Big bass bonanza
🛑 I spent last night in my father-in-law's flat. I came home this morning with £53,000. My husband still doesn't know the whole of it. My name is Rachel. I'm 31. I live in London. I'm going to tell you all of it, because I've got no one else to tell. ——— We had the argument at about seven. Me and Steve. Not the first one. Not even the worst one. But it was the one where I heard myself say something I'd been holding in for a year, and once it was out of my mouth I couldn't put it back. He'd asked to borrow £50 off me that morning. I had £40. That's what started it. By half seven I was standing on the pavement outside our building with my coat on and nowhere to be. That's the part people don't understand about being skint. Not the food. Not the bills. It's that when you need to walk out of a room, there's no room to walk into. No mate with a spare sofa who isn't also skint. No hotel. Nothing. So I went to his dad's. Thirty-one years old, standing outside my father-in-law's door at eight at night, hoping he wouldn't ask why. He didn't. He made tea. We watched about forty minutes of some programme neither of us was following. Then he said, "Guest room's made up, love. It's always made up." I said thanks. I didn't cry until the door was shut. ——— You probably need the numbers to understand why a £50 loan turned into that. Until three months ago Steve and I were both full-time, both on minimum wage. I won't say what I do — I can't risk anyone at work seeing this. But you probably do something similar. Retail. Warehouse. Care home. Cleaning. Kitchen. The jobs that keep the country running while everyone pretends they don't exist. Feet aching by 3pm. That's me. That's most of us. About £12.71 an hour each. After tax — around £1,650 each a month. Sounds survivable. Here's what a month actually looked like, back when we both still had our full hours. Rent: £1,550 (one-bed, and that's us being lucky) Council tax: £155 Gas, electric, water: £180 Internet + phon
