In Too Deep by D C Grant
To Megan and Emma.
May you be as proud of me as I am of you.
Acknowledgements
Special thanks to Jonathon Webber, Advanced Qualified Lifeguard at the Piha Surf Life Saving Club, for his help with the many aspects of surf rescue. And a big thank you to all the lifeguards at Piha who devote a huge amount of time and energy to making Piha a safe place for everyone.
Remember, people, swim between the flags!
In Too Deep
D C Grant
Copyright D C Grant 2007
https://www.dcgrant.co.nz
All characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Chapter One
“It’s over,” Josh’s dad announced as he walked into the kitchen and dropped his briefcase to the floor.
Josh looked up in surprise. He hadn’t heard his father come in; he’d been helping his mother with the dinner dishes and his mind had been on the NCEA Level 2 Maths exam he was due to sit the following day. Josh’s eight-year-old sister, Cyndi, was on the sofa in the family room and she had the volume on the TV up loud. The sound masked his father’s entry into the house.
His mother dried her hands and leaned against the stove. Her face drained of colour.
“What’s over?” Josh asked his father.
“The business – my business - it’s all over.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m bankrupt. The bank’s going to close the company down.”
“How can they? You own the company.”
“I did once, Josh, but not anymore.” His father rubbed his bloodshot eyes and slumped against the kitchen counter. “The bank owns it now. Always have I guess.”
“So it didn’t work out at the meeting today?” Josh’s mother asked.
Josh looked over at her, realising that she had some idea of what his father was talking about.
“No,” said his father, his face pale and drawn. “They wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t give me the extra time or money. They’re going to close me up. It’s all gone.”
There was silence in the room after this announcement, except for the sound of canned laughter on the TV and Cyndi giggling at something one of the actors said. It was incongruous with the tension in the room.
Now a lot of things made sense to Josh: his father coming in late at night, the strained look on his mother’s face, her return to work as a school teacher earlier in the year. He remembered the whispered conversations between his parents, the petty fights and slamming doors, and the nights his father had slept in the spare room. He’d thought his parents were splitting up. But he’d been studying for his end-of-year NCEA Level 2 exams and that was stressful enough without trying to figure out what was going on with his parents.
Josh opened his mouth to speak but found that his throat had gone dry. He swallowed a few times then tried again. “What’s going on, Dad?”
His father looked at him and ran his fingers through his hair, as if to organise his thoughts and said, “I don’t know how much you will understand about all this, Josh, but what it mean is …I’m broke.”
“Broke? How can you be broke?”
“I’ve borrowed against everything we own to keep the company afloat but it hasn’t worked. The money isn’t coming in and I can’t meet the deadlines set by the bank.”
“What about the new development you’ve been working on? Won’t that make you money?”
“That’s what’s sent me broke. The financier backed out and I had to put up the money myself. Since then it’s all gone downhill fast.”
“But you can sell the land.”
“Selling it won’t cover all the costs,” his father said, shaking his head. “I’m still in the red from the last development. This one should have put me right, but it hasn’t. I’ve run out of options. The bank won’t lend me any more money. They want their money from the house.”
Josh heard his mother begin to sob. He looked at her in alarm and saw tears running down her cheeks. Now he was scared.
“Which house?” he asked.
“This house, I’ve borrowed money against it. It’s going to have to be sold.”
“You can’t sell the house.”
“I have to. I don’t have a choice. The bank will force a mortgagee sale.”
“What’s that?”
“I can’t afford to pay the mortgage any more. The house the bank’s guarantee that they’ll get their money back – the money they’ve lent me.”
“But you built it for us. You said it was ours.”
“At the time it was, but now it’s not. The bank owns it and they want it sold.”
Josh fell silent. He just couldn’t understand how everything could become so bad so suddenly. One minute they had money and then it was gone. He looked over at his mother, hoping she would deny all that his father had just told him, but she had turned away and was staring through the kitchen window at the gathering darkness. Her shoulders shook as she cried. Josh felt his anger growing. How could his father do this to them?
“Well, then where are we going to live?” he asked. “They can’t just chuck us out onto the street. We have to live somewhere.”
“Unfortunately they can just chuck us out and there’s nothing we can do. I’m not sure where we’re going to live. We might have to rent somewhere or we might have to live at the bach for a while.”
Josh hadn’t even thought about the bach during the conversation. A sudden fear went through him and he found it hard to breathe as he struggled to speak.
“We won’t have to sell the bach, will we?” he asked, afraid of the answer.
“It’s in a family trust, but I’ve borrowed what my half was worth. Your Uncle Peter wouldn’t put up the value of his half. He said I could do it as long as his half remained secure.”
“But what does it mean? Do we get to keep the bach?”
“I’m afraid not. It might take a bit longer but eventually the bank will take that too.”
Josh stared at his father in disbelief. “You can’t let this happen! We’ve had the bach since forever. It belonged to Grandpa. You can’t just sell it. What about Uncle Peter? Can’t he help out?”
“Uncle Peter lost interest in the bach when he moved to Brisbane. He would prefer it to be sold so that he gets his money.”
“How come he gets to keep his money?”
“The money will be split amongst the beneficiaries. What I get will go towards my debts. Uncle Peter doesn’t have those debts.”
Josh again looked over at his mother, but she remained at the kitchen sink, staring out the window. She hadn’t spoken a word for ages.
“You let him do this, Mum?” he asked.
“It wasn’t easy, Josh,” she said, turning back into the room. “We’ve borrowed money the past and everything’s worked out, but I guess this time our timing was wrong.”
“Timing? We’re in the crap and all you can say is that it was timing?”
“What else can I say, Josh? What do you want me to say?” she asked.
“That this is all a mistake and you’re having me on and that everything is okay.”
His father stood up straight and faced him. “Josh, why do you refuse to understand? We’re bankrupt. We have nothing. It’s all going to change. There’s nothing you can do to stop it.”
“Yes I can, Dad!” Josh shouted into his father’s face. “I’m not like you. You’re a failure. This is all your fault.”
“Josh, don’t say that!” his mother said, stepping forward and tugging at his arm to drag him away from his father.
In the background the TV audience laughed. The sound irked Josh.
“Shut up, Mum!” he cried, shaking his arm free
“Josh, don’t talk to your mother like that,” his father said as he grabbed his shoulder and pulled him around.
“Fuck off!” Josh shouted into his face.
The slap his father gave him almost knocked him off his feet. He staggered backwards, his hand on his cheek where it stung from the blow. He was shocked. His father had never hit him before, never. His mother gave a muffled shriek. Behind him Cyndi gasped. The TV audience laughed again. The sound incensed him. Josh realised that he was holding his breath. He released the air and let out a string of swearwords that he’d never dared use before at home.
His mother’s eyes widened in shock. His father stood with his hand in the air as though to hit him again and Josh decided he wasn’t going to wait for another blow. He ducked away, slipping past his mother and striding towards the front door.
“Josh, come back here!” his father ordered.
“Go to hell!”
“Josh!” his father shouted again.
Ignoring him, Josh opened the front door and grabbed his skateboard, which was leaning against the wall. He slammed the door behind him, threw the board onto the driveway, jumped on and was out on the road by the time his father opened the door and yelled out his name. He didn’t stop. He rode down the street, putting as much distance between him and his father as possible.
There was still some still daylight left. It was mid-November, and the air had a hint of summer. School would soon be finished and then he’d be down at the bach at Piha, surfing and not skating.
That’s if they still had the bach to go to.