air builds in my throat and I can’t breathe. It’s the first time since we won the lottery that I’ve been genuinely excited about how the money is being spent. ‘I give it a lot of thought. I make a trust. Make the money work hard. Go back to home and find kids who need help to flourish. It will be a full-time job if I do it right.’
I’m in awe of his certainty. I have spent hours poring over endless charity petitions and numerous proposals for beneficial projects. I’ve been paralysed. Unsure where and how much to commit. I am impressed by Toma’s assurance and clarity.
‘When do you go?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow? So your party is happening—’
‘Right now,’ he interrupts to confirm. ‘Lexi, don’t think I am rude. I wanted you to come but I didn’t know how to ask you and then I have two beers and realise I ask you as I ask everyone. So, I ring you up.’ He laughs. ‘But it’s too late. You have your own party.’
‘Where is your party?’ He gives me an address in town. It’s not too far from my office. I look about me. We’ve quickly arrived at the point of the evening where everyone is too drunk to keep track of anyone else, plus the party is spread over a massive field, no one would notice if I slipped away. He is going away. After tomorrow I might never see this dignified, decent man again. ‘OK, I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
I calculate that if I drive back to the new house to take off my make-up and change outfits, then drive back to the address Toma gave me I will lose almost an hour and a half just getting there. It’s already approaching nine o’clock and somehow this sacrifice doesn’t seem worth it. I decide to drive directly to Toma’s in my costume. I should feel foolish and self-conscious but oddly I don’t. I realise that all that matters to me is getting there as soon as I can.
There is a field that has been turned into a car park, I’m frustrated to find that our car has been blocked in by dozens of others. When I challenge the young guys who are working at the car park about this, they point out that they weren’t expecting us to leave until the very end of the party. It’s a fair comment. I check my watch, there’s a bus due in four minutes. I run, if I catch it that will be faster than calling an uber. Now I’ve made the decision to go to Toma’s party, I can’t get there soon enough.
There are not many people on the bus when I get on it. Just two lads sat at the very back and an old lady sat near the front, within shouting distance of the driver. The old dear says she likes my costume and the two boys ignore me altogether. Of course they do; a middle-aged woman, even one dressed as a broken-hearted clown, is invisible to them. As the bus gets closer to town, a handful more people get on. Couples mostly, who look as though they are going to spend the night in a pub or maybe at the cinema. They are all dressed up and laugh and chatter between themselves. I’m reminded of Saturday nights, long ago, when Jake and I used to enjoy a night out in town. The memory should make me smile because we had such great times, but it doesn’t. I shiver. The memory is too distant to warm me.
I get off at the last stop and a plastic bag, lifted in the wind, gets caught around my ankle. I kick it off, glance at Google Maps on my phone and then set off in what I hope to be the right direction. I move away from the smell of bus diesel and fast-food fat and head down a badly lit street where the strongest aroma is overflowing bins. It’s about a ten-minute walk until I’m approaching the house that I was given the address to. The party is not happening at the lodgings where I know Toma lives, that’s not this part of town, so I can only assume a friend is hosting this goodbye party for him. How lovely. Even without the address, it would have been clear to me that this is where the party was being held. One house in the middle of the terraced row has