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That makes her laugh. “You’ll get back into childcare soon,” she promises. “You’re wasted in that beauty salon.”
I sigh. I don’t mind working in the salon, but I miss being with children.
“Come on,” she says, “forget the guys. There’ll be mulled wine, mince pies, and dancing after the quiz. It’ll be fun!”
“Yeah, all right,” I reply, because it does sound like fun, and I definitely need a bit more of that in my life.
“Six-thirty-ish for seven at The Pioneer,” she says. “I’ll see you then.”
“Yeah, see ya.” I end the call and pocket my phone. I’m only making up the numbers, but it should be a good laugh.
I arrive back at Radiance Salon and go inside. It’s a small beauty spa on the outskirts of Christchurch. Although I like that it’s only a seven-minute drive from my house, it’s a bit out of the way and too isolated for walk-in traffic. I’m sure it was cutting edge when it first opened, but the rooms could do with a spruce up and some new equipment. It’s often quiet in the afternoons, and I get a little bored when there’s not much to do. But I set myself to sweeping the tiles and tidying the bottles of nail polish, glad to have a job, even if it’s not the one of my dreams.
*
The spa is open until seven p.m., and sometimes I work late, but today I finish at five-thirty, and I head home to the house I share with three other girls. When I was first looking for my own place, my limited funds meant I could only afford a room in one of the less attractive suburbs. Everywhere I viewed was either the size of a postage stamp, had damp or mold or both, was located in a bad area, or all of them combined.
Vernham Crescent was a pleasant surprise—it’s far from one of the most affluent parts of Christchurch, but I liked the way the road encircled the park with its children’s playground and dog-walking area, and it seemed like a quiet, suburban neighborhood. The house and garden were well-tended, the room was clean and a decent size, and the other girls were friendly enough, so I was quick to snap it up.
I’m the first home, so I make myself some cheese on toast and take it into my room, having bites while I extract items of clothing out of the wardrobe and hold them up in front of the mirror. What should I wear? The guys have usually worn suits whenever I’ve seen them, but the trivia night is in a bar, so it’s going to be super casual, right? Equally, I want to look good. Capri pants, then—my navy ones are old but they show off my bum, which I consider is my best asset. I settle on my raspberry-colored top that’s both Christmassy and flattering to my light-brown skin.
I have a quick shower, put on my makeup, and I’m just doing my hair when my phone rings. I look at the screen, not surprised to see it’s my mum, as she calls me most days.
“Hey, Mama,” I sing à la Frank Ocean, as I put the phone on speaker and continue to play with my hair, trying to decide whether to wear it up or down. “What’s up? How’s the Christmas cake coming along?” She’s been feeding it brandy for the past few weeks. It’s going to be so alcoholic that one slice will be guaranteed to put you over the limit.
“Aroha,” she says, and something in her voice makes me put down my brush.
“What is it?” I ask, my heart instantly racing.
“Dad’s just come home. He said… he said the plant’s closing. He’s been let go.”
Despite the warm evening sunshine gold-plating the bed, cold filters through me. Dad has been a process worker at South Island Meats, a beef and lamb processing plant, for fifteen years. I love my father with all my heart, but he’s unskilled, fifty-two years old, overweight, and not in the best of health. The likelihood of him finding another job is not good.
Finally, I find my voice. “You’re kidding me? Four days before Christmas?”
“I’m sorry,” Mum says, and she bursts into tears.
She’s apologizing because she knows how badly this is going to impact me. Even now, she’s thinking about everyone else. My heart goes out to her. She’s had a hard life, and it doesn’t look as if it’s going to get any easier in the foreseeable future.
My brother, Rua, has autism with high support needs, so she has to look after him twenty-four-seven. She sometimes works as a cleaner in the evenings once Dad’s home, but that only pays minimum wage. I also have a younger sister who’s still at school— she helps out where she can with part-time jobs, but it’s never enough.
I’ve contributed to the household bills ever since I gave Mum half of my babysitting money as a teen. I still transfer a third of what I earn into her account every fortnight after I get paid. But even though this room is cheap, after taking out the rest of my household bills, food, and petrol, it leaves me with a minuscule amount.
I lean my forehead on the window. Even if I gave her everything I have left over, it wouldn’t be enough to pay their rent and bills. If Dad can’t get a job I’m going to have to move back home. All of my earnings, together with their benefits, might just be enough to keep us all afloat.
I’m twenty-five, and it’s the last thing I want to do. I like my independence, and it would be embarrassing to admit I live at home. But that’s the last of my worries. Family comes first, and I’ll always do anything I can to help.
“Try not to worry,” I say. “We’ll sort it out, one way or another. How about I come and see you tomorrow, and we’ll all have a chat about it?”
“You’re a good girl,” Mum whispers. “I don’t deserve you.”
“You deserve a lot more than me, but unfortunately life is rarely fair.” I sigh. “I’m sorry, I’d better go. I’m supposed to be going out tonight.”
“Oh?” She brightens. “Anywhere nice?”
“Gaby invited me to a quiz night at the bar with Tyson and his friends. I wasn’t keen on going in the first place, and I really don’t feel like it now.”
“Oh, Aroha, please go. You don’t get out enough as it is. Don’t let it spoil your evening.”
