Chapter 5
BANKRUPT ANY DAY NOW
Georgia practically bounced in her booster seat all the way home. Once he’d pulled into the garage, she ran pell-mell up the stairs and into the kitchen, shouting, “Nan! I’m not too thick for school!”
“Well, who ever said you were?” her great-grandmother said, giving her a one-armed cuddle, as she was holding a tea towel in her other hand.
“Scarlett said so,” Georgia said. “And Francesca in my class said so. But Ms. Fairburn says I’m not. She says I can’t see, so I’m like a kitten whose eyes aren’t open yet, but when I get specs, I’ll be able to read!”
“I did not say that,” Scarlett said, grabbing cutlery as she prepared to lay the table. “I said maybe you weren’t good at reading.”
“You said she was dim.” That was Duncan, who’d been doing his homework at the breakfast bar.
This was a fair-sized house. Why did everybody always end up in the kitchen?
Maybe because it smelled so good. Roast lamb and veggies, he diagnosed.
Better than any flowery scent. Well, unless it were on a woman you were going to get to kiss and touch and love on a bit.
A woman with the kind of body you wanted your hands on, and with curls you could wrap around your finger.
Dating a parent was serious misconduct? Why?
How would Skylar possibly express her favoritism?
By giving Georgia extra minutes during Sharing Time?
Assigning her an additional week as Rat Feeder?
Marking her as “within expectations” in maths instead of “working toward expectations,” setting her up for crushing failure in Year Two?
Sometimes he hated modern life.
“I did not say she was dim,” Scarlett said.
“Did so,” Duncan said.
“I did—” Scarlett began.
Zane cut in. “Whoever said whatever, turns out Georgia does need specs. She’s going to get them, she’s going to learn to read, and there’s nothing wrong with her brain.”
“Because I know heaps of facts,” Georgia said.
“And rats can too recognize faces, Scarlett. People’s faces.
So they really do like me, and it’s not just because I gave them rat food and carrots and scrambled eggs like you said.
” Her face was flushed and defiant. The meeting with Skylar had boosted her confidence enough to let her stand up to her sister, he guessed.
Could mean more shouting and tears, but probably for the best. He wasn’t interested in raising meek daughters.
“Georgia Mahuta,” his Nan said. “When did you give those rats scrambled eggs? When you asked me for a bigger serving and then couldn’t eat it all, are you telling me you gave it to those … those rodents? Do you think we’re made of money, that you’re feeding perfectly good food to rats?”
“Dad probably earns about a million dollars just from his rugby pay,” Duncan said in a detached sort of way.
He was still doing his maths homework, but then, Duncan was good at concentrating.
He got that from Zane. “He earns more from the adverts he does, but I haven’t been able to find out exactly how much.
Eggs cost almost a dollar apiece, but even if Georgia gave the rats an egg every day while she had them, that would only be twenty-one dollars.
Or twenty-three dollars, because there was an extra weekend.
The mortgage on the house is very expensive, but twenty-three dollars isn’t much.
And she probably didn’t give them a whole egg every day, because she was giving them other things, too. Carrots. Walnuts. Like that.”
“So that’s where your dad’s walnuts went,” Nan said. “He’s meant to have them for protein, and you fed them to rats? They’re nearly fifty dollars a kilogram! What’s next, massages?”
“That would be funny,” Duncan said. “Rat massages.” He grinned, then started to laugh.
“Rat manicures,” Scarlett said. “On their tiny toenails.” She was laughing, too, and Georgia was saying, “I didn’t do that! I don’t even know what that is.”
“Wait,” Zane said. “How would you know how much the mortgage is, Duncan? And how would you have any idea how much money I earn?”
“Because he’s a nosy stickybeak?” Scarlett asked.
“And not very clever about it? Honestly, Duncan, you don’t tell Dad that you know!
Kids are meant to observe quietly and store up valuable information, so their parents don’t realize they’re not as innocent as they seem.
Everybody knows that. Why am I the only person in this house with any sense? ”
“Oi,” Zane said.
“All right,” she said. “The only child with any sense.”
Duncan had set aside his homework at last. “Why shouldn’t I know?
” he asked, more puzzled than defensive.
“How can I plan my future if I don’t? And I saw a paper from the bank that said Dad has to pay almost eight thousand dollars every month for the house, is how I know.
That’s heaps, especially since he also has to pay for so many other things.
It’s not too much if you earn a million dollars a year, but if you didn’t earn a million dollars, you could—”
“So this is about your future,” Zane said. “Exactly what kind of high living are you planning for? You’re not inheriting for a good fifty years yet, so I wouldn’t pin my hopes on that. You’ll have to make your own way, same as everybody else.”
Duncan put down his pencil and sighed. “Dad. University, for example?”
“University,” Zane repeated. “You’re eight. Are you sure you need to plan your course of study now, and the financing of it, too?”
Duncan blinked at him. “Well, yeh. What if I want to be a doctor or a professor or something, where I’d need to go to uni for years and years?
I have to know whether you can pay for it or not, don’t I?
This house is worth about three million dollars right now, which sounds good, except that it’s probably dropped by almost twenty-five percent in the past few years.
If it keeps doing that, you could lose money if you have to sell it.
And you may go bankrupt when you stop playing rugby, so I have to think about that, too.
Heaps of sportsmen go bankrupt once they retire.
I read an article about it. And you’re already pretty old. ”
“You don’t have to think about it,” Zane said.
“You’ll never have to think about it, because it’s not happening.
I’m thirty-three, thank you very much, and not turning up my toes just yet.
And the mortgage wasn’t for three million dollars.
The house didn’t cost nearly as much when I bought it.
In financial terms, since you seem to want to view it that way, it was a wise investment, and it still is, temporary drop in value or not. ”
“Take the pans out of the oven, will you, Zane?” Nan said.
“Dad,” Duncan said, with an air of patience that was pretty bloody annoying, “I know. The house probably cost about half as much when you bought it, because Meadowbank’s got so expensive. The mortgage would be sixteen thousand dollars a month if you bought it now. But eight thousand is still—”
“Also,” Zane said, talking over him as he removed two pretty spectacular roasting pans from the oven, “I’m not going bankrupt.
I have investments, if you must know. Even with Georgia feeding the rats scrambled eggs, nobody’s going to end up in state housing or begging on a blanket on Queen Street.
We’re fine. We’ve always been fine. We always will be fine. ”
“If you got CTE,” Scarlett piped up, “we wouldn’t be fine. You could go mad and need a carer. Or you could die. You can’t say, ‘I won’t die,’ because we know it’s not true. Mum died. What happens then?”
“I have a fairly ridiculous amount of life insurance, as it happens,” Zane said, setting the lamb aside to rest and scooping roasted veggies onto a platter.
“But I’m not dying anytime soon, so stop worrying.
You realize that somewhere in Auckland, a father is surrounded by his loving whanau, who are telling him, ‘Thanks, Dad, for working so hard and taking such good care of us. Thanks for making sure we don’t have to worry about surviving and can think about suitably childish things instead.
Flash cars. Sport. Fashion. Boys.” He shoved the veggies back into the oven to keep warm, although he wanted to inhale all of them right now; that was how hungry he was.
A man his age shouldn’t have such a high metabolism.
But then, most men his age weren’t playing professional rugby.
“I don’t care about boys,” Scarlett said. “Lame as.”
“Also,” Duncan said, “most sport is only really interesting if you bet. Almost all bettors lose money, though, if they keep doing it, so I don’t understand why anybody would. It’s kind of fun to pretend to bet, though. I do that sometimes.”
“You do?” This sounded like a very bad idea. “On what?”
“Sport, of course,” Duncan said. “Rugby, because that’s the only sport I know enough about.
Also shares. That’s not exactly betting, but it’s like betting, at least if you’re systematic at betting and not just betting on the team you like best. I’m still learning how to do the shares, though.
There’s heaps of maths, and charts and reports and things that I don’t really understand yet. ”
“There you are,” Zane said. “If I go bankrupt, you can pay the mortgage.” He wasn’t going to talk about dying, because that wasn’t happening, and the kids had better know it.
“Not really,” Duncan said. “They don’t let kids invest. But I could invest some of your money for you, once I learn more. We could probably get richer that way. That would be helpful.” He had a faraway look on his face that boded no good.
“No, thanks,” Zane said. “But if you come up with any hot prospects, you can tell me about them, how’s that?”
“For betting?” Duncan asked. “Or for shares?”
“Dad would lose his job and maybe even be arrested if he bet on rugby,” Scarlett said. “Then he couldn’t pay the mortgage. Don’t do it, Dad.”