2008: Theo & Patty’s Flat, London
Theo paused in the act of shovelling muesli into his mouth. Milk and oat flakes dribbled down his tie as he stared at the flat-screen television on the kitchen wall. He pressed a button on the remote control, increasing the volume to its maximum level.
‘…Lloyds TSB is to take over Halifax Bank of Scotland in a £12.2bn deal brokered by the Chancellor, Alastair Darling. We’ll have a full report on that later. In other news, the administrator of Lehman Brothers' UK business said that the investment bank’s bankruptcy could be “larger than Enron”.’
The image of the presenter was replaced by footage of the Chancellor, looking haggard and crumpled, addressing a press conference.
‘Bloody idiots,’ muttered Theo.
‘For God’s sake, Theo, turn that racket down,’ shouted Patty from the bathroom. He did as he was ordered, and noticed the muesli decorating his tie and the breakfast bar.
‘Bollocks,’ he said, removing the tie and heading to the bedroom for a replacement. Patty emerged from the en-suite bathroom, towelling her hair dry.
‘Good morning, darling,’ she said, attempting to kiss him. He ducked out of the way and opened his wardrobe.
‘What’s bloody good about it?’
‘Well, we’re still alive, and solvent.’
‘Hah. Probably not for much longer. You’ll never believe what this idiotic government has just done.’
Worry crossed Patty’s face. Money was not something they ever had to worry about. Theo’s boring but lucrative job in the City took care of that.
‘What’s wrong, Theo?’
‘Bloody economy’s in meltdown, that’s what’s wrong. Don’t you watch the news?’
‘You know I’m not interested in that stuff. It bores me to death. But Sheinstein’s will be okay, won’t it? You always said it was too big to fail.’
‘Bugger,’ said Theo, looking in the mirror at the complete disaster that was his fresh tie. Never mind, he could fix it on the train. He glanced at his watch. ‘I have to go now, or I’ll be late.’
‘Well, have a nice day. And don’t forget, theatre tonight and supper with Peter and Jennifer. Don’t be late home.’
‘I won’t,’ said Theo, ‘POETS day, right?’
Patty giggled - Piss Off Early, Tomorrow’s Saturday.
‘Love you, Theo.’
‘Yeah right,’ he said, pecking her on the cheek and rushing out of the door.
Patty went into the kitchen and saw the mess of muesli Theo had left behind. The thought of food made her feel queasy.
Must go to the chemist today, she thought.
***
The lift doors opened and Theo marched out.
‘Morning Mr Ratchett,’ said George, the concierge.
‘Morning George. You haven’t seen the paper-boy, have you?’
‘No, sir. Not a sign of him.’
‘Okay, thanks.’ Theo glanced at his watch, and hurried down the street to Mr Pradeep’s shop. The bell over the door tinkled as Theo rushed in.
‘’Ello Mr Teo, lovely--’
‘Yes, yes, lovely day. I didn’t get my paper this morning.’
‘Oh, dat new boy. He so lazy, innit. I give you new one.’ Theo grabbed the paper and made his way to the Tube station.
1607: Master Sheinstein’s Money-Lenders, Longbeard Street, London
Sheinstein looked up from the big leather-bound ledger he was studying.
‘Yes, Boy*, what is it?’
‘Um, I was wondering if you could, er, pay me my wages, sire. If it be not too much trouble.’
‘Oh, were you? Surely I paid you your wages two months ago.’
Tybalt rocked from foot to foot.
‘You did, sire. But now it be time to pay some more. If it please you. I has no money left, you see, and there be no food in the house.’
‘Well,’ said Sheinstein, ‘this is somewhat unexpected, you know. I can not pay you until Monday.’
‘Thank ‘ee, sire. You be too kind,’ said Tybalt, disappointed.
Cordelia, his wife, would likely kill him if he went home empty-handed. This called for desperate measures.
* Sheinstein always called his assistants ‘Boy’. It irritated Tybalt immensely. He was pretty sure he was 32.
1607: A Bakery, Leadenhall Market, London
Under the cover of a stained and tattered canvas awning, a small crowd of women pushed forward as the baker’s lad pulled a dozen fresh loaves from the brick-built oven and laid them on a plank.
‘No pushing, ladies. Wait thy turn, there be plenty for everyone,’ said the baker.
Tybalt crouched down behind the women, and managed to squeeze his hand between the ample hips of two of them. His fingers grasped one of the loaves. He pulled it towards him, and he ran, clutching the precious bread to his chest. The baker saw the loaf disappear and he called to his assistant.
‘After him, lad!’
The apprentice baker was tall, slim and athletic. Tybalt was not. He struggled to make headway through the crowd. The shouts of his pursuer alerted the market’s watchman, who had no trouble at all in apprehending Tybalt. Panting, Tybalt writhed in the big man’s grasp.
‘Let me go, you bast--’
‘Be very careful about what you say to me,’ said the watchman, ‘it could get you into more trouble than you are in already.’
The baker’s apprentice came to a halt beside the watchman and Tybalt.
‘That be ‘im, and this be mine,’ the apprentice grabbed hold of the bread, but Tybalt refused to let go of it. The loaf broke in two with a shower of breadcrumbs, sawdust and baked weevils.
‘Stealing bread, hey? That is a most serious crime,’ said the watchman.
‘I… I… did not steal it,’ said Tybalt.
‘Yes you did! Everybody saw you.’
‘Nay, nay. What they saw was me borrowing the bread, see? I will pay for it on Monday, when I get my wages.’
‘Have you ever met the Sheriff of London?’ asked the watchman.
‘No,’ gulped Tybalt.
‘You will do soon. Now, give the remains of the bread back to that man, and come with me.’
2008: St Mary Axe, London
Theo stared at his screen. Those numbers could not be right, surely. He refreshed the display, but the numbers stayed the same. He picked up his keyboard.
‘No.’
Bang.
‘No!’
Bang.
‘NO!’
Bang.
‘I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m bloody dead.’
The hustle and bustle of the trading floor faded to silence as everyone turned to look at the sight of Theobald Ratchett repeatedly banging his keyboard against his monitor.
‘Problem, Theo?’ asked Mary, on the next desk.
‘I’m dead, Mary. Bloody deal went tits-up, lost a sodding fortune,’ replied Theo.
‘Oh, that’s not good,’ said Mary.
Ted Spencer, an architect client of his had told him Incarceration Holdings plc had commissioned his firm to carry out feasibility studies on five new sites for their high-tech prisons. Theo was certain the shares would rise massively when the news broke, so he had written a naked put option on them. It looked like a pretty good risk, and the price had risen as expected. But then the impossible happened. Lehman Brothers had collapsed, leaving the markets in turmoil and stock prices badly damaged. The option was due today, and stock in Incarceration Holdings was virtually worthless.
Theo worked for Sheinstein Wealth Management Associates, a hallowed and revered name in the City of London. It could trace its history back to 1599 and was almost as old as the Lombards. And now it looked like he might have crippled it. He’d just lost his employer ninety seven million pounds.
He had to get out of the office.
As he swung his jacket around his shoulders, its sleeve caught a mug of coffee on someone’s desk and swept it to the floor. Theo kicked the mug, sending it flying against a wall, where it smashed on impact. The entire population of the office was looking at him. He glared back at them.
‘Listen you morons,’ he said, ‘we all make mistakes, even me, king of the galaxy. You know how crap the markets have been this last week or two.’
His eyes settled on the sneering face of Darren, one of the youngest and keenest traders.
‘I expect you’ve got a few dodgy positions of your own that you’re sweating about, haven’t you, Darren, you useless arse?’
‘Might have, might not. Listen, a bunch of us are off to the pub after work. Fancy a pint or six? You look like you need to drown your sorrows,’ said Darren.
‘With you peasants? No. I feel like shite. I’m gonna go straight home.’
‘Suit yourself. See you next week, then. Maybe.’
Heading for the exit, Theo stumbled over a full wastepaper basket. He waded through the pile of torn-up trading slips and reached the double doors after what seemed like half an hour. He fumbled with his company identity card, and it took him three attempts to successfully swipe it through the electronic lock.
He tapped and stamped his feet angrily while waiting for a lift, knowing full well that repeatedly stabbing the “call” button would not make it come any sooner. He loosened his tie and undid the collar of his shirt. Finally, one of the lifts began its ascent from the ground floor. The doors slid open, and Theo was mortified to see his boss step out of it.
‘Leaving early, Ratchett?’ asked Mister Harbin. ‘Still an hour to go, you know.’
‘Yes, no. I’m just… popping out for some air. Bit stuffy in the office.’
Theo stepped into the elevator and wiped his clammy hands on his trousers. As he strode across the marble-floored entrance lobby, the security man bade him a good evening. Theo ignored him and had a minor scuffle with the revolving door. Finally he was out in the open air. He gulped in several huge breaths, thought briefly about going to the pub, but decided to be sensible and head straight home.
Newgate Underground station was only two or three blocks down the street. Theo shivered in the chilly afternoon air. The newspaper seller outside the station was shouting about the latest round of bank cock-ups as Theo hurried past him.
In the ticket hall of the station, Theo pulled out his wallet to get his Oyster Card. His hands were shaking and he dropped the wallet, spilling credit cards, receipts and other rubbish.
‘Fuck, shit, bollocks,’ he muttered. As he bent down to pick up his stuff, he felt a sharp stabbing pain in his chest. When he stood up, a wave of dizziness enveloped him. Struggling to catch his breath, he placed his Oyster Card on the sensor of the electronic barrier. It beeped, telling him there was a problem.
‘Fucking open, you bastard,’ yelled Theo, thumping the stainless steel box.
‘Steady on, sir,’ said a guard standing nearby, ‘you might hurt yourself.’
Now the guard was beside Theo.
‘I think you’ll find, sir, that it would work better if you used your Oyster Card rather than your Barclaycard.’
‘Jesus,’ said Theo. He put the credit card back in his wallet, pulled out the travel card, and the gates slid open. He hurried through. Theo wiped sweat from his brow as he made his way to the train.
As always at this time of day, the station platform was crowded. He elbowed his way to his habitual place, right on the edge of the platform so he could have the pick of which position on the train he would squeeze himself into.
Sure, he’d lost money on deals before. But never this much. He was one of the most experienced traders in the bank. Five solid years of nerve-snapping, gut-dissolving stress. And it had come to this. This stupid trade that he would never normally have touched. It had failed, of course it had. You only had to look at the numbers to know it was too risky. And now the global markets were in meltdown. Governments were talking about pumping enormous sums of money into failing institutions. They were also talking about the huge bonuses people like him were paid to take risks like… betting that the share price of Incarceration Holdings would rise rapidly rather than heading towards the centre of the earth. It was too much. “Mister” Harbin would have found out about the loss by now. He’d be tearing around the office screaming and yelling. If Theo lost his job, he and Patty would certainly lose their heavily-mortgaged riverside apartment, and maybe the house in Stratford too.
No, this could not be happening. Remember that trader who’d brought down a bank in Hong Kong a few years ago? He’d been jailed, right? Jail! Just for losing a shitload of money? And it was only money, after all. That’s what they traded in. It wasn’t a lot different from trading in bananas, or iron ore. If the bank couldn’t stand a little trading loss, well, sod ‘em. But it wasn’t a little trading loss, was it? Nine or ten mill, they could handle. Ninety seven was a different bloody ball game entirely.
These thoughts engulfed Theo, made him sway with dizziness. Horrible things were happening in his gut, and his legs felt like they could no longer support him. The air in the Underground station was hot and stale. Theo struggled to breathe as the muscles in his chest tightened, crushing his ribs like a vice. The Tube station began to spin around him. Sweat ran down his face, the salty liquid stinging his eyes. Dizzy, disoriented and barely able to see, he took a step to try to steady himself. Then another. But there was no more platform left to step onto. He heard the rumble of the approaching train as he tumbled over the edge of the platform.