just tell me, did you buy a lottery ticket this week?’ he asks.
‘Yes.’ I have bought a lottery ticket every week of my life for the last fifteen years. Despite all the bother last week, I have stuck to my habit.
Jake takes in another deep breath, sucking all the oxygen from the hallway. ‘OK, and did you—’ he breaks off, finally drags his eyes to meet mine. I’m not sure what I see in his gaze, an almost painful longing, fear and panic. Yet at the same time there is hope there too. ‘Did you pick the usual numbers?’
‘Yes.’
His jaw is still set tight. ‘You have the ticket?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes, it’s pinned on the noticeboard in the kitchen. Why? What’s going on?’
‘Fuck.’ Jake lets out a breath that has the power of a storm. He falls back against the hall wall for a second and then he rallies, grabs my hand and pulls me into the room that was designed to be a dining room but has ended up being a sort of study slash dumping ground. A place where the children sometimes do their homework, I tackle paying the household bills, and towering piles of ironing, punctured footballs and old trainers hide out. Jake sits down in front of the computer and starts to quickly open various tabs.
‘I wasn’t sure that we even had a ticket, but when you were late back and the film I was watching had finished, I couldn’t resist checking. I don’t know why. Habit, I suppose. And look.’
‘What?’ I can’t quite work out what he’s on about, it might be the wine, it might be because my head is still full of betrayal and deceit, but I can’t seem to climb into his moment. I turn to the screen. The lottery website. Brash and loud. A clash of bright colours and fonts.
1, 8, 20, 29, 49, 58. The numbers glare at me from the computer. Numbers I am so familiar with. Yet they seem peculiar and unbelievable.
‘I don’t understand. Is this a joke?’
‘No, Lexi. No! It’s for real. We’ve only gone and won the bloody lottery!’
2
Lexi
£17.8 million.
£17.8 million.
£17.8 million.
No matter how often I say it, I can’t make sense of it. In fact, the opposite is true. The more I say it, the less real it seems. I can’t imagine what it means. Not really. Our numbers are on the screen. They are still there, I’ve checked a thousand times, just in case, but they are there. And the other numbers too. The numbers saying how much our winning ticket is worth – 17,870,896 pounds. So much money! I rush to the kitchen and grab the ticket off the noticeboard, suddenly terrified that a freak gust of wind has blown it away, or that one of the kids has knocked it off when they pinned up their letters from school. Although this makes no sense because in the entire history of our family life, neither of our two kids has ever pinned up a letter from school; I’m much more likely to find them crumpled up at the bottom of their rucksacks. I stare at the tiny hole made by the drawing pin; the ticket is slightly creased at the corner. How can this scrap of paper be worth 17.8 million pounds? It’s unbelievable. It’s incomprehensible. What does this mean for us? I turn to Jake to see if he is making any more sense of this. Jake beams at me. It is the widest, most complete beam I have seen him wear for years. I’m reminded of our early days together. When we were nothing other than hope and happiness. It makes me splutter laughter through my nose.
‘Are you sure this is right?’
‘Absolutely. I’ve checked. I’ve watched the draw six times on YouTube. They’ve announced that there is a winner. Just one. Lexi, that’s us! We are rich. Rich beyond our wildest dreams.’
I giggle again because the phrase is crazy. Rich beyond our wildest dreams is something people only say in pretty dreadful plays or movies. My body is tingling. I can feel every nerve end. It is almost painful. ‘Wow. I mean wow. What shall we do?’ I ask.
‘Well, we need to call it in.’
‘How do we do that?’ My fingers are cold, immobilised, but on the other hand I feel hot and no longer solid. I am melting. The two glasses of wine I downed now feel like six. Shock, I suppose.
‘I don’t know. It must be on the website or something.’