sitting at the bar,’ she says, her tiny feet dangling down, swinging. She’s wearing her black shoes with the little white bows on the toes, the ones she bought for my graduation. ‘I always used to make your dad sit on the high stools with me.’
‘Ah. I didn’t know that.’
‘We did go on the odd date, you know. Once or twice, like.’
We order a cocktail each; I decide on a mai tai, my ma a pina colada. Melted ice dribbles onto my t-shirt and it strikes me how scruffy I must look right now. My knees are poking through the rips in my jeans.
‘I mean, look at this place.’ My ma lowers her voice. ‘Who would’ve thought people’d pay to stay somewhere called the Titanic? And it’s confusing ’cause it feels really posh, doesn’t it? But it doesn’t look anything like that ship that Jack and Rose fell in love on. It looks more like a warehouse.’
‘That’s because it is – well, it was – a warehouse.’
‘Can you believe I’m drinking a pina colada?’ she giggles. ‘Wait ’til I tell our Lisa and our Emma about this. They’re phoning home tomorrow night, you know. Isn’t that marvellous?’
I raise my glass. ‘Cheers.’
‘Am I allowed to ask what this is all about yet, love?’
I give a little hum, teasing her. Then, I tell her the whole story. Starting with the phone call that morning in the toll booth to walking into the offices of Mersey Wave 103.4 to sign for my prize.
‘They gave me a free bottle of water,’ I add.
‘You can get free water from the kitchen tap, love.’
‘And then, there it was,’ I say, holding my arm out as if the car’s behind the bar. ‘No red ribbon or anything like I imagined, but I can live with that.’
My ma looks into her pina colada, shrinking into the bar stool’s wide leather back.
‘I’m pleased for you,’ she says, not sounding pleased at all. ‘Just be careful.’
‘I can drive. I’ve driven the bloody van every time Snowy’s moved house.’
‘I don’t mean that. I mean be careful with your luck.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Remember that woman who won the Pools? It brought her nothing but misery. And all those lottery winners in the paper, they go on about how winning was the worst thing that ever happened to them.’
Rubbish. My dad keeling over on the Dock road is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. Nobody more than my ma should know that.
‘I’m gonna sell it,’ I say. ‘And take you to Florida.’
‘What? America?’
‘Well, what other Florida is there?’
‘You can’t do that.’
‘I certainly can do that.’
She purses her lips, wafting away something invisible between us with one hand.
‘No,’ she says, but she’s fighting back a smile.
‘You’ve been desperate to go to Florida ever since they moved,’ I say. ‘Don’t deny it.’
‘And I’m not letting you waste your money on that. It’s a bloody fortune.’
‘It’s not a waste. It’s far from a waste. You’ll get to meet your grandchildren.’
Her eyes are wet with tears, her voice shaky.
‘But I have met them, love,’ she says. ‘I’ve met them on the internet, on the screen.’
It’s just not in her nature to accept something so expensive, so big. Even when I buy her M&S bath sets for Christmas, she always demands to know why I bother, and instead of saying thank you, she tells me how she makes do with the stuff from the Asda perfectly well, the peach melba shower gel. But, really, she absolutely loves the M&S set.
‘Well, you’re gonna meet them in person,’ I say. ‘Get real hugs. Real ones.’
‘I think I need a lie down. Will you take me home, love?’
‘Well … I was gonna get you a nice posh room, so you could enjoy them massive hotel beds and soft pillows, get a cooked brekkie in the morning.’
‘I’ve got soft pillows at home. And what am I gonna sleep in? This Christmas jumper?’ she snaps, then places her hand on her heart. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, love. But, I don’t want you spending a penny of that money on your old mother tonight. I want you to spend it on yourself, or a nice girl. That’s what you should be doing. Not worrying about getting me a room on the bloody Titanic. You know I can only sleep in me own bed anyway.’
Yeah, I should’ve known that.
‘Now, that’s enough of getting all emotional for one night,’ she says, straightening her Christmas jumper. ‘Who the bloody hell do we think we are, eh?