Too Small to Fail

by Morris Gleitzman

  Oliver turned to Mum. She was looking more sympathetic.

  ‘I know how you feel, love,’ she said to Oliver. ‘What’s happened to Nancy’s family is a tragedy. And they’re not the only ones. I wish there was a way we could make it alright for everybody.’

  Oliver was about to remind Mum there were thirty-eight million ways, but before he could her face went very weary.

  ‘It’s just not possible,’ she said. ‘We have other responsibilities. We have to think about you and your future. We have to put you first.’

  ‘No you don’t,’ yelled Oliver. ‘You have to pay people back. I don’t want you to put me first. I don’t want us to sneak off overseas. I want you to be generous and kind, not mean and selfish.’

  Mum looked hurt.

  Oliver didn’t care, it was the truth.

  ‘You’re not being fair,’ he yelled at them both. ‘You’re being selfish and sneaky.’

  Dad looked like he was about to explode.

  ‘Oliver,’ he roared. ‘Go to your room.’

  Oliver hesitated. There was so much more he wanted to say. But he could see that talking wasn’t going to make any difference.

  Forget talking.

  Mum and Dad had forgotten how to be generous and kind. It was up to him now, and this time he mustn’t fail.

  16

  Oliver didn’t feel good, hunting through Mum and Dad’s bedroom.

  He was a burglar in his own beach house. But he couldn’t let Barclay and the others down. He had to find Dad’s briefcase.

  Suddenly Oliver saw it, tucked on top of the wardrobe. He dragged it down and clicked it open.

  Nothing in the first compartment except an American investment magazine and a packet of tissues.

  Oliver paused and listened.

  Mum and Dad were still downstairs with Hayden. Dad was on the phone to the lawyers and Mum was offering to make Hayden a sandwich for the drive back and asking if he minded smoked oysters out of a tin.

  The second compartment of the briefcase was full of sheets of paper.

  Oliver flicked through them.

  They were covered with numbers printed in neat columns. Some of the pages had other numbers written on by hand.

  I need words, thought Oliver. In whatever language they speak in Switzerland.

  He found some.

  At the top of one of the sheets was the name of a bank that looked foreign. And under the name, other words that were definitely not English. And under the words, a list of numbers with a total at the bottom.

  $38,000,000.

  Yes.

  Oliver grabbed his phone and took several photos of the bank statement, making sure he got all the numbers in.

  He didn’t feel like a burglar any more.

  He felt like a spy.

  But he didn’t care.

  Oliver wondered if paper cuts could kill you.

  He didn’t have any yet, but lying here in the back of Hayden’s car covered with folders and print-outs and boxes of bank documents, he was definitely at risk. Once they were moving, if Hayden took a corner too fast, he could be slashed to ribbons.

  Or was he just being silly?

  Probably.

  He wouldn’t know for sure until Hayden stopped arguing with Mum and Dad and got in the car and started driving back to the city.

  Oliver could hear their voices.

  ‘Blaming us won’t change anything, Hayden,’ Mum was saying. ‘Just go please. When we find Oliver, we’ll tell him you said goodbye.’

  ‘I’ll give that boy what for,’ said Dad. ‘When I send him to his room, that doesn’t mean the beach.’

  Come on, Oliver urged them silently. Time’s running out. Camels are dehydrating and grumpy men with hangovers and guns are waking up.

  At last Hayden got in the car.

  Oliver held his breath. This was the risky moment. If Hayden decided to tidy up the piles of stuff in the back of the car before he drove off, Oliver was history.

  But Hayden didn’t.

  As the car moved off, Oliver said a silent thank you to Hayden’s mum, who had obviously let Hayden keep his room like a pigsty.

  Oliver wondered if leg cramps could kill you.

  They’d started ten minutes into the journey, and every time Oliver rubbed his legs he worried Hayden would hear him rustling under the folders.

  Fortunately Hayden was playing loud music, a woman singing with a sob in her voice, and sometimes Hayden sang along with her and had a sob in his voice too. Other times he swore loudly about Mum and Dad.

  Oliver found you could make leg pain a bit less painful by thinking about other things.

  Rose for example, and how unfair her life had been. And whether Mum and Dad had found the note he’d left in Dad’s briefcase. And how Barclay was going.

  Except worrying about Barclay was almost as painful as leg cramps.

  Finally the car slowed down and joggled over some speed bumps.

  At last, thought Oliver. We must be going down the ramp into the car park under the bank building.

  Oliver had worked out what would probably happen next. Hayden wouldn’t be able to carry all the files and documents in one go, so he’d probably go up in the lift and get a trolley.

  After the engine stopped Oliver held his breath and listened.

  He heard Hayden get out of the car.

  Please, he said silently. Please don’t let Hayden try to break the Olympic record for carrying paper.

  Hayden didn’t.

  Oliver said a silent thank you to Hayden’s dad, who obviously hadn’t got Hayden interested in sport.

  He counted to twenty-seven.

  That should be long enough for Hayden to get to the lift.

  Carefully, Oliver lifted the folders off his head and shoulders, eased himself up and peeked out the car window.

  No sign of Hayden.

  Oliver reached for his bulging school bag and hoped he hadn’t made it too heavy for a quick getaway.

  As Oliver hurried through the long grass to Erik’s front door, he said a silent thank you to whoever invented phone maps and buses.

  He did it silently because he was listening for Barclay.

  A growl.

  A whimper.

  The crunch of a dog biscuit.

  Any hint that Barclay was alive and well.

  Oliver put his ear to the dirty peeling front door. He couldn’t hear anything. He knocked, loudly.

  And again.

  And again.

  At last he heard footsteps approaching through the house. Human ones, not dog ones.

  The door opened.

  Erik scowled at Oliver.

  ‘I was asleep,’ he said. ‘What?’

  Oliver gave him a friendly smile.

  Erik didn’t give him one back.

  Oliver reminded himself what Dad always said about taking a chance and having a punt and risking it. Then he remembered he didn’t want to be like Dad any more.

  This is just me, thought Oliver.

  ‘I’ve come for the dog, please,’ he said.

  Erik took off his glasses, polished them on his pyjamas, put them back on and gave Oliver a smirk.

  Oliver was reminded of a look Dad used to get when he talked about tough deals he’d done at the bank.

  ‘Five hundred bucks,’ said Erik.

  Oliver tried to look relaxed.

  ‘So if I give you five hundred dollars,’ he said to Erik, ‘I can have Barclay. I mean that used secondhand dog?’

  ‘You’re quick,’ said Erik.

  They looked at each other for a while.

  ‘I can do better than that,’ said Oliver.

  It was a phrase he’d often heard Dad use. But he was pretty sure Dad didn’t invent it, which meant he could still use it too.

  Oliver held out his school bag.

  ‘Instead of five hundred dollars in money,’ he said, ‘I’ll give you one thousand five hundred dollars in assets.’

  Erik looked at the bag. />
  Oliver was about to explain what assets were, when Erik grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him into the house.

  While he was being steered into the dingy living room, Oliver kept his eyes and ears frantically open.

  No sign or sound of Barclay.

  Not a whimper or a wet patch.

  ‘Show us what you’ve got,’ said Erik.

  The two other men from last time sat up in their armchairs and watched with sleepy interest.

  Oliver crouched on the greasy carpet among the empty beer cans. From his bag he took his Xbox, his PlayStation, his iPad and his laptop and laid them out on the carpet in what he hoped was an attractive display.

  ‘They’re definitely worth one thousand five hundred dollars,’ said Oliver. ‘Easily. Even after depreciation for age and use.’

  Erik looked at the other men.

  ‘Shall we kill him and take his stuff?’ said Erik.

  The other men thought about this.

  Oliver tried not to faint. Or run. In his pocket was his phone. He’d pre-dialled 000. He waited to see if Erik was serious.

  The other men grinned and shook their heads.

  Erik giggled.

  Oliver was shocked. Even their jokes were cruel.

  ‘OK,’ said Erik to Oliver. ‘I’m interested. What else have you got?’

  Oliver desperately tried to think of a way to make his offer more attractive. Saying he’d also clean the bathroom was no good because he didn’t have time. And he wanted to hang onto his noise-suppression headphones in case he and Barclay ended up living next to noisy neighbours.

  ‘I’ll throw in a pair of German binoculars,’ said Oliver, taking them from his bag and putting them on the floor. ‘They’re really good for hunting small things like mice.’

  The men in the armchairs frowned and Oliver realised he probably shouldn’t have said that.

  Erik was looking at all the stuff.

  ‘Is it stolen?’ he said.

  ‘Do I look like a burglar?’ said Oliver.

  The other men snorted.

  Erik held out a pudgy hand. Oliver shook it. Only one thing worried him. There was still no sign of Barclay.

  Erik steered Oliver into the hallway and kicked open a door. Inside the room, lying on a dirty mattress with the expression of one who’d suffered much disappointment lately and had discovered that the world isn’t always a sweet and perfect place, was Barclay.

  ‘Take him and rack off,’ said Erik. ‘You can’t have the lead cause I’ve lost it.’

  Oliver didn’t mind. All he cared about was having Barclay in his arms, which he soon did. And from all the wagging and licking and ecstatic panting that took place as they headed for the bus stop, Barclay was clearly a dog whose faith in life was totally restored.

  17

  As Oliver turned the corner into Nancy’s street, he could hear Moo growling in the distance.

  ‘OK,’ he said to Barclay, who was sitting in his school bag. ‘We’re about to do something risky and possibly a bit illegal, and I’m afraid there are a couple of things you’re probably not going to like.’

  He turned the school bag round so Barclay was facing him and would pay attention and stop chewing the straps. It partly worked, though there was still a bit of chewing.

  ‘First thing,’ said Oliver. ‘The camel. Try not to be scared, she’s fairly friendly if you don’t grab her rope.’

  He decided not to mention anything about Moo kicking anybody in the head. No point making Barclay too anxious.

  ‘Second thing,’ said Oliver, and he knew this was going to be the tricky one. ‘The girl. You’ve probably seen how sad and upset and a bit violent she is because her dad died.’

  Barclay didn’t try to jump out of the bag and run away, which Oliver thought was very brave.

  ‘There is a third thing,’ said Oliver. ‘The woman with the knife is here too. She’s had a tough time as well, so we have to try to be sympathetic. And with a loving pet like you around, who never kicks anybody in the head, I think she and the girl might both feel happier.’

  Oops, he’d said the head thing.

  ‘The important thing, Barclay,’ added Oliver, ‘is that I’ll be with you at all times. And together we’re going to help save sixteen camels, OK?’

  Barclay licked Oliver’s face, which suggested strongly to Oliver that it was OK.

  In the driveway, the empty camel float was hitched to the ute. Luggage was piled up in the back of the ute and tied down with ropes.

  ‘We got here just in time,’ whispered Oliver to Barclay.

  They squeezed past the ute, Barclay still in the bag. Oliver peered cautiously into the backyard.

  Rose was there, gently rubbing ointment into a shaved patch on Moo’s side. Oliver could see a long thin scar in the shaved patch with stitches crisscrossing it.

  ‘Don’t worry, he whispered to Barclay. ‘It was an operation. No stabbing was involved.’

  Moo turned her head and saw Barclay and growled softly.

  Barclay gave a yelp of alarm.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Oliver whispered.

  But it wasn’t.

  Rose turned as well and saw Oliver.

  ‘Yuk, it’s leech-boy,’ she scowled. ‘What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be hiding away with your criminal parents?’

  Oliver knew this wasn’t a time for arguments, but he couldn’t stop himself.

  ‘My parents aren’t crooks,’ he said.

  Selfish, yes, but not crooks.

  ‘Not crooks?’ said Rose. ‘So where did the four trillion dollars go, eh?’

  Oliver stared at her.

  Four trillion? Four thousand thousand million? If Rose thought that was how much Mum and Dad had lost, she must be even worse at maths than him.

  ‘It was on the news this morning,’ said Rose. ‘Your parents have caused a global financial crisis.’

  Oliver didn’t know what to say.

  He saw Nancy had come out of the house.

  ‘Rose,’ Nancy said wearily. ‘We’ve been through this. Four trillion is what all the investment banks in the world have lost. Oliver’s parents are only a tiny part of that.’

  Oliver was relieved to hear it.

  Nancy turned to him. She didn’t look pleased to see him, but she didn’t look angry either.

  ‘You got the dog,’ she said. ‘Good on you.’

  Oliver knew he didn’t have much time, so he tried to be as clear and honest as he could.

  ‘I’m here for two reasons,’ he said. ‘I mean three. No, two.’

  Nancy sighed.

  ‘First,’ said Oliver, ‘I want to say sorry on behalf of my parents. They’d probably say it themselves if their bank hadn’t just gone broke.’

  Before Oliver could go on to the second reason, Barclay scrabbled out of the bag, jumped down, trotted over to Rose and sniffed her feet.

  ‘Yuk,’ said Rose. ‘Get your horrible dog away from me.’

  Oliver sighed.

  ‘Here, boy,’ he said.

  Barclay ignored him and started jumping and licking Rose’s knees.

  Rose bent down and picked Barclay up.

  ‘Poor thing,’ she muttered to Barclay, hugging him to her chest. ‘Must be horrible having a worm for an owner.’

  Oliver ignored her and turned back to Nancy.

  ‘I’m also here,’ he said, ‘to make up for what Mum and Dad did, specially with Rose’s dad dying and everything.’

  ‘Come into the house,’ said Nancy.

  With an anxious glance at Barclay, Oliver grabbed his bag and followed her inside.

  In the living room, newspapers were lying on the table and sofa. Oliver saw they all had headlines to do with banks going broke.

  ‘Sit down,’ said Nancy.

  Oliver sat down.

  Nancy stayed standing.

  Oliver started to tell her more about the second reason he was here, but Nancy silenced him with a look. She picked up a newspaper.

 
‘In the global investment playground,’ Nancy read out, ‘Owen and Rhoda Newton were a pair of first years.’

  Oliver was shocked. That was a really unkind thing for a newspaper to write.

  Nancy put the newspaper down.

  ‘Your parents promised me a safe investment,’ she said. ‘I was probably dumb to believe them. But I was wrong to blame them for Tim’s death. Tim was an adult who made his own choices and copped some tragic bad luck.’

  She went silent and stared out the window.

  Oliver was glad about what she’d just said, but he was nervous about interrupting again at such a personal moment. Though he was pretty sure Nancy was going to be pleased to hear the news he had for her.

  ‘Jeez,’ said Nancy. ‘Look at that.’

  Oliver stood up and peered out the window.

  In the backyard, Rose and Barclay and Moo seemed to be getting on very well. Rose had put Barclay on Moo’s back. The two animals were sniffing each other.

  Rose was grinning.

  ‘That’s the first smile I’ve seen on her face in two months,’ said Nancy.

  Good on you Barclay, thought Oliver.

  He decided now was a good time to break the news to Nancy.

  ‘I’m here to pay you back,’ he said. ‘And to give you a bit extra.’

  ‘Extra?’ said Nancy.

  Oliver looked at the numbers he’d worked out on his phone calculator.

  ‘Nine hundred and eighty-nine thousand dollars,’ he said.

  Nancy stared at him.

  ‘Plus,’ said Oliver, ‘the eleven thousand dollars you invested, which makes a total of one million dollars.’

  Nancy looked at him as if he was one hump short of a camel.

  ‘Your parents have just gone broke,’ she said.

  Oliver took a deep breath.

  ‘They’ve still got money,’ he said.

  He went to the photo of the foreign bank statement on his phone and handed the phone to Nancy.

  She studied it. And swore under her breath.

  ‘The mongrels,’ said Nancy. ‘They’re keeping all this for themselves?’

  Oliver nodded.

  ‘They’re keeping it for me as well,’ he said. ‘And I give you permission to take a million dollars. The account number’s there.’

  Nancy stared at him.