Michelle had been there before of course but that had been different, she'd been at Uni, you know what students are like, a call to the Bank of Parents and as if by magic her empty bank account was replenished. So she'd had to sit through her father lecturing her on fiscal management and she had got better at managing her finances. Oh don't think she was a complete ditz with money, she had diligently saved for stuff over the years, holiday money, clothes, 'fashionable' phones but that doesn't prepare you for living away from home wgere most of what looks like a big student loan is already taken by the accomodation costs – I mean, seriously, five hundred quid a month for a pokey room with a shared kitchen, you could be in a hotel for less!

Of course, it was different after she got her degree, a two one in Middle European Studies, she was earning her own money then. Of course, Middle European Studies doesn't in itself lend itself to employment, in retrospect maybe a more saleable line of study would've been better. On the other hand, you don't need to be a rocket scientist to do shop work or serve tables, over the last few years she'd done her fair share of both.

She'd even managed to put some money by, not a lot but enough for the rental Bond on a small flat and her first taste of real independence. Oh there was still the Bank of Parents acting as a safety net but over the years she'd moved steadily up the pay scale, moving jobs as opportunity allowed. The tiny flat was traded up to a more spacious affair, a car was purchased, ho;idays taken and hobbies indulged.

Looking around her now there was no sign of any of that, no car key on the side, no shelves of books, no displays of cherished finds. No, looking around her you could be forgiven for thinking she was on a short vacation, clothes spilling out of a case, a slew of the kind of local fliers you pic up at the tourist information places and not much else. But this was no hotel room with maid service and a buffet breakfast from seven until nine thirty, no this was a friend of a friends spare room.

Things had, when she thought about it, started their downward spiral when 'Everythings a Pound' was taken over. She'd risen to deputy manager but the new owners had a new broom policy so whilst the shop floor workers were kept on, all the managers became surplus to requirements, albeit with a reasonable handshake. Rather than join her ex colleagues scrabbling for another job in retail she decided to use her capital to set up a sort of consultancy.

She wasn't greedy or even that driven but giving advice to small businesses filled the days and kept food on the table – well most months. The nest egg was nibbled at to fill any shortful, of course in good times she should have replenished it but who does? Eighteen months after the redundancy there was nothing in the savings account, income was covering the rent and food, she was living comfortably if not well.

Her mother's death knocked her back and when her father passed just months later she went to pieces. Instead of looking for more business she clung to her regulars, there was income still but less of it. Any thoughts of a windfall from her parents were dashed, instead of inheriting their house she found herself with their belongings and not much besides as they'd bought into an equity release scheme.

And there she was thinking their cruises and camper van were the result of shrewd investment. Instead she discovered the camper was only leased and the terms of the equity scheme meant she got a small payout but the house now belonged to the finance company. She loved her parents but why hadn't they discussed it with her?

By the time everything was disposed of, debts settled and so on she had a bit shy of four thousand in the bank, enough in theory to tide her through for a couple of months during which she would, most definitely would work at getting more business. Well that was the theory, in practice the clients she recruited only replaced others she lost. So once again her nest egg was nibbled away, the gas this month, council tax, leccy bill, there was hardly a month that passed that didn't require a top up from the savings account.

It couldn't go on indefinately but the killer blow wasn't another bill but her health, specifically a bout of pneumonia that kept her from working for over two months. Well thats not entirely true, she did a bit of work from home but her business relied heavily on face to face interraction with the clients, without that her income faltered even further. It was inevitable then that she found herself dipping into the already meagre pot to pay the rent.

From an income that easily covered the bills a year earlier she was barely covering her food now, rent payments were missed or late, other expenses trimmed to a minimum. It was almost inevitable that her landlord invited her to vacate what had become her home, even more so since losing her parents. It was a shock to her system, the moreso as she would forfeit the sizeable bond which would go to cover the rent arrears.

And so possesions went into storage or were liquidated, the five hundred pound washer making less than a hundred, most of the furniture was donated to the local hospice shop. Her car, whilst not exactly old, wasn't worth selling, it was more sensible to keep it for now at least. The fateful day arrived, her last few possesions were loaded into the car and she set off for the tiny bedsit she'd found in a less desirable bit of the city.

Her income was just about covering the rent but home it wasn't. Between the druggies, drunks and screaming infants it took a lot of effort to get through each day, let alone concentrate on the business. Increasingly she spent more time going out, just driving or even walking, anything to be away from place. The final straw was when the police smashed her door down during a drugs raid, she gathered her stuff, got in the car and left without a backward glance.

Effectively homeless, she found herself 'camping' in the car. Its a situation you can only cope with for so long before it affects your health and indeed hygiene.

She'd read somewhere that whilst we might seem to have dozens of 'friends', when push comes to shove, when the chips are down, our reak friends probably, if we're lucky, number less than a handful. Until now, despite all the ups and downs, her friends were unaware of how things were panning out, its easy enough to dress up smart, put on a smile and pretend everything is alright. Easy enough when you've a home, at least of sorts, to go back to, its maybe the hardest thing for anyone to admit that no, things aren't okay, harder still to tell your friends with their perfect homes and families, the truth of your own failure.

You reach a point though when you can't keep up the masquerade, when others see through your evasive answers and cancellation excuses. She'd succumbed to a dinner invitation, a free meal for the cost of a bottle of red and some conversation, you can't lie to your friends, they'll see straight through it. An admission that the business wasn't doing great soon became a confession to the real reason she'd left her flat and then to her current lack of domicile.

In fairy stories, learning of such injustice, the heroic friends would set things to rights, you need money, here's money, you need a bed, here's somewhere to stay. In the real world it doesn't work like that, they might, well probably are sympathetic to your woes but rarely will they be able to rehome or refinance you and whilst you might dream of such a resolution you don't actually expect it to happen.

Having shared her woes with those she trusted most, it was hard to leave, harder still not to feel bad about burdening others. They'd discussed her options of course, offered their laundry and bathing facilities but whilst generous of itself, it wouldn't solve her dilemma. She'd been low before, when her parents died, when she had to leave her home but that night she reached new depths of despair.

She looked at the screen once again, her finances laid bare. Had she really eaten through two hundred pounds in a week, two thirds of this months paltry income? A quick run down the online statement confirmed it, everything was accounted for, there were no frills, food shopping, a few litres of fuel for the car, the new headlamp bulb, mobile phone charges, a couple of day bus tickets. It wasn't a hard calculation, a little over a hundred pounds to last just over three weeks, the sort of budget she'd had as a student.

Back then things had been cheaper of course and there had been Bank of Mum & Dad to fall back on if things got really tight. That was then, this is now. It was doable, that she was certain, her first couple of weeks here she'd survived on just thirty five pounds. She'd have to make it work, she was being given a chance of a fresh start by an almost complete stranger, a chance she couldn't afford to muck up.

It had been out of the blue, the offer of the room. After her confessional over the red wine and lasagne, feelers had been extended on her behalf and the result was her current location, a furnished room, her own space and en suite, hers for as long as she needed it. She was embarrased that she couldn't contribute more than her deepest thanks to her landlady, another reason to get back on her financial feet.

“Michael love,” the voice trilled up the stairs, “there's some soup down here if youd like it.”
“Thanks Dinah, I'll be down in a mo.”
Michelle closed her laptop and with a sigh quickly slipped out of her dress and lingerie, once more becoming Michael, failed businessman and closet T woman.

© Maddy Bell 4.11.2019