SIGNING ON:A lodger would mean extra income to our unemployed columnist, but is he prepared to share his family home?
THE PLAYGROUND in their new location is devoid of graffiti. Not of drama: a thirtysomething father, pulling ferociously on a rollie, seems overly keen to avoid conversation. A pair of children in tow; tousle-haired girl around three, grim-faced boy of six or seven.
When the unemployed man’s daughter invites the three-year-old inside the Wendy house, the 30-something father moves to the gate, gesturing impatiently at the boy. The latter seems wary. The father scoops him up, leaves the gate swinging, packs the boy into a silver car. The girl exits the Wendy house, alarmed: ‘Daddy . . . ?’
The unemployed man shouts after the car now pulling swiftly out of the car park: “Hey, stop!”
The car accelerates on to the road, then brakes. Waits. Finally hangs a U-turn. The thirtysomething father re-enters, head down. Attempts a ‘how could I be so forgetful?’ shrug, convincing no one. Takes the girl. Drives away, adjusting his mirror to see if he’s being followed. Someone wonders aloud: “What was all that about?” (A separated man heading for the ferry? A family rent apart by recession, depression, madness?)
***
People are friendlier. Attitudes more positive. Realistically, or not, he perceives unemployment – perhaps because of education, status, plain old middle-class confidence – as temporary. A lull.
The fact that their new address is “desirable”, the houses larger, also offers advantages. It is possible to earn €650 per month by taking in a foreign student. Several nearby language schools also provide au pairs. You must offer an en-suite, feed them (obviously), pay for transport to and from school; in return they give 15 to 20 hours’ child-minding per week, a damn sight cheaper than any creche in this neck of the woods. All this he learns from a forthcoming man in the park. The man says his wife was recently made redundant, so they bought bunk-beds, shoved the kids into one room, secured two students.
“We bought right at the height, topped up twice; it helps pay the mortgage,’’ he says.
In terms of au pairs, the man recommends Italians; they love children, can usually cook. Give it a shot. Never know, you might get a Monica Bellucci lookalike. (Yeah right, thinks the unemployed man. His wife would make no such selection: their au pair would be more likely to look like Berlusconi.)
***
He meets an old friend out walking. A former competitive swimmer, the friend works part-time in a local gym. Can organise a membership if the unemployed man, a former part-time swimming coach, teaches a few children’s lessons. Seems like a good deal. (And the shrink was right; working out alone in the garden is dull).
***
The sheer volume of weight being hefted by the bull-necked, twentysomething jocks is staggering. In the dressing room they sit with canisters of whey protein, creatine. The unemployed man has been around enough gyms to know this is a cover. He suspects steroid abuse.
Has his suspicions confirmed when the young men remove T-shirts: backs covered in acne, sure-fire sign of livers under duress. Moreover, too many of them fail to shower. Or do so only with togs on; steroids shrink testicles.
***
One of the young jocks cools down in the pool. Possesses all the elegance of a baby rhino. The unemployed man gives him a few tips. The kid, a quick learner, is grateful. After, they chat: Listen, I’ve seen what steroids do. It’s not worth it.
“It’s not just about size, dude.”
What is it about then?
“Profile. Contacts. Being in a position to set up a company someday. Put it this way: if you applied to the local bank for a loan same day as someone who’d played for the local rugby club, who’d get the cash?”
Kid has a point.
***
His wife sets up an interview with the co-ordinator of the Enterprise Allowance Scheme; the process of their signing off is under way. They’re going to need childcare, and cash (the initial printing run for their business material costs €400, borrowed from his father).
Nothing left to sell. Or swap.
And still he keeps schtum about the notion of a student, or au pair: he wants to enjoy the new house, the space, a little longer. If workers get official holiday time to chill, why can’t he?
(What? You think child-minding, CV-dispatching, proposal-writing, interview-attending and queuing don’t qualify as work?)
The author of this column wishes to remain anonymous. His identity is known to the editor