care. I’d even got Emily to download some Mexican tunes.’ It was the sort of music that makes people want to sway their hips. ‘The tunes were blasting out when Carla called to say Megan wasn’t coming along.’
‘Megan being one of the Pearsons’ children?’
‘Their eldest. Carla and Patrick have three children. Megan is fifteen like Emily and then they have Scott and Teddy. Twelve and nine. Emily and Megan are best friends. The Heathcotes’ son is called Ridley. He’s Emily’s boyfriend.’
‘Very cosy,’ comments Double Barrel 3.
It doesn’t sound like a compliment. It sounds like she is accusing us of incest or something. So my daughter’s best friend is the daughter of one of my best friends, what could be more natural than that? And her boyfriend is the son of my other best friend. How wonderful! That is a good thing.
Or at least it was. Poor Emily.
‘Sounds like a really jolly evening,’ says Gillian, encouragingly.
‘It wasn’t actually,’ I admit with a sigh. ‘Despite all my efforts, to my disappointment and – at that time – mystification, I don’t think my guests were particularly comfortable. The evening had stuttered along, rather than flowed.’
‘And why do you think that was?’
‘At first I had no idea. It wasn’t as though the stilted conversation was a result of adults watching themselves around the kids. We hadn’t been expecting Megan, but Ridley also failed to show up. Because neither of her friends were there, Emily hadn’t bothered coming to the table. She’d shut herself in her room with a plate of toast and her phone. The younger ones had stuffed down their food as fast as humanly possible and then dashed off to play video games. Jake tried to strike up a conversation about work, but Patrick said as it was the weekend, he didn’t want to think about “the bloody office”. There was definitely an atmosphere. Something was off.’
‘And did you have any idea what was “off”?’ prompted my lawyer, Ms Walsh.
‘No, not at first. No idea. But it became very apparent. The atmosphere was off because they had ganged up and decided to pull out of the lottery.’
‘And that was a big deal, was it?’ asked Double Barrel 1. He threw out a laugh that was shot through with incredulity. Double Barrel 2 and 3 joined in.
I glowered at them. ‘Clearly, since we are all here.’ I enjoy watching the smiles slide off their faces.
‘But before the win, why was it such a big deal? It’s just a game,’ insisted Double Barrel 1.
Gillian coughed and wiggled on her seat. She and her boss threw a look between them. Working for the lottery company, they knew, more than any of us, that it’s never just a game if money is involved.
‘Them wanting to leave the lottery was symbolic,’ I explain.
‘How do you mean?’
‘They were dumping us, as friends. At least that’s what it felt like.’
‘Let’s stick to the facts, should we? Rather than feelings.’
Double Barrel 1 is a smug toad. I remind myself I can buy and sell his butt now, and it’s some comfort. Still, I do as he asks. The outcome of this meeting will determine just how many times I can buy and sell his butt. I need to cooperate. They need to hear my story and they need to believe it.
13
Lexi
‘Fred was talking about, oh something or other, I don’t remember, his car engine? Tyre pressure? It wasn’t interesting, then Jake interrupted to announce we weren’t lottery winners. Like he does pretty much every week. But that week, his interruption created an odd mood. The air was sort of heavy. I guess no one likes to be reminded that they’ve lost at anything, even if there was never any real expectation of winning.’ I shrug. Who knows? People are strange. ‘I broke the silence by reminding everyone it was time to chip in to the kitty again. I collect a fiver off each couple every few weeks. As each game cost two pounds, the kitty lasts a little while.’
‘And does everyone always pay in advance?’ asks Ms Walsh.
‘Sometimes I forget to ask for the money, I just buy the tickets anyway. I’d done that for the preceding two weeks as it happened. It’s just a few quid. I only mentioned the money for something to say. But then Patrick demanded, “Why are we even doing the lottery?” His face was flushed, his voice booming. “What’s the bloody point?” he asked. He sounded angry. I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t just