. Behind me, someone shuffled their feet in impatience.
I paid with emergency cash Id stashed away and walked out onto the drizzly High Street. The bags handles dug into my fingers. Only one thought spun round and round in my mind: this must be a mistake. Surely a mistake.
On the way home, I rang the bank. First an automated voice, then music, thenfinallya person.
Theres a hold on your account due to suspected fraudulent activity, the man said, voice flat and practised. Your credit history shows new commitments. Youll need to come to your local branch with ID.
What commitments? I kept my voice steady. I havent taken anything out.
Our system shows two payday loans and a SIM card application in your name, he reeled off, as if listing a water bill. We cant remove the block until weve investigated.
I hung up, staring at my phone. There wasnt one loan textthere were three. One claimed I had an introductory offer, another warned of accrued interest. I tried logging into my online bankingnothing: Access restricted. A cold, administrative sort of panic crept up inside me, like sitting in the doctors waiting room listening for bad news.
Once home, I placed the grocery bag on the kitchen table, coat still on. My wife, Emily, was in the lounge working on her laptop.
Is everything alright? she asked, looking over.
My cards been blocked. The banks frozen my account. I showed her my phone. And apparently, Ive taken out some loans I didnt know about.
Emily frowned. Are you sure you didnt just tick a box somewhere? Maybe signed up for something by accident?
I bristled. Me? Ive never even set foot in those payday loan places.
She sighed, with the resigned air of someone facing yet another household malfunction. Well sort it out. Go in tomorrow, see what they say.
She said it as breezily as if it were a missing electricity bill. I drifted into the kitchen, put the kettle on, and realised my hands were shaking. I put my phone away, drew it back out. A missed call flashed up: Collections Department. I didnt ring back.
I barely slept that night. The phrases kept looping in my mind: suspicion of fraud, commitments, SIM card. I pictured myself at the bank, pleading my innocence to a stranger behind a plexiglass screen, desperately trying to explain what I hadnt done.
In the morning, I left early and rang work to say I needed a day offbank problems, I told my boss. She just looked at me, didnt ask. The silence felt worse than pity.
The queue at the branch snaked round the foyer, people clutching passports, letters, pulled faces. I listened to snatches of chatter about transfers, loans, just a quick question. When my turn came, the advisera woman in an ironed white blouseasked for my ID and began typing.
Youve two active payday loan agreements, she said without looking up. One for two thousand, another for fifteen hundred. Plus an application for a SIM card and an attempted transfer to a third-party account.
I didnt do any of that. It sounded flat, as if I was reading from a script.
Then youll need to fill out dispute and fraud report forms, she said, handing over some sheets. Well supply a statement and proof of the block. I recommend you order your credit file from the agency too.
Tiny print at the bottom stated the bank couldnt guarantee a favourable outcome. I signed carefully, double-checking the lines, then asked, How could this happen? I use SMS confirmations.
Someone could have reissued your SIM, she replied. Then the codes go to the new number. Check with your mobile provider.
I left, folder under my armstatement, letters, fraud report. It all felt heavier than its weight.
The mobile shop was stifling. The young assistant smiled the kind of smile meant to sell phone cases.
Theres a SIM card in your name, yes, he confirmed after studying my passport. Issued two days ago. Different branch.
I didnt get a new SIM, I said, fists clenching. How was that possible without me?
He shrugged. Just a passport. Perhaps a copy. Or a letter of authority, but wed log that. Want to lodge a complaint? Well block the number.
Please do. I paused. Could I have the shops address, too?
He printed out a slip: address, time, reference number. Under Contact Number was my previous mobile, the one I still remembered off by heart. Next to it: SIM swap. So someone had duplicated my number.
Standing outside the shop, I rang the credit agency. More instructions: register online, confirm your details, await your report. I leant against the window, tapping through codes that felt more like taunts than safeguards.
By midday, they rang again.
Mr Thompson? A brusque male voice. Your payday loan is past due. When will you settle it?
Thats not mine, I replied. Im a victim of fraud.
They all say that, he snorted. Weve got a contract, your details. If you dont pay, well take further action.
My heart beat as if Id run a mile. A hot flush of shame washed over me with the fear, as if Id been caught out by something sordiddespite my innocence.
Late afternoon, I walked into the local police station for the first time in years. It smelt of paperwork and tired carpets. The duty officer, a man in his fifties, listened and scribbled notes quietly.
So, he summarised, Payday loans, a SIM swap, a transfer attempt. Still got your passport?
Yes, I said. Though copiesyes, Ive handed a few over. Once for insurance at work. Another time at the letting agency. I took a copy in for the council, for a rebate
He nodded. Copies get around. The SIM swap is interesting. Lets start there. File the statement, attach all your paperwork and the mobile shop details. Well log it for investigation.
He handed me a pen and paper. I wrote out my story, trying not to cry. Writing unknown person(s) felt ridiculous. This wasnt some stranger; it was someone who understood how I lived.
Back home, Emily met me at the door.
Well? she asked.
Ive reported it all. Blocked the SIM. Tomorrow I need to visit the council, get some statements, and chase up my credit report. I spoke fast, as if speed itself could save me.
Emily looked troubled. You know maybe its easier just to pay these loans off. End the stress. Your nerves are worth more.
I stared at her. Pay off someone elses debts? And wait for them to take out more?
Thats not what I she trailed off, unable to meet my gaze. I realised she was afraid too, and just wanted all of it to vanish. But it could only disappear if I gave up my rights to myself.
Next day at the council offices, it was all digital queues, people clutching folders, muttering at the monitor. I took a ticket, sat hugging my paperwork, convinced everyone was staring: Debts. Silly, but it didnt help.
The advisor explained what documents I could get, what could be filed online, how to place a credit block on my record. I scribbled it all in a notebookI couldnt hold it all in my head.
That evening, an email from the agency finally arrived. I pulled it up on the laptop. Two payday lenders, rejected applications, my passport details, address, employer details. And in one form section: security word. There it wasthe code word Id chosen years ago when asked for extra security. At the time it seemed a joke, a random word picked for ease. Id once shared it with Emily and my son when we set up the family account. And then I suddenly remembered last winter, my nephew Oliver, Emilys side, sitting at the kitchen table as I helped him fill out a job application on my computer. Hed laughed about how nobody remembered passwords. At some point, Id said the security word out loud, just to check it sprung to mind.
Laptop closed, emptiness settled in my chest like a blow. The code word hadnt leaked through the internet. It didnt appear on photocopies. Only someone right beside me had heard it.
I dug out the folder of old papers from the cupboardcopies of passports, forms, agreements. There it was: a photocopy Id made for Oliver months ago, when he said he needed it to open a new bank account. Hed pleaded a problem with registration and asked for just a copy to show in the branch. Id obliged, because he was family, because Emily said, Help him out.
Scrawled on the edge, my signature: For bank account only. It hadnt stopped him.
I sat at the table staring at the paper. I remembered Oliver coming round recently to borrow money until payday. How Emily brushed it off: Hes found his feet now. I remembered his quick jokes, hiding his eyes, always leaving in a hurry.
Emily appeared. Whats up?
I put the statement and the passport copy in front of her.
They knew my code word, I said. And used my details for a SIM. Oliver had my passport copy.
She skimmed the paper and frowned.
Are you saying? she didnt finish.
I just want to know who could possibly have known, and who had that copy.
Emily pushed her chair back. Youre not blaming him? Hes been through a lot.
A lot? My anger was cold now. Im being harassed, threatened, blocked out of everything. And you want to pay up so I dont get upset?
Emily fell silentdefensive, not in agreement. She wanted to protect the way things had always been, where our lot dont do things like this.
The following day, I went to the shop that had issued the new SIM. A tiny kiosk in the shopping centre. I showed my passport and asked to speak to the manager.
We cant give out third party information, the woman behind the counter said. If its fraudulent, youll need the police involved.
I already have, I replied. Can you at least say whether the actual passport was shown?
She softened slightly. System logs say the original was presented. Photo matched, signature signed.
My numb fingers clung to the counter. So, it was an actual passport or a good fakeor someone similar enough to me. Or someone with my paperwork, my faceor close enough. I pictured Olivers sharp cheekbones, his lowered eyes, his easy confidence at a counter. He just needed to say lost my SIMa tired employee just ticking a box.
Outside, I phoned my friend Neil, a solicitor in a small local firm.
Need advice, I said. And maybe Ill need to give a name.
He didnt pry. Pop round tonight. Bring everything. And dont pay a penny to anyone.
His office smelt of coffee and paperwork. I spread my statements, bank letters, credit agency reports and the shops printout.
Its good youre collecting everything, Neil said. Police reports innow contest those payday contracts directly. Demand document copies. Put an automatic ban on all new credit via the agency. Its not foolproof, but helps.
And if I could barely say it, its family?
Neil looked up. Then especially. If you brush it off, hell think hes untouchable. This isnt about moneyits about boundaries.
I nodded, though boundaries sounded alien in a family where we always helped our own.
On Saturday, Oliver turned up himself. Emily must have called him. I heard the door open, his cheery greeting, the false bravado. I walked to the hallway, folder in hand.
Alright, mate? he said. Emily says youve had a palaver.
I didnt invite him in, just stood in the hall.
My problem, I said, is that payday loans and a SIM swap have been set up in my name. My code word was on the form.
His smile faltered. Blimey happens all the time these days.
Does it? I said. And you had a copy of my passport.
Emily hovered nearby, tense.
Dont push him, she murmured.
Im not, I replied. Im asking.
Oliver looked away. Eventually, he blurted out, I just needed a stopgap. Planned to pay it back quick, just cover one debt with another. Was getting desperate. But I always thought youd never notice. You always help.
Those final words stung worse than the admission. You always help sounded like a right, not a kindness.
Emily stepped forward, voice hollow. What have you done, Oliver? Thats criminal.
Ill pay back, promise! he insisted, looking at Emily, desperately seeking forgiveness. Ill sort it. Please, dont
I pulled out a copy of the police report.
Too late, I said. Its filed. Im not withdrawing it.
Oliver went pale. Youre family
Family dont do this, I snapped. A shiver rose up, not from weakness but from finally standing my ground.
Emily looked at me, and in her eyes something changed. She wanted to protect her nephewbut not at the cost of my name, my life.
Go, Emily told him. Now.
He lingered a second, hoping for a change of heart, then turned and left. The front door clicked shutleaving a silence that felt more broken than comforting.
Emily slumped onto a stool, rubbing her face.
I never thought she started.
Nor did I, I said. But I dont want to live in a house where trust is my only defence.
She looked up.
What happens now?
Now I see this through, I replied. Here too. No more document copies. No more code words in the open. If anyone asks for my phone, its my phone.
Emily nodded, heavy with realisation, as if surrendering to a truth too big to argue.
The next few weeks were a long haul. I sent signed-for letters to the payday lenders, attached police reports, demanded document copies and checklists. I got a new account at the bank, moved my salary with HR, locked all new credit via the online portal, boosted alerts for credit inquiries. At the phone shop, I switched to a new number, had the old SIM permanently blocked, insisted reissue could only be done in person with added checks.
Every step left a trail: posting receipts, scanned forms stored on my laptop, new passwords scribbled on paper and tucked in a fresh envelope. Exhausting as it was, I felt life tilt slowly back under my control.
Debt collectors still called, but my replies changed.
Put it in writing, Id say. Police report reference is here. Conversation recorded.
Some hung up. Others tried to threaten. But I no longer justified myselfI logged, I saved, I forwarded to Neil.
Then finally, a letter from one lender landed: Agreement under dispute, charges frozen pending investigation. Not a victory, but the first sign I didnt have to prove my innocence endlessly.
Emily grew quieter. She didnt complain when I stashed documents in a locked drawer or set a passcode on my phone. Occasionally she started to talk about Oliver, but I stopped her.
Im not discussing him, Id say. Not while this is ongoing.
There was no triumphjust an anxious caution, like after a fire where the building stands, but smoke still lingers.
At the end of the month I collected a letter from the bank stating the loans had been marked as fraud and the freeze lifted. The clerk advised me, Its best to renew your passport soon and keep an eye on your credit report.
Outside, I found myself in the cold, breathing again. I went to WH Smiths, bought a notebook and pen, sat on a bench by the park gates. Opening the first page in big letters, I wrote: Rules. No slogans or promises, just a list.
No sharing document copies. Never say security words out loud. Phone stays with me. Money is loaned carefully, only to those I could refuse.
I zipped up the notebook and slotted it in my bag. The anxiety was still therebut it had a purpose now. Trust hadnt vanished, it had just become earned, not assumed.
At home, I put the kettle on, fetched the envelope with my new passwords, and slipped it into a fireproof pouch. Emily came into the kitchen and quietly placed two mugs beside me.
I get it, she finally said. Youre right. I just wanted it how it used to be.
I looked her in the eye.
Itll never be the same, I replied. But we can make it betterif we protect each other, not with words, but with action.
Emily nodded. Just then, I heard the click of the drawers lock as I turned the key. A small, almost invisible sound, but it was exactly what I needed: control, being restored through day-to-day choices.
