as to whether Ms Walsh, my lawyer, is even my lawyer at all. She is someone the lottery company sourced for us. Is she representing me or is she really here for them? Is there a difference? Before the press conference I would have said not. Now I’m pretty clear the world is always divided into them and us. It’s just a matter of working out which team everyone is on.
I need to step up, get back in control. Behave as I would at work where I constantly fight for the underdog, fight for what is right and fair. Justice must have its day. That’s all that matters. They have to believe me. ‘OK, I have nothing to hide. I’m happy for you to record my interview.’
Everyone looks relieved. I’ve given the correct answer.
I know I am not under arrest, but I have a lot to lose. A lot. People are lying. Cheating. Desperate. It’s dangerous. Liars undermine everything. You can’t trust or know a liar. It’s exhausting trying to. A waste of time. People do bad things, they make mistakes, that bothers me less. As long as they own their mistakes and failings. If people own their mistakes, you at least know what you are dealing with, and you can make a move towards forgiving them.
Maybe.
But lying? Well, lying destroys reality and histories. And futures.
Besides being small and plain, the room is a bit grubby. It’s nothing like the lavish room from which we made the press announcement on Friday. This place is much more like the sort of room I take my clients into at the CAB. Functional. Low budget. I ought to feel comfortable as it’s so familiar, but I feel I am on the wrong side of the table. Have I already got used to being in more splendid environments, in just ten days?
The table is wobbly and scratched. Not with legible graffiti, just mindless defiance or careless neglect. There are hard chairs around it and plastic cups on top of it which have been filled with water from the cooler in the corner. I disapprove of single-use plastic but don’t feel it’s the moment to go eco-warrior. My palms sweat. My throat is dry. I take a sip of water. ‘So, what do you need from me?’
Gillian smiles encouragingly. ‘In your own words, with as much detail as possible, please, can you give an account of the evening of Saturday, the thirteenth of April 2019? That is, the week before the lottery win.’
‘The week you allege the Pearsons and Heathcotes dropped out of the syndicate,’ adds Double Barrel 2. I don’t like his use of the word ‘alleged’.
‘Where do you want me to start?’
‘Anywhere you like. Tell us anything you think is relevant. Set the scene if you think it helps.’ She presses record on her phone.
I don’t know how far back to go. Our friendship group stretches way back and my belief in the magic of Saturday night goes further back still. And Jake? Well, Jake has been for ever really. We met at university, where I was doing a degree in sociology and social policy and he was studying industrial economics. I was eighteen, he was nineteen. He and I have been an ‘us’ all my adult life. I love Saturday nights. Always have. Since I was a teenager. To me, they represent untold opportunities, freedom. Not that I had a wild youth, far from it. Throughout school and college, I was consistently bookish and conscientious. I studied during the week and then babysat on Friday evenings. On Sundays I visited my grandparents. That is precisely why I lived for the outlet, the release from conformity, which Saturdays offered. What could be better than house parties where I snogged boys and drank cider and black until I was ill or stupid? Where I danced to Take That and Mariah Carey and dreamt of a future which I was sure would be happy, meaningful, important?
Even when I was in my twenties, I rarely took advantage of weeknight happy hour deals. Jake and I preferred to go to bed early while our friends dashed around the city looking for people to get off with. We had each other and no interest in scouring pubs and bars to meet sexy strangers. Not that we were boring, we were young. In those days early nights did not mean sleep. Enough said.
We both savoured Saturdays though, when we got dressed up, went out with a gang and danced