A Scratch Can't Hurt

It was a still, dark and fog filled morning when Matthew 'Matty' Hawkins arrived on the new job site at his usual six am. His crew, the men he had been working with for the last ten years (first as a fellow chippie and laborer and for the last seven as their foreman), had started to arrive shortly after Matty, grumbling and discouraged by the unpleasant start to the day. Libbie Kelly, owner of Flipping Majestic Constructions had handpicked this team when she started the business ten years ago. The majority of the crew - Libbie included - had all been apprentices at the same time. Now almost twenty-five years later, they were the best crew Matty had ever worked with.

'Righto boys, gather up!' He exclaimed; foggy breath billowed from his mouth. Winter was always the worst time of year in their trade, especially in south eastern New South Wales where the mornings were especially bitter and icy. 'Alright, this beauty behind me is goin to its studs. As you can see from the asbestos register I’ve just handed out, we’ve got friable and non-friable to deal with.' Matty's tone grew serious and there was an air of apprehension among the tradies. ‘You all know the procedures and I need ya keep your wits about ya.’ The crew dealt with the killer insulation regularly, they had all gotten their asbestos awareness and removal tickets years ago, but they were still cautious. There was an understanding among the crew of the change in Matty's demeanor when this particular subject arose, and it often did. ‘I'll get most of ya to start removing the friable, Jocko you can supervise, make sure were working safely. Kev, I want you Johnny, Pete and Robbo to start pulling out any furniture, appliances and fixtures still left inside, yes that does mean the dunny too, boys.’ Soft chuckles passed through the gathered men as a murmur of amusement rippled through the team. 'Libbie will be here around eight thirty as usual. I'm gonna start by doin a walk through. While I do that, have yourselves some coffee, warm up and wake up. We start at seven sharp boys!'

A slight cheer went through the mass of men as they began to huddle around the coffee van that had pulled up as Matty had spoken. He turned then, looking up at the two-story federation era home they were about to rip apart. He admired silently for a moment the detailed cross gabled roof of the first floor that blended seamlessly with the bonnet roof capping the ground floor and veranda. The familiar pang of guilt tore through him as he mounted the wooden steps to the veranda which lovingly wrapped its self around the front of the home. Buildings like this one should respected as an icon of their Australian heritage, but this old beauty had some serious problems (being riddled with asbestos, for one) and Matty knew that Libbie would see that its new design paid a beautiful modern homage to its roots.

As Matty conducted his walk through he began to think about his job, as he often did on the cold, miserable mornings, when his boys were reluctant and still half asleep. It was a job he loved dearly. It didn't bring in the big bucks by any means but he always felt honored to be working with the blokes he was proud to be able to call his mates. He lived a modest life, enjoying his two greatest hobbies - playing hockey and cooking up a storm. As he walked through the kitchen, noting anything of interest or concern in the small black notebook he used for these Day 1 Inspections, he observed the industrial grade oven with its LED touch screens and multitude of settings. He thought about how out of place it looked in this beautiful, all be it, run down home. He didn't much care for the modern convenience of technology. He didn't own a laptop or computer device of any kind, no fancy phone or TV but that was just fine by him.

He was moving up the staircase now, with its broken steps and missing banister (he made a note of this in that little black notebook in his left hand). Since he was a kid, he dreamed of being able to build a home for himself - the whole reason he had become a chippie was to make that dream a reality. He would want a home like this one he thought idly to himself. Something with the simple elegance of yesteryear. Walking through the house now, he could envision a home just like this one would have been in its prime - ornate door frames and skirting boards, grand archways and hallways, a claw foot tub in the bathroom. He was finally back on his way to that dream. He had been ready to approach the bank for a loan for that very purpose twelve years ago, when his dad became ill.

His dad had been diagnosed with asbestoses. Ole Bill Hawkins had worked as a construction laborer his whole life and when he was in his late 20's, asbestos had become the prime insulation product. They hadn't known about the dangerous side effects back then.

Matty was wondering through the bedrooms, notes continuously flowing from his pen to the slightly yellow pages of his trusty black note book. He knew that his walk through had carried on a little too long, although he didn't much care, when he heard the rumble of voices and the clanging of work commencing below his feet. He looked at his watch. Seven o'clock on the dot. Well done boys, he thought to himself as he continued his work.

He entered the master suite now, admiring the grandeur of this home, its vast space amplified by the lack of furniture. A king-sized bed would not look out of place in here. He took in the breath-taking view of the neighborhood as he approached the opulent bay window, the cushions that remained on the bench were threadbare and worn from the love they had undoubtedly been shown over the years. Matty allowed himself a moment of selfish, foolish daydreaming as he sat in that bay window unable to take his eyes from that view.

He was thinking of his dad again, how that horrendous insulation had caused that horrible crippling disease. Bill Hawkins had been a chronic asthmatic and chain smoker his whole life, so as he began to struggle when breathing, he hadn't taken any notice of it. It wasn't until a regular check up with his GP that suspicion had arisen. The Doc had insisted that Bill go for testing (knowing that the man had worked in construction for a good forty or fifty years). By the time the results came back poor Ole Bill Hawkins could no longer breathe on his own or walk more than a short distance. Pain flickered across Matty's face now as he remembered how difficult it had been seeing his father and hero in such anguish as his body slowly suffocated him. The man Matty had looked up to for as long as he could remember, had been a shadow of his former self.

It had been this horrible circumstance that had prompted Matty to get his asbestos training. He and his crew were on of the foremost removal teams in the area now.

The test had revealed severe scarring and excessive fluid buildup on Ole Bill’s lungs. The medical bills had been covered for the most part by Medicare, but Bill needed intense remedial care and assisted living. It was an expensive endeavor and Matty knew his parents were struggling financially. He did whatever he could to ease their finances and ensure his dad was comfortable - including dipping into the savings he had worked over ten years to accumulate (a fact that to this day his mother wasn't aware of). The whole ordeal had all but depleted the sixty thousand dollars he had saved in that time.

His dad had passed in October of 2010, finally succumbing to the pain and exhaustion after eighteen months of suffering. Matty did not regret the decision to use his savings to help his dad. If anything, it had just made him redouble his saving efforts to recoup the money and see his dream fulfilled. Ole Bill Hawkins would have wanted that. And he was just twenty thousand dollars and a year or two shy of his goal.

The sound of voices echoing down the first-floor hallway brought Matty back to reality. He looked at his watch again, quarter past seven - he'd better get moving. As he stood, something silvery caught the light. Curious, Matty bent to pick it out from underneath the corner of the dusty rug that had been left in the room. As he stood, he blew the dust off the small card. He chuckled to himself. It was a two-dollar scratchy ticket, completely unmarked. Absently he tucked it into his right-hand coat pocket and continued on the day like any other.

Despite the melancholia that had followed Matty, the day had been an overall success. The crew would still have a lot of demo to do tomorrow, the asbestos had been safely removed and disposed of and both Libbie and Matty were proud of the effort of their team today. After completing the day's final walk through, the two headed to their cars. They had sent their team home about half an hour ago. As the pair walked Libbie asked ‘Much on tonight Matty?’

‘No not much for me. Just cooking a chicken curry for dinner and probably watching yesterday’s national hockey game.’ He absently rooted around for his keys in his coat pocket. As he drew out the chain he continued ‘What about you Libbie?’

‘The usual, bath, dinner and bed for the kids. . .’ Libbie trailed off and cocked her head to the side as something fell from Matty's pocket. "What’s this?" she asked, a smile spreading across her face as she picked up the scratchy.

‘Oh!’ Matty said remembering his absentmindedness, ‘I picked that up this morning. I meant to toss it but I guess I got distracted.’ He reached to take the card back from his friend.

‘It hasn't been used, maybe you should scratch it and see if you can get the rest of those savings.’ She chuckled. The comment was genuine, she knew the struggles Matty had faced. ‘I know that’s what was on your mind today. You really like this one, don't you Matty?’

He looked at the card thoughtfully for a moment ‘It probably isn't even valid anymore. God knows how long it's been there.’ Then he looked up at the disheveled house behind him. ‘And yes, I do really like this one. Ten years flipping houses and this is the first one that I could see myself in.’ Libbie noticed the heartbreak behind his eyes.

‘Do me a favor? Scratch that ticket - it can't hurt! Have a good one Matty!’ she waved over her shoulder as she unlocked her car. Matty waved back, the smallest of smiles touching the corners of his mouth.

Once in his car, Matty could not get his mind off that scratchy. He found himself heading toward the nearest newsagent. Scratch the ticket - it can't hurt, Libbie’s voice echoed in his head. Maybe she's right, he thought as he locked his car and headed toward that brightly lit shop, lotto ads everywhere.

Ten minutes later he was dialing a number as he got back in his car. He held his breath as the line rang, his heart beating hard.

"Matty?" Libbie asked picking up, concern in her voice, "What's up?"

"I just wanted to see if you'd be willing to negotiate a price on that house?" He asked smiling, a twenty-seven-thousand-dollar cheque in his hand.