Page 12 of Birds of a Feather

The days since I’d found out I’d won lotto were much the same as any other; I got up, went for a run, went to work, came home, cooked dinner and went to bed. But the knowledge of my win nagged at me like an earworm. Mainly, thoughts of the money and what it meant for my life existed as a soft background hum. But occasionally, they rivalled an entire orchestral symphony, complete with a choir, and left me with ringing ears, a spinning head and a stomach full of knots and butterflies.

I had accepted that winning $264,412.51 would be ‘life-adjusting’, rather than ‘life-changing’. I was certainly not about to quit my job, buy a house in the golden triangle and never think about money again. However, I suspected my life would forever be different. And certainly a little easier.

Before I left the Lottery Head Office, Amarita gave me a pamphlet, which I had read so many times I could recite it verbatim. It cautioned winners against making rash decisions and implored them to scrutinise new or returning ‘friends’ and anyone with opportunistic investment proposals. It also suggested winners withhold the exact amount they won from anyone they gift money to, to avoid discussions about fairness and entitlement. ‘Instead, consider using statements such as: “I’ve come into some money” or “I’ve recently had some good luck, which I’d like to share”’, the pamphlet advised.

I felt like I’d been preparing for this my whole life. I was hardly likely to make rash decisions, and withholding key details about my personal affairs was my modus operandi. It helped that my family never seemed interested in my life anyway; they were too busy oversharing the details of their own adventures. Settling on what I would actually do with the money was proving a bit trickier. Of one thing, I was sure: I had no intention of moving house. I had accrued some equity in my apartment, so I committed to paying whatever was left after I’d divided it between columns A1 to A6 off my mortgage. This would free up my income to invest elsewhere over time.

The pamphlet had a blank space for jotting down some ‘luxury splurge items’. So far, I had listed new shoes (leather Derby shoes with punch hole detailing) – $179 – and two new bras (one black and one flesh coloured, without fussy lace or bows, to replace the ones I had worn to death) and matching knickers (four pairs) – $185.

While it pained me to do so, my altered financial position forced me to reconsider the long-term viability of my car. I had to admit that it had become a liability. Any money I spent on repairs – cosmetic or otherwise – would only prolong the inevitable. And now that I had the means to do so, it made financial sense to invest in a more reliable vehicle with better long-term prospects and fuel economy. After I conducted a comprehensive analysis of the new car market, and synthesised consumer reviews and expert articles, I settled on a hybrid hatchback and made an appointment for later in the week for a test drive.

After confirming how much holiday leave I had (nine weeks), I turned my mind to travel and made a list of places I was keen to visit. Topping the list was the UK; I had a guilty fondness for the royal family, and was keen to do the Harry Potter studio tour.

Unlike many of my peers, I’d never taken a gap year. Instead, I had travelled to the UK and Europe for a few short stints and used some money Gran gave me as a graduation present to travel to South-East Asia. Shortly before I was due to leave for that trip, Leah Knight – a friend from uni – said she was keen to tag along. I decided it would be good to share the cost of a double room, and the company would be nice too, I thought.

Two days into our trip, Leah convinced me to attend a Full Moon Party on a Thai island. Parts of the island were absolutely beautiful; warm turquoise water lapped gently at magnificent beaches that were fringed with lush green jungle. But the tourists who visited the island to enjoy its beauty ruined it with the vulgar behaviour they brought with them and the rubbish they left behind. Shortly after we arrived at the party, Leah spent the equivalent of two days’ food budget on a mango-flavoured mushroom shake. I spent the next eight hours following her around while she sang in colours, stared at lights, giggled uncontrollably and professed her love to anyone and everyone in her vicinity. After the effects of the mushrooms had abated and I was sure she was safe, I told Leah I didn’t think our travel styles were compatible. I retreated back to the mainland, and my meticulously planned itinerary, to enjoy the rest of my trip alone.

I had to admit, it would be nice to travel to the UK without needing to stay in a hostel, or to take seven connecting flights via Narnia to save on airfares. With travel, a new car, and new shoes, bras and knickers locked into my spreadsheet, I redirected my cursor to the ‘Gifts’ column, and the conundrum of what to give to my family.

Amarita’s pamphlet had recommended that ‘any money you gift to friends and family, you do so without any expectation or condition’. ‘Any’ was bolded and underlined for emphasis. Winners needed to accept that not everyone would spend the gift in ways they approved of.

‘Consider how you would feel if you gave money to a relative to pay off a student loan and they used it to fund a holiday instead,’ it urged. ‘What you would do if you gifted a friend the opportunity for a fresh start and they used the money to perpetuate destructive behaviours or activities?’

This had certainly provided cause for pause. Jarrah’s fiscal habits had always driven me crazy. She was frivolous with her spending, impulsive with her employment status, and she never sacrificed anything to save for the future because she never planned for anything. The real kicker: somehow, she ended up with everything she wanted anyway.

When I was about ten, I’d collected a twelve-part magazine series about animals of the world. The first issue was $2.95 and included a free binder to hold the collection. Subsequent issues came out each month and cost $4.95. There was a shortfall between the recommended retail price and the $1 I earned each week by unstacking the dishwasher and feeding the pets. So I negotiated with my parents for a pocket money pay rise – an additional 20 cents a week to take out the rubbish as well.

I looked forward to the first Tuesday of each month when Mum would take me to the newsagent. I would hand over my money, take possession of the next issue, and spend much of the following week poring over its contents.

I was so proud the day I went to collect the final instalment. I had worked hard to earn the money and was excited about the bonus magnifying glass that was promised with the edition that profiled insects of the Amazon.

While we were in the newsagent, Jarrah spotted a copy of The Complete Guide to Arts and Crafts – another collectable series. Because she’d spent what little allowance she did earn (her approach to chores was unreliable, at best) on mixed lollies from the milk bar, she had no money. She swooned over the series and told Mr Altemura – the newsagent owner – about her ambitions to become an artist.

Mr Altemura disappeared into his storeroom and reappeared a few moments later with the complete series of The Complete Guide to Arts and Crafts, which he handed to her with a smile.

Mum made a half-hearted effort to pay for the series, but Mr Altemura insisted on supporting Jarrah’s dream, in exchange for a signed painting when she became a famous artist one day. To make matters worse, he made me pay for my copy of Animals of the World and he’d run out of magnifying glasses.

Would gifting Jarrah a huge cheque just reinforce this pattern of getting things without earning them? And could I actually hand it over without ‘expectation or condition’?

Chapter 9

Beth

By the time Saturday lunch came around again, I had drawn and redrawn the distribution lines of the lotto win several times over. I had settled on what I would give my family: $10,000 each for Jarrah and Elijah and $15,000 for my parents, and I had rehearsed the speech I planned to deliver. I considered holding off my announcement until the money had landed in my account so I could present them with a cheque as well as the news. But I figured it was probably good to give them a few days to digest the information before handing over the money.

Gran was a different kettle of fish. Of course, I wanted to share my good fortune with her, but I suspected she would refuse cash; she had the means to buy whatever she wanted or needed. Instead, I planned to offer to upgrade her camera or pay for a trip. Or maybe I could track down a taxidermied unicorn head to go with her new jackalope? I decided it was best to ask her what she’d like.

I pulled up at Gran’s house to collect her for lunch, climbed out of the car and made my way to the front door. Since I had decided to purchase a new car, I had become increasingly irritated by the need to climb over the passenger seat. I had put up with this exit method for years without feeling inconvenienced. In fact, I became defensive when people ridiculed my car’s quirks. But I looked forward to having a vehicle that I could get into without performing an acrobatic manoeuvre and that had ‘reliable’ as one of its key features. When I test-drove the hybrid car, I had decided to buy the model with a leather interior and tinted windows. They were modest luxuries, I told myself, and ones that would aid resale. But since then, the fabric seats that often gave me a static zap and lack of sun visors in my current car had suddenly become unbearable.

‘Gran,’ I called out, opening the front door. ‘It’s just me.’

‘Darling,’ she cooed, appearing from the kitchen. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m good,’ I answered, bending down to hug her as she arrived in front of me and then recoiling when I saw a large, multicoloured bruise on her arm.

‘Jesus, Gran! What have you done to yourself?’

‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ she replied dismissively. ‘I’m on a new blood pressure medication that can cause me to bruise easily. It doesn’t hurt, it just looks bloody awful.’

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