In Too Deep

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!

“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 and turning on her. “How can you put up with this loser?”

“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.

The wind moving over his body chilled him and took the burn off his anger. His heart was thudding in his chest but he wasn’t sure if it was because of the argument or from his flight on the skateboard. Part of him felt like crying. The rest of him felt like tearing apart everything in sight.

He reached the reserve and glided along the path. In the distance he could hear the skaters at the skate park. He knew that his friends would be there but he didn’t want to face them tonight. He slowed down, stopped and snapped up the skateboard, catching the nose in his hand. He walked to a nearby bench and sat down with his skateboard beside him. He leant forward, elbows on his knees and waited for his breathing to return to normal. His cheeks became wet with tears. He cuffed them dry.

The setting sun had spread a light red on the clouds. It reminded him of the sunsets he watched from the beach at Piha, when the sun slowly sunk towards the horizon and gave a final flash before it disappeared completely. He loved that moment, the death of the old day and the promise of the birth of the next new day. The sun’s rays would shine up into the sky long after the sun had gone and the light made the evenings at Piha last that much longer. After the sunset there was the walk in the cool evening air back to the bach, then the welcome warmth of the house where he’d fall into bed and a sleep so deep he had no dreams remaining in the morning.

They had owned the bach for as long as he could remember. His grandfather had built it, back in the days when Piha was accessible only by a metal road that became treacherous when it rained. His father had told Josh and Cyndi of travelling in the car with his brother, Peter, and the trailer full of building materials behind them. When the car slid on the road the brothers thought the trailer would smash into the rear of the car. It never did. Josh’s father had told him that helping his own father build the bach had encouraged him to become a builder himself.

When Josh’s grandparents died, the bach had been left to both his father and Uncle Peter. Uncle Peter had moved to Brisbane some years ago and had only used the bach on the few occasions he was in the country, so the old bach was virtually theirs.

But for how long? Josh’s anger surged. How could his father let this happen?

He stood up, restless and needing to move on. He shivered. He didn’t have a jumper, just the long-sleeved shirt he’d put on after school. He needed something to do, somewhere to go.

It was quiet and dark now and he could no longer hear the crack of the skateboards in the park. It wasn’t safe to go there after dark. There were guys who would push him off his board and steal it, but tonight he’d take a chance. His father had taken everything away, what did it matter if someone took his board? He threw his skateboard onto the ground, jumped on and took off down the path.

There was no one using the bowl when he arrived, but there were two boys on the edge, talking. They looked up as he approached and he recognised them. They were from his school. He didn’t know their names but he knew that they hung around with Bevan. He couldn’t see Bevan, but he hesitated in case he appeared. He didn’t want to mess with Bevan that night, or any night.

He and the two boys looked at each other from opposite sides of the bowl. No one else appeared.

“What the hell,” Josh muttered to himself; thinking things couldn’t get much worse and dropped into the bowl. His skateboard wheels made the familiar whirring sound as he went through the transition and up the other side. He pulled a frontside ollie then pumped back down through the transition, slashed across the bowl and up to the lip where he did a rock 180. He forgot about the two boys watching him, forgot that his father had stuffed up his life and forgot that he had a Maths exam the next day. His thoughts were focused on his movements in the bowl and his control over the skateboard under his feet. The board moved like it was directly connected to his brain and nothing mattered except maintaining the momentum of his board over the concrete and his passage through the air. Each trick he executed was perfect. Perhaps it was the anger, but tonight he was hot.

It couldn’t last forever. On one of the kickturns he mistimed his landing and missed the board altogether. He landed heavily, but he rolled his body through it so that the impact was absorbed while his board slid away and came to a stop.

Josh got up carefully and tried out his legs. Nothing seemed to be broken. His right knee throbbed where he had taken the initial impact, but not enough to stop him walking. He picked up his board.

“Cool moves,” said one of the boys at the lip of the bowl.

He’d forgotten they were there. Josh nodded his head in greeting.

“Got a name?” the other boy called out.

“Josh,” he answered as he made his way out of the bowl.

One of the boys came over to him. Josh stood his ground, wary. The boy had something in his hand and Josh got ready to duck.

“Want one?” the boy said, holding out what Josh could now see was a can of beer.

“Yeah, sure,” he said as he took the can.

“I’m Scott. That’s Mitch. Don’t you go to our school?”

“Yeah.”

Scott nodded. “Thought I’d seen you around.”

Mitch dropped into the bowl. Josh popped the pull-tab on the can of beer and downed half of it.

“Where’s Bevan?” he asked. These guys seemed friendly but perhaps that would change if Bevan came.

“He’s gone to the beach. Back tonight,” Scott said.

“Beach?”

“Piha. His folks bought a bach down there.”

Josh felt a wave of anger rush through him. “They bought a bach? Just like that?”

“Yeah, sure. Bevan said he wanted to surf down there and the folks thought it a good idea to pick one up.”

“Just pick one up?” Josh said. “Don’t you know how much a bach at Piha costs these days?”

“Doesn’t worry them,” Scott said with a shrug. “Heaps of money, man.”

“But Bevan can’t surf,” Josh blurted out.

Scott frowned. “You’ve seen him surf?’

“Last summer he was out at Piha,” Josh said. “I think he caught more rides in the rescue boat than he caught waves.”

Scott scowled and Josh felt his stomach muscles flip. What was he thinking?

“I mean,” he said quickly, “I’m sure he’s gotten better this year.”

“Sure,” Scott said and smiled.

Josh relaxed. He’d got away with it.

“Shit!” It was Mitch. He’d fallen off his board and was getting to his feet. He rubbed his hip as he made his way out. Scott grabbed his own board and dropped into the bowl. Mitch offered Josh another beer, which he took, and a cigarette, which he refused.

The moon came out from behind a cloud and cast a bluish light over the pale concrete. The whirr of the skateboard wheels was the only sound and for the first time since leaving home Josh relaxed.

The house was dark when he got back. He hadn’t taken a key with him and he had no idea how he was going to get back in. He tried the front door and was surprised to find it unlocked. He stood just inside the door while his eyes adjusted to the total blackness. He could hear no movement inside the house –no one was waiting for his return and he wouldn’t have to explain where he’d been or why he’d stayed out till so late. Neither was there anyone around to smell the alcohol on his breath.

He closed the door slowly and began to feel his way along the passage. He had just about reached the stairs, when a sudden sound from the family room stopped him.

He waited, expecting someone to call out his name but no one did. He started forward again and reached the bottom of the stairs. Again he heard the muffled sound. He went past the stairs and stood in the entrance way of the family room.

There was someone in the armchair, sitting in the dark. The figure was hunched over and Josh stood still, trying to make sense of the scene. The beer had slowed his brain and he couldn’t think. The shape moved and Josh stepped back into the darkness of the passage. It was his father, and his father was crying.

He turned and made for the stairs. He was halfway up when he heard his father call out, “Josh, is that you?”

He didn’t answer. Climbing the last few steps, he headed for his bedroom. He leant his board against his bed and quickly jumped in, fully clothed. He turned his face to the wall and tried to slow his rapid breathing. A moment later, his father stopped at the bedroom door.

“Josh, are you there?” he said softly.

Josh didn’t answer. His father came into the room and stood beside his bed. Josh waited, slowing his breathing, trying to fake sleep. Time seemed to drag on forever. He was going to have to take a deep breath soon and then his father would be on to him.

“Goodnight, Josh,” his father whispered, placing a hand on his forehead and brushing his fringe aside. It took all his self-control not to react to his father’s touch. He continued to hold his breath as his father left the room and closed the door behind him.

Josh let out the pent-up air in his lungs and drew in another breath. It took him a while to get his breathing back to normal. He realised he still had his shoes on so he reached down and slipped them off, dropping them one by one onto the bedroom floor. He sighed deeply and let sleep overtake him.