Page 3 of Bozo

The journey is intense as Dad teaches me signals to give him. I know Mam is going to go crazy when she finds out what’s happened.

"Now listen up," Dad says, his voice low and filled with anger. "When we get in there, you keep your mouth shut. You just watch the cards and give me the signals. Got it?"

I nod silently, my stomach churning.

We pull into the casino parking lot and Dad kills the engine. He turns to me, his eyes hard. "This is our chance, boy. Don't screw it up."

As we walk toward the entrance, my stomach clenches with fear and worry. Dad steers me toward the Blackjack tables, his hand heavy on my shoulder.

"Remember," he mutters. "Just like we practiced."

We sit down at a table and Dad buys in with the last two hundred and fifty euro that he has; the money that was intended to pay part of the debt off. I perch on the chair next to him, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone as I focus on the cards. As the dealer begins the game, I start counting, my mind racing through the numbers.

Dad plays hand after hand, following my subtle signals. At first, we're up a little, then down, then up again.

Hours pass in a blur of cards and chips. My head is pounding from the concentration, but I don't dare lose focus. Finally, Dad cashes out and I’m able to release a relieved breath.

In the car, he counts the money with shaking hands. "Five thousand," he breathes. "We did it, boy."

I should feel relieved, maybe even proud. Instead, I just feel tired and scared. As we drive home in the early morning, I wonder what price we'll really pay for this victory. Now my dad knows that I can win him money, I have no doubt that this will become a regular thing for him.

“We’ll go again in a few days. Your mam’s going to be pissed, but she’ll relax once she realizes we don’t have to worry about much this month.”

As we pull into our driveway, Dad turns to me, still grinning, clutching the wad of cash in his hand like it's a lifeline. "Remember," he says. "Not a word to your mother about where this money came from."

I nod silently, my stomach twisting with guilt. I've never lied to Mam before.

We creep into the house, trying to be quiet, but Mam's waiting for us in the living room. Her face is pale, eyes red-rimmed from crying.

"Where have you been?" she demands, her voice cracking. "I've been worried sick!"

Dad steps forward, puffing out his chest. "Maggie, love, you won't believe it. I?—"

"Save it, Craig," she snaps. "I know where you've been. Mrs. O'Brien from next door saw you leaving with him." She points at me, her hand shaking. "How could you?"

Dad's face darkens. "Now listen here?—"

But Mam's not finished. She turns to me, her eyes filled with anger and disappointment. It makes me want to disappear. "And you," she says softly. "I thought we agreed you wouldn't do this."

I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. What can I say? That I'm sorry? That I was just trying to help?

Dad steps between us. "Leave the boy alone. Look." He thrusts the money toward her. "Five thousand euros. Our problems are solved."

Mam stares at the cash, her face unreadable. For a moment, I think she might take it, might understand why we did what we did. But then she looks up, her jaw set.

"No," she says firmly. "This isn't the answer. We're not going to solve our problems by breaking the law and exploiting our child."

"Exploiting?" Dad scoffs. "He's helping the family!"

"He's seven years old!" Mam shouts, her voice breaking. "He should be playing with his friends, not counting cards in a casino!"

As they argue, I back away, bumping into the sofa where my half-finished Lego castle still sits. I slip away to my room, closing the door on the shouting. Crawling into bed, I pull the covers over my head, trying to block out the noise, the guilt, and the fear. I'm supposed to be good with numbers, but right now, nothing adds up. How can something that was meant to help us have gone so wrong?

TWO

GRÁINNE

Sixteen Years Ago

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