It's a fact of life that you never have as much money as you think you should have. No matter how confident you are in your budget, there are always additional expenses that pop up seemingly out of nowhere. If you have kids or pets or a car, the problem is exacerbated. If you're a single mum with a cat, an eight year old car and a thirteen year old son, life becomes a balancing act. Every dollar counts.
All the same, shortly after my thirty-fourth birthday I managed the impossible; I put down a deposit on a (town)house of my own. It was thirty kilometres out of town and in a not-so-great area, but I was secretly excited about moving in and being able to paint the walls whatever colour I chose, and not having to worry about a twenty-something property manager coming in every three months to pass judgement on my housekeeping skills.
I kept my excitement to myself because not everyone is happy when a single mother buys a property. It seems to suggest to them that some sort of impropriety is afoot; she must be raping her child's father for excess child support, or scamming the government out of tax benefits, or doing something similarly nefarious.
The whole attitude a lot of people have towards single mums can be quite bizarrely and irrationally vitriolic. How dare you wanton sluts lower your knickers for a man you won't be with until one or both of you dies? How dare you wear a short skirt, or smile at a delivery man? Into the naughty corner you go, where you will sit while I regale you with stories of my ex-wife and what an evil bitch she is. You get the gist. Sometimes you don't know whether to roll your eyes, or laugh at the misplaced rage.
The funny part is, my life probably isn't as scandalous as most people seem to expect. I met Roy, Taylor's father, when he came to Brisbane for a dog show. My mother breeds Border Collies, as does Roy's family, but whereas we lived within the city limits in an area that used to be designated 'semi rural' and is now 'future development', Roy's family lived in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. When my Mum heard through the breeder's network they were looking for somewhere to stay when they came to town, she invited Roy and his parents to stay with us. She didn't have a clue who they were, but had spoken to them on the phone a few times and someone through the dog association had told her they were decent people, so that was good enough for her.
As it turned out, Roy and his parents were clean, tidy, pleasant people. They arrived at our two acre home on Wednesday afternoon with five of their best dogs and bitches, and by the time I arrived home from university and caught sight of Roy, I decided I was going to sleep with him. Why? Who knows. I was twenty, single and silly. Roy was eighteen, single, quite cute, and very polite, though not polite enough to suggest I stop kissing him when I pulled him into my room on Friday night and pushed my lips and body against his.
Roy is many things, but intelligent isn't one of them. That much I'd already accepted by the time I set about seducing him, but I only wanted him for a fling, and I figured by Sunday afternoon he'd saunter into the sunset with empty balls and a good story or two to tell his mates. Of course, things didn't quite go to plan because Roy somehow thought I liked him, and was under the assumption I wanted to be his girlfriend.
Rather than break his heart, I thought I'd let him down slowly over the next few weeks. He lived over two hours' away from me, so I figured that we'd catch up a few times, then I'd claim the travel was too onerous, and I wished him the best, it wasn't him but me, blah, blah, blah. You know the spiel.
It was a solid plan in my eyes, but I hadn't counted on Roy's tremendous stupidity. Look, he's a nice guy, but he's fucking dumb. Boxes of rocks have reported higher IQ's than this guy. Relying on him to put a condom on the dick he'd been pulling on for the past few years was obviously asking too much, because you can guess who ended up pregnant.
A wiser woman might have had an abortion, but I was young and stupid and emotional. For the next year or two Roy and I tried to make a go of things, but we were either living in the middle of nowhere and he was somewhat happy, or we were in Brisbane, and I was somewhat happy. Neither of us were truly happy, though; I was frustrated because he was stupid, and he was frustrated because I expected things of him that he just wasn't capable of.
When Taylor was two we decided to split. I stayed in Brisbane, where we had been living at the time, and he moved back to the middle of nowhere, where he met an equally pleasant but stupid country girl, and set about breeding at a frightening rate. Roy and Melissa have five kids aged between three months and eight years, and are perfectly content together. Taylor spends every third weekend with them, and at least half of each school holidays, where he can hang out with his brood of half-siblings, and live the kind of lifestyle I could never, and would never want to, give him.
Roy, Melissa and I have an amicable relationship, possibly aided by the fact that I ask as little of them as possible. Roy was assessed at having to pay thirty dollars a month child support and I told him not to bother. Money is far tighter for them than it is for me. He works at a feed store and Melissa stays at home with their kids.
I have a better job, as the finance officer for a building supplies company, but it still took me nearly eight years to put together a ten percent house deposit, plus a buffer for emergencies. It wasn't easy to save the money; for the past five years I had lived in a tiny sixty square metre flat on a main road, directly next door to a takeaway. The flat isn't everyone's choice of a home, but the rent was cheap and the local schools were good (Taylor would continue to attend his high school even after we'd moved - he'd be able to catch the train in), so I was willing to overlook it's pitfalls.
I even embraced the takeaway next door. The proprietor, Seldon, had taken ownership six months before I moved in, and apparently before this time it had been a pretty lousy joint, but Seldon knew what he was doing and he turned the business from 'mildly profitable' into 'very successful'. The food was fresh, hot and reasonably priced. During the day he did a cracking trade with blue collar workers and at nights he serviced local families, selling hot chickens, fish and chips, all the usual takeaway store fare.
Taylor and I would go down every Friday night to buy dinner. I was always budget conscious, and I don't think we ever spent more than fifteen dollars between us, but it was one of the small treats I allowed us.
I'm not special; just another mildly overweight five foot six brunette woman with regular brown eyes and regular sized tits, and Taylor was an ordinary enough kid who liked to chatter to the man about everything he'd been up to, but as the months passed, Seldon began to greet us each Friday night with a friendly smile.
As the months turned into years, Seldon, Taylor and I got to know each other well enough to start chatting on those rare occasions where the store was quiet. He's a nice guy, a year or two older than me, five foot eleven or so, and a little on the pale side, which I put down to his occupation. He works six days a week at the takeaway and although he always had at least one staff member helping out, none of them work the long hours that he does.
Most of the time he wears a band tee shirt and long pants. He has long ash brown hair which he keeps tied back in a ponytail, a number of tattoos, and startling blue eyes. Just imagine the grungy kid from high school grown up, and you know what Seldon looks like. He's not ugly, though, not bad looking at all. He had a girlfriend for a while and she'd hang around the takeaway and generally annoy the shit out of his staff, but after a year or two she stopped coming around and when I asked about her, Seldon just shrugged and said she'd left. She'd had enough and he didn't miss her.
Despite chatting to Seldon every Friday night, and him being a nice kind of guy, I felt weird about telling him I was moving, so I didn't. It was Taylor who finally told him, and on the day before we were due to move no less.
'Really?' Seldon asked, as he handed over our paper-wrapped meals. 'Where are you two off to?'
'Booval,' Taylor said. 'Our new house is huge compared to our flat. I'll have to catch the train to school each day, but it'll be worth it.'
'It'll probably be worth it for your mother to have the extra room, too,' Seldon agreed, casting me a conspiratorial grin.
I felt myself smile in response.
'It will be,' I agreed.
'Are you two moving in with anyone, Kristy?' Seldon asked me.
I shook my head. 'No, it's just Taylor and me. I'll own this townhouse. Well, the bank will still own it to start off with, but one day, hopefully, I will.'
'You've
bought
a place?' he said. 'Shit. Congratulations.'
'Uh, thanks,' I said with a blush.
It was a busy night and Seldon went back to cooking while Taylor and I took our dinner outside to a scratched plastic table and watched the cars drive past. I was feeling slightly nostalgic. This had been our home for so long. It was weird to be moving away.
We'd almost finished eating when Seldon came out to have a chat. The customers had thinned, and he was leaving his two Friday night helpers to take care of the serving and food preparation. It was a hot night. His Metallica shirt was stuck to his back and there was a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, but there was a cool breeze blowing outside, so I just assumed he'd come out to cool down a bit.
'I don't know what I'm going to do without my two best customers,' he said.
'I'm not sure our patronage has ever been crucial to your business,' I replied, bemused. 'But I'll miss your food. I'll have to find a new takeaway for Friday nights.'
'It won't be the same,' Taylor said.
