Just My Luck(109)

Startled, Lexi and Jake turned their heads towards him, the others all dropped their eyes to their plates. Lexi felt something in the air, a chill. ‘Will you cut the crap. All this talk about lotto wins is doing my head in. That’s not how you make money in this world. You need to graft.’

‘Patrick, playing the lotto is only a bit of fun,’ said Lexi, in what she hoped was a placating tone.

‘It’s crass,’ he muttered aggressively. Lexi felt the hairs on her body stand in revolt. Crass? Coming from him? She wanted to slap him. But she also wanted to preserve what they had around this table. Fifteen years of friendship.

‘It’s a few quid, man, what are you making a fuss for?’ Jake asked with a laugh that may have been designed to mollify but sounded a bit insistent.

Patrick looked uncomfortable, shifted on his seat, fingered his collar as though his tie was too tight, although he wasn’t wearing a tie. ‘It’s not the money, of course it’s not the money.’ He paused and then added, ‘It’s what it says.’

‘What it says?’

‘About us.’ No one was making eye contact. Lexi thought about offering pudding or another drink, but she didn’t bother.

‘What does buying a lotto ticket say about us, exactly?’ challenged Jake. He held his smile but it didn’t reach his eyes.

‘Come on, mate, you know what I’m saying.’

‘I really don’t.’

‘It’s for losers. Even the winners are losers,’ Patrick sniggered to himself. ‘You know how it goes. Someone wins a huge amount and they buy a big house or two, fancy cars, just as you’ve described. They snort a fortune up their nose, go on flash holidays and in less than a few years they are back riding the bus, living in a rented house. They can’t hack it, these people.’

‘These people?’

‘And the sad thing is, they’re not as happy as they were before, because they’ve tasted the high life, seen how the other half lives.’ Patrick reached for the whisky bottle that Lexi’s mum had given Jake for his birthday. Patrick poured himself a generous measure. Then with some bitterness added, ‘The wrong sort always wins. Statistically they have a better chance because it’s idlers and doleys that buy tickets.’

Jake snorted. ‘Does anyone say doleys anymore?’

‘I just did,’ replied Patrick, seriously. ‘It’s such a waste. Those people aren’t used to having money, they don’t know how to deal with it. How to invest, how to spend, how to save, most importantly. Losers.’

‘Well, dreamers,’ Lexi suggested.

Jake laughed. It was a strained, overly dramatic laugh. ‘If you think this way, why have you been doing the lottery for fifteen years?’

‘To humour you.’ Patrick grinned, coldly. ‘You seem to enjoy doing it. You like a flutter.’ He paused over the word ‘flutter’, his tone mocking, derisory.

‘Well, you don’t have to be part of the syndicate,’ said Lexi. ‘You’re under no obligation.’

‘Fine. I don’t want to be a killjoy, but…’

‘But?’

‘We’re going to pull out.’

‘OK.’ Lexi nodded. She felt a flush of shame rise up her chest and neck; she hoped it wouldn’t reach her face. She wasn’t absolutely certain what she felt ashamed of. Something intangible. She suddenly felt accused. Accused of what? She wasn’t sure. Had she and Jake press-ganged their friends into coughing up every week? Into doing something they didn’t want to do? But it was just a few quid. Why wouldn’t they want to do it? It was fun. And for it to be Patrick of all people to judge her. He had no right. Yet she felt insulted, hurt.

‘It’s not as though we’re ever actually going to win,’ chipped in Carla.

‘No, but—’ Lexi clamped her mouth shut. She didn’t want to say that she valued the tradition, the fact it was a thing, their thing. A bit like watching the fireworks together on Guy Fawkes Night or seeing in the new year; something they’d always done. If it needed saying, it wasn’t true; it wasn’t ‘their thing’ if only she believed it to be so.

‘It’s common like taking your shirt off in public or having a tattoo,’ Patrick said.

Jake bristled. Jake had a tattoo on his shoulder. They all knew as much, it had been the centre of discussion when they first went on holiday to Lexi’s mum and dad’s place in Spain, years ago, and in fact the tattoo had been centre of discussion every holiday since.

The silence throbbed.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake. It’s just a few quid, if it makes you happy,’ said Carla. She reached for her handbag, scrabbled about in her purse. ‘Here’s our fiver. We’re in.’ She hated it when her husband became pig-headed, caused a scene. Patrick rolled his eyes. ‘All right, Patrick,’ said Carla, her voice was steel. ‘We’re happy to carry on with the lottery, aren’t we?’

‘If it makes you happy,’ he said, and then downed his whisky.

Fred quickly followed suit. His jacket was hung on the back of his chair, he dug out his wallet, threw in a tenner, picked up Carla’s fiver as change. ‘Us too, Lexi. It’s just a bit of fun, isn’t it? No need for us to fall out about it.’

Jennifer smiled, her eyes on Jake. ‘You never know your luck, our numbers might come up next week and then all our lives will change forever.’