Nest or Invest: Love New Zealand, #1

Chapter 1

Shasa sank into her worn-out wingback chair and let out a deep sigh. Afternoon nap time. For the next ninety minutes, she could ignore the floor covered in dirty clothes and crumbs and just sit. She had nothing scheduled. Nothing but the scent of lemony green tea rising from her cup and a phone she could use to read her emails – if she had the stomach to open the last one.

The message was from Ollie, her partner and the father of her child. He’d spent the last two years working on the Greenpeace ship somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, extending his stay twice. In three weeks, he’d return to New Zealand. That was the plan, anyway.

Over the last two months, their relationship had become more and more strained. The distance between them felt longer than nine thousand kilometres of ocean. Now, this ominous email had landed in her inbox. Nothing good ever followed a subject line ‘Something you should know’.

She dropped the phone on the floor. She didn’t need to know anything. Not yet. She could sit for a moment and admire how the afternoon sun played with her net curtains, exposing a sprinkling of mould, illuminating the dust particles dancing in the air. She focused on her breath, inhaling for one, two, three...

Before she reached ‘four’, someone knocked on the door, loudly enough to break her concentration and wake up her daughter. The telltale whimper carried down the hallway, making her muscles clench, and a hot burst of anger propelled her out of her chair. She marched to the door, flinging it open.

Hi! Mac McCarthy. I’m here for the property valuation. Were you expecting me?

Damn! A week ago, Shasa had received a text from her property manager, informing her of the valuation. Why hadn’t she marked it in her calendar?

She eyeballed the guy standing at her doorstep. His suit and tie exuded success. A branded pen stuck out of his pocket.

A real estate agent.

He had a stupid name, deep brown eyes, and a dazzling smile, which quickly turned cheeky. His gaze dipped down, scanning her from head to toe, no doubt noting the over-grown dreadlocks and colorful bracelets. It wasn’t a style befitting a 32-year-old, her mum had announced during one of their video chats, later sending her a gift certificate for the hairdresser. The rest of her outfit was equally questionable. She wrapped her arms around her chest to cover the threadbare, food-stained tank top from the guy’s roaming gaze. Was he here to evaluate the house or her?

Lilla’s high-pitched wail rang through the house, demanding attention.

She nodded towards the bedroom. That’s my daughter.

The agent’s eyebrows shot up in an animated show of sympathy. Poor little one!

Shasa glared at him. "You woke her."

He smiled brightly. Don’t worry, this won’t take long. She can go back to sleep in a jiffy.

No, she can’t. She takes ages to fall asleep. The low hiss of Shasa’s exhale sounded like a tiny Darth Vader. If only she had a scary mask and were two feet taller. Being petite meant guys tended to underestimate her.

She spun on her heels and hurried to the bedroom across the uneven wood floor. Her three-year-old, Lilla, stood in her cot, her doll face contorted in despair, wailing like she’d been abandoned on a desert island. She had her father’s blue eyes and Shasa’s dark, wavy hair, self-styled with far too many pink and purple clips.

Careful of her lower back, Shasa scooped her up and carried her to the lounge. Even if the ritual of bum-patting and water-bottle-suckling worked to put her back to sleep, she’d get another half-an-hour at best. With a stranger snooping around the house, nap time was officially over.

She adjusted Lilla’s skinny legs on her waist, letting her shoulder get slimy from the tears, and strolled around the house. The old villa had plenty of creaky doors that, when opened, created a handy loop. Gradually, Lilla’s wailing turned into sniffling, allowing Shasa to hear another sound.

The real estate agent cleared his throat, still standing at the entrance. Couldn’t the dude just do whatever he was here to do and get out of her way?

What? she barked.

The guy flashed her a bright smile. Is it okay if I look around now? Or would you rather reschedule?

I’d rather you were done already.

Sensing an intruder, Lilla halted her sniffling. Her arms tightened around Shasa’s neck, and her head lifted in curiosity.

The agent beamed at her. Hi, there! Sorry I woke you.

Shivering at his sugary voice, Shasa backed away from the door. Lilla, the traitor that she was, decided she was done with hugs and squirmed out of her arms, onto the floor. She followed Mac-whatever down the hallway, straight into the laundry.

A sight to behold. The mountain of dirty clothes had grown to the point where it could no longer be contained by the cupboard-sized room and spilled freely into the narrow hallway, meeting a row of recycling containers lined up along the wall. Hurdling a heap of washed Styrofoam prepared for special recycling, Mac nearly stepped on a pair of dirty underwear.

Shasa shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut. She was desperate to run away, but first, she had to catch Lilla. The girl had attached herself to Mac’s side, fascinated by the stranger taking photos of their laundry pile.

Mummy’s panties, she explained, lifting the frayed, purple underwear.

Could the earth please swallow her now?

You’re right, Mac replied, nodding appreciatively. Was he looking at them? She leapt in, grabbed the panties from her daughter’s hand, and stashed them behind a bag of dirty towels.

Look— Lilla picked up a T-shirt with a big spaghetti stain My unicorn shirt. It’s dirty.

Yes, I’m sure your mum will wash it, at some point.

Shasa’s fingers curled into tight fists. For the last two weeks, she’d worked long hours at the community house to make up for the lack of volunteers. She’d stayed behind to pack food parcels and call local businesses to secure more donations. With no family around, she always had her child with her, sometimes even at work. If she didn’t have time to tackle laundry, so be it. Who was this guy to pass judgment?

Mac reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a bag of chocolate frogs. He glanced at Shasa.

Do you mind if I give her one?

Shasa huffed her consent. Anyone who showed a child a treat before asking the parent was playing a dirty game. How could she say no? Lilla was so excited she practically levitated towards the chocolates.

Say thank you, Shasa grumbled, grabbing Lilla’s non-chocolate-holding hand, pulling her to the kitchen. Do you want a snack?

Lilla wrinkled her button nose. You have scary eyes.

Shasa tried to relax her face. Can you save that chocolate for later? Have some kiwi fruit first.

Lilla shook her head.

By the time Shasa had peeled the kiwi fruit, the chocolate was gone, and Lilla accepted the healthier snack. Watching her daughter munch on fruit, Shasa allowed her shoulders to drop. She fetched her previous teacup, now lukewarm, and settled at the table. For a glorious moment, she forgot about the intruder – until she saw him outside the window, holding a tape measure. A layer of cold sweat formed on her neck.

The landlord had sent property valuers before, to borrow more money from the bank. The last one had stayed for two minutes, confirming that the house hadn’t burnt down. So why was the real estate agent strolling around her backyard with a tape measure, recording the width of her driveway, the distance from the boundary to her garden shed, the girth of the magnolia tree? Property valuations weren’t based on the circumference of trees, were they?

She knew she paid way below market rent. She had a lot of space – two bedrooms, a study, and a huge, fenced backyard. Last summer, her blueberry bush had produced the first decent crop. She’d planted it five years ago when they’d first moved in. This year, she was planning to stock the community pantry at her workplace. Blueberries were so expensive in the shops.

From behind the curtain, she kept her eye on the guy. He stopped in the middle of the lawn and typed something on his phone, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

She wanted him gone, but she needed answers. Was the owner planning to sell the house?

It’d be easier to confront him outside, without the dirty laundry or carpet stains casting judgment on her.

Shasa wiped her daughter’s mouth and hands with a tea towel. Get your shoes, let’s go outside!

She leaned on the old key just-so to open the back door and located him by the rear boundary, partially hidden by the compost bin and their abandoned chicken coop. They’d given up the chickens when Ollie had gone vegan, dragging them all in with him. The day he’d left for his first voyage, she’d driven to the supermarket to buy eggs and yoghurt. With no grandparents around, it was hard enough to be a single mum without maintaining complicated shopping and meal planning.

Lilla stuck her feet into her glittery ballet shoes. Swing?

She loved the swing they’d hung off the magnolia tree. In the spring, huge, floppy flowers formed a magical, pink ceiling. Now, in late summer, the ceiling was green, contrasting with the yellow grass that had seen little rain in weeks. The council didn’t charge for water, but Ollie had always been adamant they shouldn’t waste town water on the garden. Right now, the collection barrels were empty, and she only used the hose for her blueberries. When Ollie returned, she hoped he’d see the yellow lawn as a sign of her dedication and would forgive her for not sticking to a vegan diet. If he returned. That ominous email still sat on her phone, unopened.

Lilla ran to the swing. Push me! she yelled before even sitting down.

Shasa gave her a couple of shoves. Leaving her squealing with delight, she approached Mac, who was now taking a photo of her house, and as it appeared, her child. What are you doing?

He jumped. Don’t worry, these are just for reference.

Why are you taking measurements? Is the house going on the market?

He averted her eyes. I’m just here to do a valuation.

Shasa’s voice rose in alarm. Please, don’t bullshit me. I need to know what’s going on.

Mac tapped on his phone. If your landlord’s planning to sell, he must give you a ninety-day notice. Or, if they’re not getting new tenants, forty-two days. Either way, you’ll be notified.

He spoke like a robot, rattling out a rehearsed script.

Desperation tightened Shasa’s chest. Forty-two days is nothing! There are hardly any rentals out there and rents have gone up so much! I’m a single mum on a part-time salary. I won’t be able to find anything.

I understand it’s tough, but with good references, there’s always something. He still wouldn’t give her more than a cursory glance, but his voice sounded more strained.

Panic swirled in Shasa’s stomach. She had to get through to this guy. She stepped closer, forcing any anger out of her voice, pleading with all she had. Mac? Please tell me what’s going on. I’m begging you.

He looked at her, his face frozen in a strange, half-baked expression. She had an odd sensation of peeking behind a curtain, like she was seeing an actor moments before they stepped on stage. Something flashed behind his brown eyes, something human that gave her hope. She held his gaze, her nerves raw, fingertips aching.

He glanced at Lilla. A quick smile passed his lips, then disappeared like it was chased by the wind. He turned back to his phone. I’m sorry. We don’t discuss property deals with tenants.

So, that was it? A black cloud swallowed her thoughts, her voice pouring out like acid. It’s all about making money for you and your clients, right? Nobody cares about the tenant.

He straightened his spine. I don’t make money. Money makes money. The reply sounded rehearsed, but at least she had his attention.

Shasa squared her shoulders to match his posture. What if you don’t have any money?

He shrugged. Plenty of people start with nothing and make millions.

Her blood boiled. And millions of people start with nothing and make nothing! The system’s not fair!

Mac’s mouth twitched. She caught a light behind his eyes again, a flicker of fire. Engagement. It felt better than the half-arsed brush-offs.

The twitch in the corner of his mouth grew into a proper smile. Life’s not fair. Doesn’t mean you give up, sit on your bum and whine about it.

Shasa folded her arms. I’m not whining! I’m asking you to tell me what you know, so we can avoid becoming homeless. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do in your capitalist utopia?

Capitalist utopia? He raised a brow and cocked his head, baffled. I’m on your side. I love seeing renters get on the property ladder. In fact, you might be interested in—

Oh, spare me the spiel! I’m not your buyer. I’m not your competition, either. I’m just a single mum trying to survive. All I’m asking is a fair warning. Do I have to move? Is it possible the new owners might keep us on? We’re good tenants. The picture of her laundry pile flashed behind her eyes and warmth engulfed her face. I mean, we pay on time.

Mac’s eyes softened. He slipped his phone into his pocket. I’m so sorry, but my client’s looking at developing. It’s a decent sized section, enough for several high-end townhouses. Makes more sense than trying to renovate ... that. He gestured apologetically at the old villa. The location’s perfect. Close to town, close to the lake, on a popular street. You’re right, Hamilton is short of rentals. When you think about it, this is great for everyone. Multiple apartments instead of one.

Great for everyone? Her stomach roiled. This was her worst nightmare. She stared at her perfect garden, all the fight seeping out of her. Is it final yet?

Mac shrugged. It’s looking good. The house is on stilts, easy to move. No reason it wouldn’t go through.

Her gaze landed on her big blueberry bush, surrounded by nets she’d painstakingly installed last summer. Do you think they’ll destroy the whole garden? The blueberries, the fruit trees, everything?

Mac gave her an odd look. Why? You won’t be here.

I know. But I’ve put in so much work, I don’t want to see it all die. She bit down on her lip to stop it from quivering.

This was the worst news, and she hadn’t even read Ollie’s email yet.

Mac looked at the blueberries. If the garden is in the way, it has to go.

Lilla shouted from the swing, asking for someone to push her. Shasa tried to move, but the devastation of the news had nailed her to the ground. She fought the sting behind her eyes, but it only got worse.

Mac stepped in and gave Lilla a push. Her giggle rang across the yard.

He returned to her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. I was going to take one more look inside the house, but...

Shasa squeezed her eyes shut, tears now flowing freely. I think it’s best you leave.

She’d expected him to run at the sight of her tears, but he simply stood there, head slightly tilted, his brown eyes radiating concern.

Hey. It’ll be okay. The sudden kindness in his voice made her shiver. Maybe you’ll find something better. Plant another... blueberry bush.

When his hand landed on her shoulder, she jerked. It takes... five... years... to produce any berries, she hiccupped, trying to get her tears under control.

Despite everything she found obnoxious and disagreeable about him, from that fancy suit to his arrogant rhetoric, Mac seemed completely at ease with her emotional outburst.

Five years is a long time. He stroked her shoulder with his thumb, his voice soft.

She should have shaken off that hand and slapped it away for good measure. But something deep inside her hummed to life, responding to the warm, reassuring touch. She noted the weight of it, that subtle vibration that spread through her body, flooding her with confusing warmth. She hadn’t been touched for a while, at least by a man.

The sheer unexpectedness of the physical comfort held her spellbound, until doubts slowly entered her mind. Why was he comforting her? He didn’t care about her or her child. He was simply easing his own guilt over making them homeless.

With a bout of resolve, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, pushing his hand away. It’s okay. You’re excused. Her voice wobbled as she lifted her chin to confront him.

His arm lowered, fingers grasping the air like they were unsure of where to go next. Well, Thanks for having me. And good luck with... everything. He held still, looking at her for a little too long, a little too intensely, as if trying to decide something.

Finally, the turned around and left. Through her tears, she watched him exit through the gate, get behind the wheel of a huge black pickup truck and tear away.

Lilla took her hand. What is it, mummy?

Shasa wiped her eyes, trying to calm down. Just a hard day, baby. But we’ll figure it out.

How, she had no idea.

Chapter 2

Shasa stretched out across the bed and turned on her pink vintage nightlight. Lilla snuggled up against her like a heat-seeking missile. The girl accepted her cot for afternoon naps but slept next to Shasa at night. She didn’t mind. Without Ollie, she no longer needed privacy. This way, she felt less alone.

Her arms ached. After the real estate agent had left, she’d scrubbed the entire house. She needed to prove to herself that the state of her home had been temporary, that he’d just happened to step in moments before her weekly (okay, monthly) clean. By clearing the tabletops and mopping the laundry room floor, she’d been redeemed. Yet, sleep eluded her. She had to read that email.

Shasa grabbed her phone and brought up the message. It began with well wishes and greetings to Lilla, his little bean. She wondered if Ollie called her that because the last time he’d bonded with his daughter, she’d been the size of a bean. He’d been great during the pregnancy, but once they entered the daily grind of parenthood, his interest waned, and his feet itched.

She kept reading, her heart in free fall. Ollie always wrote eloquently, but his beautiful words couldn’t hide his intent. He wasn’t coming back. On the ship, he felt like he was finally contributing in a meaningful way. As much as he’d miss Lilla (not her), he needed to do this for the planet, for their future. And he didn’t want to stop her from realising her dreams.

Shasa shrank as though someone had sucked the air out of her lungs. Forcing her eyes back on the phone, she read the message again. There was no way around it. He’d already let her go.

She hugged her knees, willing her churning gut to settle. This didn’t change anything, right? She’d practically been a single mother for two years, only now it was official. She was officially alone. At college, her parents had split up and returned to their respective home countries, Finland and South Africa, while she remained in New Zealand. They stayed in touch over Skype but visited infrequently. Ollie’s parents live in the South Island, too far to be of any help.

She looked at her wrists, covered in colorful, woven bracelets. Some were from second-hand shops; others Ollie had given her during his brief visits. She’d worn them proudly, happy for the way they brightened her wardrobe and connected her to him and his causes. Just like the dreadlocks. Hers were dark to Ollie’s dirty blond, but they matched, signaling to the world that they belonged together.

She sat up on the bed, running her fingers through the thick, woolly strands. That was it. If he let go of her, she’d let go of the hair.

It was a petty thought, but it gave her a sense of control. She tiptoed into the kitchen, looking for scissors. The dreads were overgrown, so she didn’t have to do a close shave, only snip them off one by one. It would look terrible, but she could get someone to tidy it up later. Until then, she’d wear a scarf or something.

After twenty minutes of frantic scissor work, she had a sink full of matted hair and the most awkward pixie cut ever seen. She looked in the mirror, picturing the horror on Ollie’s face. She’d always fallen short of his standards – veganism, plastic-free life, exclusive breastfeeding... The chopped off hair was the perfect cherry on top of her half-hearted efforts. It made her look exactly how she felt – someone who didn’t fit in anywhere.

She scooped the loose hair into a paper bag, wondering how to dispose of it. She’d heard it could be used to clean up oil spills, but how? Maybe she could compost it. Without Ollie, did she still care about the planet? Would she abandon the compost bin? Buy a packet of plastic spoons?

That was the truly hard part. She agreed with most of what Ollie said: Recycling made sense. Helping the less fortunate was important. It was part of her job, too. As much as she hated Ollie right now, she couldn’t align herself with the greedy, self-serving people like that Mac-something, who bought and sold properties for maximum profit, never mind the tenants. After all, she had a conscience. She hadn’t lopped it off with the dreadlocks.

As she returned to the bedroom, she marveled at how light and cool her head felt. Sliding under the covers, she snuggled against Lilla’s warm back, taking solace in her soft breathing. She would find her own way, a way of doing the right thing without Ollie’s nagging voice in her ear. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need a man at all. Men couldn’t be trusted – as fathers or anything else.

She wrapped her arm around her daughter and imagined them lying on a floating raft in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight. Ollie had thrown them overboard, and they needed to find land. A place to anchor.

Chapter 3

Mac stepped into the busy cafe on Victoria Street and ordered two drinks – a flat white for himself and a short black for his friend and business partner, Rick, who was running late. He suspected that Rick’s perpetual tardiness was part sloppiness and part power play, but he didn’t care. He would have happily waited for hours.

Three years ago, Rick had let him in on a property deal that made a year’s wages in a couple of months. Mac still remembered the thrill of it, the realisation that he no longer had to survive on a property manager’s salary. He could invest and grow his wealth, like Rick. Despite what his parents had always told him, money wasn’t evil; it