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Noel Coward once said "many people are shocked by honesty while much fewer are shocked by deceit". For me it was the opposite. I was totally unprepared for the lengths my husband had gone to avoid telling me the truth. When I discovered how much I had been misled, I suffered an overwhelming sense of bereavement as it dawned on me I had lost the man I thought I knew forever.
Foolishly, I believed he was incapable of lying to me however, I was rudely awoken to the stark reality he was, in fact, an adept liar. His ability to fool firstly himself, coupled with self given consent to realign all conventional principals and expectations when asked a question produced a shift in reality which allowed him an alternative code of conduct which to live by. Not only did it permit him to omit information if the enquirer's phraseology left room for manoeuvre, but it gave him the opportunity to create an answer he wished was true followed by private explanation to himself why it was . I saw these half truths as unforgivable acts of cowardice; he saw them as perfectly excusable acts of kindness.
These are some of the questions I asked and the answers I was given.
When I asked, "How are we were going to pay the mortgage if our house sale falls through?"
He said, "We won't be able to."
In reality he had not paid the mortgage for months and we were already £27,000 in arrears at this stage.
When I asked, "Why is the builder complaining to me he has not been paid in a very long time?"
His answer was, "I have no idea, I paid him £1,200 only yesterday and here is his signature acknowledging receipt.
In reality the builder was owed a further £40,000 most of which had been outstanding for two years.
When I asked, " Can you guarantee me my mother will receive the £25,000 she has just lent you, within the six months you promised?"
His answer was, "I absolutely can guarantee it."
When I asked at a later date how he was able to make his previous guarantee he told me he had promised himself if all else failed, he would commit suicide and was banking on his life assurance to pay her back.
When asked, “Why is the Indian man you are working with trying to take my trailer and the lawn mower my father has given us?"
His answer was, "He's trying to make it easy for me to keep builders on site by offering to work in exchange for items we no longer need."
In reality he had already signed documents, months before, to say that these items could be taken away if my husband defaulted.
When I asked, "Why is the father of one of our daughters friends so concerned about the progress of our property development that he has suggested he project manage it himself?"
His answer was, "He is keen to do a joint venture but I can't accept yet as we have to find one with enough potential profit for us both.
In reality this man had already given my husband £15,000 two years previously and suspected without his intervention he was unlikely to see it repaid.
When I asked, “Have we declared all our chargeable events for capital gains tax purposes and paid our taxes?"
His answer was," Yes, absolutely paid up to date."
In reality he had not and for this reason we are now facing a full investigation for unpaid capital gains tax stretching bank more than ten years.
When I asked, “Why didn't you tell me all these things before it was too late?
His answer was," You didn't ask the right questions."
When I asked, “How could you possible think I wouldn't want to know?
His answer was, “I did not consider it because it is not how I think."
When I asked,"Why didn't you tell me you thought you were experiencing symptoms of motor neurone disease?"
And
“Why didn't you tell me your business was crashing down around your ears?"
He said he, “I couldn't find the words."
My husband behaves as if his lies are but a thing of the past. His continued reluctance to share his thoughts are, in his mind, an occasional oversight and nothing to be feared. I believe, however, lies can be told with silence as well as words and now I live in fear his lies will continue to wreak havoc with both our lives and our relationship. Now I see his inclination to be quietly contained as an obstacle preventing him freely engaging with anyone anyone, especially me. His secrets of the past stand firmly between the two of us and I regularly wonder if the truth is still being obscured by secrets. I do not doubt the truth would have hurt me a little had he been courageous enough to share it, it appears, the consequences of his lies are to remain in our lives forever.
By sharing our rented, rambling and rather drafty old farmhouse with lodgers we are able to generate the essential extra income necessary for us to live here. I can't say I mind too much. It's a little like being back at boarding school. This time around however, I have the role of matron, I make the rules and I decide the consequences if they are flouted.
I usually find employed gentlemen of over thirty five make the most suitable tenants. My criteria is narrow because I have found it not only reduces the likelihood of damage and non payment of rent but it also seems to reduce the time they need to spend with me. I am not seeking additional friends or family members; it's all about maximising the return for minimal risk to my family life and my furnishings. During the two years in which we have been renting this house, we have happily rubbed shoulders with a number of very pleasant transient gentlemen who seem to have enjoyed sharing with us. They have treated our home, and our privacy, with respect.....but, now there is Darryl.
Darryl moved into our home six weeks ago after his relationship failed with an older woman who I later discovered (in his own words) "found him very annoying". Deciding a change of location and a new job was the best way for him to make a fresh start, I had no reason to think he would be anything other than the perfect replacement lodger for a long standing tenant who had moved on. Darryl was polite, well spoken and regularly overwhelmed by the slightest thing. He struggled with recycling his rubbish, washing his dishes and using plates for his food. He seemed unable to decant anything without spilling it while leaving the loo presentable after use appeared to be completely beyond him. Both I and my other gentlemen guests endeavoured to encourage him to smarten up his act but to little effect. This weekend's slovenliness was the last straw in an increasingly irritating catalogue of events.
Despite my suggesting I organise the changing of Darryl's bedding, he insisted he was happy to take care of it himself. Relieved to have one less thing to do, I gave him freshly laundered covers and pillow cases only to discover on Monday morning he had not only chosen to sleep all weekend in his bed without using any bed linen but he had also dripped fish oil all over the carpets and left numerous empty tins of fish in his room to fester and smell. Incensed by his lack of respect for my home while angered and frustrated from two and a half years of consistently getting nowhere with HBOS, it was my intention to make sure Darryl was fully aware of my displeasure on his returned from work.
All I can say is, "Call me Cynthia Payne," because, although I gave Darryl a verbal pasting which would have had most people quaking in their boots, I got the distinct impression he rather enjoyed the venomous reprimand which came his way. I am now left wondering if titillation in the face of the mother of all dressing downs makes it more or less likely Darryl will, in future, use his bed linen!
Unfortunately this remains an outcome I simply cannot second guess.
Today, when my nine year old son enquired of me, "What is the best question I have ever asked?", it prompted me to think about the questions we ask of one another and the impact a simple enquiry can have.
On 2 October 2008 a good friend suggested she visit for a coffee knowing from a previous conversation I was fearful and frustrated with my husband’s behaviour and was in a dilemma as to what to do next. Suspecting a heavy handed approach would get me nowhere, I was beginning to realise something was very wrong about the way in which he was dealing with everything, including me and was at a loss where I should start.
A month previously my husband had returned to the UK from our family holiday, for what was supposed to be three days, to deal with an urgent business matter. He did not, in fact, return to the family holiday at all. Abandoned for three weeks, albeit in our beautiful but isolated apartment, in temperatures of 40C with three children and no car I knew I knew all was not well for him not to have returned. But for the kindness of neighbours I would have been unable to purchase provisions and nor would I have been able to travel to the airport for our departure. To leave my children and in this positions was very strange behaviour on the part of my, normally, very caring husband.
On my return I discovered the urgent business issues which had been the reason for my husband's solo return not only remained unresolved but the progress on our property development was minimal compared to the claims my husband had made to while I was in Spain.. Matters were further compounded by news the sale of our home had fallen through as had the sale of an option my husband had purchased on a commercial development for a housing association. However, most worrying of all, my husband did not appear to have been opening the post and this was completely out of character.
Suspecting something was gravely wrong, I suggested we open the post and go through it together. He was quick to explain my help was unnecessary and what I saw stacked up in the office were circulars and brochures. Desperately wanting to believe him, alarm bells began ringing in earnest when a couple of days later he stopped answering the telephone an it was at this point I insisted I be given the whole financial picture immediately. Giving me a wealth of assurances that, but for the pressures of work, he would be only to happy to give me the financial details of, in his words "a ship that was sailing close to the wind" but one he had every hope of pulling through, I waited, trying to be patient, a virtue that is not amongst one of my strengths, for an the opportunity his promise me was only a day or two away.
As the days dragged on I was still being kept in the dark. Waking up panic stricken every morning only to find him gone became the norm. Three weeks on, still no closer to getting any answers, it was my friend, who, when she came over for coffee and found me in a state of extreme anxiety, asked the right question at the right time on a dull October day in 2008. She said, "Shall we go into the office and try to find the post?" This was the best question I could ever have been asked under the circumstances. It offered me the support and understanding I required to take independent action at time when I felt paralysed by my husband’s assurances and requests to wait. It turned out to be the beginning of the most frightening time of my life but it was also the first step I took towards a resolution for our family.
What we found in the office was beyond belief. Letters hadn't been opened for months. There must have been hundreds of them. They were stuffed in carrier bags, hidden under chaos on the desk, on the floor in boxes, hidden in cupboards and stacked on the window sills. A few days after "the grand opening" I even discovered bags full of them in my husband’s car. Once I saw for myself what was obviously a long standing problem, I knew what I had to do and so, with my friend’s encouragement, we opened the post. It took us all afternoon and all morning the next day.
The contents were nothing short of mind numbing. Court case after court case, bailiff's letters, tax penalty notices and arrears statements were amongst the contents of nearly two hundred envelopes. My husband had been spending on forty four credit cards, a good many of which were in my name, and running up debt with any supplier who would let him. It took me further two days to wheedle out of him figures for even more debt relating to our Limited Company, of which I was a Director. He never ever did tell me everything. It was left for me to discover over the subsequent months. I don't think he really knew himself how big the problem was because it had got so out of hand he had become too afraid to look.
How I dealt, and continue to deal, with what I found is my ongoing story but undoubtedly the best question I have ever been ask was the one asked by dear friend Karen because it gave me the courage to take control of my life by embarking on The Grand Opening.
"Banks are a danger to any economy" a guest on Newsnight recently declared. This statement followed news the government funded Independent Commission for Banking will be announcing regulatory proposals aimed to avoid a repeat of the September 2008 banking crisis. Unsurprised to hear Jeremy Paxman could not persuade any bankers, including 43% taxpayer own Lloyds TSB Banking Group, to debate proposed banking guidelines, I am nothing short of amazed, if my case is anything to go by, if he ever manages to extract any form of meaningful communication from them at all.
The lack of response to Jeremy Paxman's requests has only strengthened my belief there is little hope I will ever achieve any kind of dialogue with anyone within the Lloyds banking Group however hard I try. To date they have ignored all mine and the CAB's efforts to inform them of our unfortunate position and even my doctor's letter referring to my husband suicidal thoughts has secured no respite from their daily threats. I can only assume the LLoyds TSB's executives to whom I repeatedly write asking for respite from this bombardment have elected to willfully disconnect from the everyday world. It seems clear the financial distress of the individual has no interest to those enjoying comfortably appointed Ivory Towers from which to focus on next year's bonuses.
Having never been "won't pays" but now, to our great shame, "can't pays" I find it incomprehensible a bank, who has itself been rescued from the brink of financial ruin, is now so unprepared to offer us a lifeline of any sort. While the government, via the tax payer, has seen fit to cover the debts of HBOS to aid economic recovery, for the individual with his back against the wall, banking giants Lloyds TSB and HBOS are compassionless. Thankfully for us they are the exception rather than the rule. All other creditors have now written off our debts and wished us well in our endeavours for the future. In contrast both Lloyds TSB and HBOS have picked up the very pistol which was once pointing at them, given the order to take aim at my husband and I, and for the past two and a half years, left us on death row, waiting for their final order to fire.
I can't help wondering if Jeremy Paxman is unable to encourage them to communicate, then how the devil can I?
The single trait I have struggled to deal with throughout the duration of our financial demise was my husband's apparent lack of remorse. No amount of explaining how heart breaking it was for me to discover where he had led us prompted any form of apology. He watched every hair on my head and body fallout from the stress and said nothing. If anything it made him more detached.
Periodically accusing me of distancing myself from a situation which was as much of my making his, I lived in hope he might one day behave differently. After all it is not easy to explain to someone how and when to show compassion if they have always found it difficult to engage with their feelings. It's even more tricky if you are the proposed recipient. However, it's nigh on impossible if the individual concerned believes the part he played in our financial is insignificant when compared to all other contributing factors.
Befroe our financial demise I had no idea my husband was incapable of accepting responsibility for even the smallest indiscretion, nor did I know he regards every question, however innocuous, as criticism. It has come to light he is only comfortable with making statements and when doing this he calls it conversation. Sadly, these days I say much less and anticipate very little from him. Our marriage hangs by a thread, glued together by our debt and our children but not much more. I know one day neither of these will be with us and then, I suspect, our marriage will be over unless, of course, something changes.
I have no idea if my husband has similar thoughts as he would prefer to argue and be derogatory rather than evoke any feelings in himself. He says he has no idea what to do to make amends and as he would not know where to start he chooses not to think about it. In the past year, however, there has emerged one small positive sign. It is the only sign I have he wishes to have me in his life. In all other ways I could be a housekeeper/nanny or even just another adult in a house share. This sign has come in the form of a constant stream of tea. It appears, through this vehicle alone, he feels able to demonstrate a little warmth for me and so I now find myself the recipient of many, many, mugs of tea.
Tea flows in abundance towards me day in day out despite is not being a tea drink himself. I find it in a flask at my bedside if he leaves before I awake and it can arrive in quantities of four or five cups before breakfast time if he is at home. It waits outside my shower or sits next to my computer. It can even be found in the car if I am to embark on journey. It is constant and comforting in an way that gives distance to the contentious issues which surround our seventeen year marriage. It is this small gesture, and this gesture alone which gives me hope that one day there might be more to our relationship than debt and the giving of tea. Not for all the tea in China will I give up on him while there is still a chance our marriage might once again be whole.
In the meantime I have settled for his plentiful offerings of hot milky tea.
On reading Audrey Niffenegger's Time Travellers Wife I became instantly aware of a parallel between the love affair portrayed in her book and my own relationship with my husband and although, today, my husband has been an integral part of family life and performed his favourite role of helpful husband and loving father, this is not how life is every day. Today he has both spoken to me and sympathised with the debilitating migraine which has tormented me for hours. I know, today, I exist in a world we both share but, as a Time Traveller's Wife, I have grown to accept there are periods throughout our seventeen years of marriage when the situation is completely different and on these occassions my husband will be absent for days.
I am given no indication when and for how long he will be gone in spirit, if not in body. If pressed he would say we have a communication problem but in truth he is simply not here. Oblivious to conversations with him about friends and family he is at best dismissive or disinterested when he is "away", however more often than not he is completely unhearing. Lost in a Walter Mitty existence where he forges ahead with experimental endeavours and moneymaking schemes, he has no idea I am left unacknowledged for days. Noticing nothing about me, our children or our environment, he remains absorbed and silent in thought and when, on his return, he finds me angry at his neglect, he is hurt and confused. Firm in his belief he has not only been present but engaged and communicative of his dreams when in reality he has not.
Perceiving himself to be a craftsman of conversation and annoyed when I cannot follow his fragmented train of thought, he sees only someone finding fault rather than a wife attempting to piece together Time Travelling adventures he has embarked on without her. Knowing himself to be a loving man and the source of much affection, he has no notion I have lived my life in silence for days while he has been frequenting his own separate world alone.
Day in and day out I live with the fear he may be planning to set sail on yet another reckless voyage believing he has my approval. Terrified he might, in the blink of an eye, travel once again to a place where he is confident of his chances of financial success not realising I am neither at his side and nor have I agreed to the trip. The man I married knew I feared debt, yet time travelling provides him the means with which to justify his decision to journey into treacherous debt infested waters. For him, it was a calculated risk taken in a land where his decisions were always good ones and his status as a businessman invincible. I have no doubt, in his mind, I was at his side urging him on, fully aware of all the dangers.
Alone yet again, today and every day I take up arms in my communication battle with his creditors. Isolated by both his absences and his inability to engage with our problems has discouraged me from sharing any facet of my debt fighting crusade with him. Now, I too have a parallel universe in which he plays no part. Fully aware of the dangers of time travel, I have ensured my own feet remain firmly planted in the here an now. I can only hope while I try and make the best of a very bad lot, my husband is not silently planning more business gambles in a land which is completely foreign to me, in a place where I have no wish to be a visitor.
Never in my wildest dreams did I ever expect to be responsible for £1,000,000 of unsecured debt and even now I find it beyond belief so much borrowing could be acquired by just one individual. Initially, I could not comprehend there was to be no way in which to repay it and despite a reasonable understanding of the financial world, it's taken me a long time to accept a sum of this enormity is simply beyond us. Now the penny has dropped for me, I am faced with the unsavoury task of trying to convince the unlistening banks they too must accept this unfortunate situation.
Despite the Bank of Scotland and Lloyds TSB being informed or our dire financial circumstances by the CAB at precisely the same time as our other creditors, these two banks have chosen to react in a completely different way to the way in which their more compassionate competitors did. Although one might have thought they would wish to halt the expensive administrative onslaught they have launched on us once notified of our insolvency, if only for the sake of their share holders, it seems the Bank of Scotland and Lloyds have instead embraced a "persecute the vulnerable for persecutions sake" policy instead of one of logic and understanding.
Having written to the Chief Executives of every lender in pursuit of us over the past two years to be met only with sympathy and good sense I can only conclude, in the case of Eric Daniels and his successor Antonio Osorio Horta C.E.O. of Lloyds TSB and Bank of Scotland, either a decision has been made to punish, bully and torment those who have an inability to pay or these CEO's have been too busy spending their sizable remuneration packages to worry whether their staff have instructed debt collectors to torment the less fortunate purely for sport.
