Page 1 of Bozo

ONE

BOZO

Eighteen Years Ago

Aged Seven

“Tell me, Maggie,” Dad sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair, the other holding his beer bottle. “How the hell are we going to pay this shit?”

“I don’t know, Craig,” Mam hisses, her gaze darting toward me. She doesn’t like arguing with my dad around me, but it happens anyway. I focus on building the Lego castle I got from Santa at Christmas.

“Look at this shit. Just look at it. We’re ten thousand in debt. We barely have five hundred euro to make it to the end of the month. We have to pay the hundred-and-thirty-euro electricity bill,” Dad snarls. “Not to mention buying groceries. That’s usually another hundred at the very least. How the fuck are we going to make it to the end of the month and pay some money off the debt?”

“How much do we have left if we budget the one hundred and thirty for electricity and a hundred and twenty for groceries?” Mam asks.

“Two hundred and fifty euro,” I say as I continue to build my Lego.

“What did you say, you little shit?” Dad snarls.

“Two hundred and fifty,” I reply as I shrink further into the sofa. I hate it when Dad snarls at me. It means he’s angry.

Dad's eyes narrow, his knuckles turning white as he grips the beer bottle tighter. "How the hell do you know that?"

I keep my eyes fixed on the Lego bricks, trying to make myself as small as possible. "I... I just subtracted the numbers you said."

"Craig, don’t be mean. He's just trying to help. Honey, how did you manage to do it that quickly?” she asks, her voice soft. It usually is whenever Dad’s mad.

I shrug, not really sure how to answer her. I’ve always been good with numbers.

"Help?" Dad scoffs and takes another swig of beer. "What we need is a goddamn miracle, not a smart-ass kid."

"Maybe..." Mam starts hesitantly. "Maybe I could pick up some extra shifts at the library?"

Dad snorts. "And who's gonna watch the kid? We can't afford a babysitter." He runs a hand through his hair. “Like the boy says, we’ve two hundred and fifty euro. If we use that money to pay off some of our debt, we’ll be able to pay it off in...” He waves his hand in the air.

"In about four years," I mutter, still focusing on my Lego castle.

The room goes dead silent. I can feel my parents’ eyes on me, but I don't dare look up.

"What did you just say?" Dad's voice is low, and dangerous.

I swallow hard, my hands shaking as I try to fit another brick into place. "If... if we only pay two hundred and fifty euro a month, it'll take about four years to pay off ten thousand euro. That’s not counting interest."

Mam gasps softly while Dad slams his beer bottle down on the coffee table, making me jump. "How the hell do you know that?" he demands.

I shrug, still not looking up. "It's just... math."

"Craig," Mam says softly, "maybe we should?—"

"Should what?" Dad interrupts. "Listen to a seven-year-old about our finances? Christ, Maggie, we're in deep shit here!"

"I know that!" Mam snaps back. "But yelling isn't going to solve anything. And maybe..." She pauses, and I can feel her looking at me. "Maybe we should consider what he's saying."

Dad scoffs. "What, you think the boy's some kind of genius or something?"

"I don't know," Mam says. "But he's always been good with numbers. Remember how quickly he learned to count? And he's always the one who spots when we've been overcharged at the shops."

There's a long silence. I keep building my castle, trying to ignore the tension in the room.

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