"Oh my God!" my dad shouted last night. I was on the computer, discovering that job hunting in Japan is no easier than job hunting in England. I span round in time to see dad jump off the sofa and punch the air.
"Eh?" I said.
"Oh my God!" he shouted again, and stared at something in his hand. "We're rich! Holly, we're only fucking rich!"
This, in itself, was not enough to cause alarm. We're always teetering on the brinks of 'rich', according to dad. That's why very few of us in my family have a pension.
Dad, grinning like a small child with a new puppy, grabbed the newspaper and thrust it in my face.
"Look!" he cried, jabbing his finger at an article. "It says there's been an error at the Royal Mint, and they've printed off 20p pieces without dates - and they're all worth £50 each!" His tail wagged so hard I was worried he was going to fall over. "And look!" he exclaimed, shoving an open hand in my face. "The very first 20p I look at - it's worth a fortune!" He gave me a pat on the head, and then raced upstairs to collect his coin jar. "The very first one in my pocket!" he screamed from upstairs. "We could have hundreds!"
Once he'd disappeared, I picked up the paper and had a quick read. Upstairs, I could hear dad shaking his life savings out of the jar and shouting "all of them!! All of them Holly!"
I took a deep breath, and then I walked up the stairs slowly.
"Dad," I said as carefully as I could. "It says these valuable coins have no date on them."
"I know!" dad grinned at me, pointing at a little pile of 20p pieces on the floor. "What were the chances?"
"Dad," I said even more carefully. "Turn them over."
Dad's smile faltered a little bit, and he looked at me like I'd just run over his rabbit with my push-bike.
He turned one of the 20p pieces over and stared at it for a few seconds.
"Oh," he said flatly. "That's got a date on the other side." He picked up another one, and looked at that too. "This one has too," he announced sadly. "Bollocks."
I walked over, put my hand on his shoulder, assured him that we'd be rich enough soon, and then went back into the living room and locked myself in so that he couldn't hear me laughing.
Only my dad, at the age of 53, would believe - so quickly, so genuinely, so instinctively - that luck and fate had favoured him so astronomically. Only my dad keeps a jar full of 20p pieces by the side of his bed.
When I came back out of the living room - face straight again - I promptly had to go back in again so that I could finish the job off. Because dad was still sitting on the stairs, looking through all the 20p pieces, one by one, just to check. And that, I think, says everything.
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