A Door To Nowhere

Days left: 19

My account book is burning a hole in my pocket. I glance around the bank casually, convinced one of my parents is going to walk in at any moment. It was easy enough to sneak the book out; Grandad had smashed a glass in the kitchen, and Mum was too busy shouting at Dad to pay any attention to the creaking footsteps in their room overhead.

I flick the account book open, and scan the two columns. No money has ever been taken out, and the last deposit paid in was over three years ago. There's just over five thousand sitting there waiting for me.

The queue moves forward, and it's suddenly my turn to approach one of the small counters wedged in the wall. A ripple of apprehension runs through me. I've never done this before, and I'm not entirely sure if I need a parent to withdraw this much cash. I stand a little straighter, and try to walk as confidently as I can to the glass window.

A woman stares back at me with a bored expression. 'Can I help you?'

'Hi,' I begin nervously. I push my account book under the metal slot in the counter. 'I just wanted to make a withdrawal.'

She doesn't blink. 'How much?'

My brain spins. She's not going to question this. I tug at the ends of my hair, trying to work out how much I'll need.

'Erm... a hundred?' I say, hoping I don't sound suspicious.

She takes the book without answering, and scans it under a machine behind the counter. I glance back over my shoulder, scanning the queue discreetly. A line of pensioners gaze back at me, one even throwing me a beaming smile.

I turn to face the woman again, and she's counting out a handful of notes beside my account book.

'Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, a hundred,' she says, all without changing her tired expression.

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say to this, so I try, 'Great.'

She slides the book forward, and my stomach gives a little leap. I can't remember ever having this much cash on me before. But just before she reaches the metal slot, she pushes a slip of paper through instead.

I blanche. 'What's this?'

She frowns at me. 'Your signature. You need to sign it.'

I attempt a smile, relief cutting through me. My hand moves swiftly across the paper, giving her a messy scrawl of initials. Luckily, it hasn't changed at all in the last ten years.

I slide it back to her, and she studies it for a second, squinting at the signature in the back of my account book. Then she drops it into the slot, and I grab it before she can change her mind.

'Thanks,' I say quickly, and hurry to the doors of the bank.

The notes are peeking out of the pages, and I hastily shove them into my purse. I'm rich, I think, and a thrill runs through me. I can buy anything. Do anything I want.

The automatic doors slide open, and I walk out into Dewington town centre. It's fairly quiet for a Saturday afternoon, despite the scores of posters advertising cheap fireworks for this evening. I dodge a drunk man falling out of a betting shop, and join the small crowds walking up the high street. Every shop window seems to glint and gleam at me, the mannequins and displays exploding into my eye line.

I could buy anything I wanted in these shops. I feel a little dizzy at the thought; whenever I've gone shopping before, I've had to limit myself to one or two cheap t-shirts, making a beeline straight for the sale racks.

But there's a whole new world of clothes for me to explore now. I hide the grin threatening to split my face, and head towards the independent boutiques in the back streets. I'm just about to push open the first door when the sound of raised voices makes me look around.