Just My Luck(13)

‘I know you will. Everything OK?’ Ellie looks up from her screen. Her clever face, which is always set to host a smile, shows she is interested, ready to be concerned, but not nosy.

I nod, relieved when she doesn’t probe. I don’t want to lie and make up some excuse about a dentist appointment or something. I glance at my watch. ‘I better get at it.’

‘Yeah, enough slacking,’ she says with a grin, turning back to her own work.

My head is about to explode. The only way through this is to stay busy. I pick up the phone to set up a meeting between the head of community welfare benefit advice service and the local council’s welfare rights unit. Then I set up a meeting of my own with the local branch of Age UK. There is a constant drip of people who need advice but no sign of Toma. Every client I see, I realise that writing a cheque will solve, or certainly ease, their problems. I have never been so conscious of the power of money and despite my effort not to think about everything, I am. The responsibility is making me feel nauseous. At about eleven, I stand up from my desk, stretch and walk to the room that is not much bigger than a cupboard but serves as the staff room. Rob and Judy are hovering over the boiling kettle.

Judy exclaims, ‘Lucky sod, I wish that was me! Did you hear, Lexi? Someone local has won the lottery.’

I freeze, I don’t know how to reply. Luckily Judy doesn’t really expect me to. Like many of Judy’s questions, it is rhetorical; she is comfortable answering herself. ‘Bought the ticket on our high street, can you believe? At WHSmith. Exactly where I buy mine, when I bother. Which I don’t often, just when I’m feeling lucky. I didn’t this week, but I wish I had! It could have been me.’

‘Well, only if you’d picked the same numbers,’ points out Rob.

Judy continues, not side-tracked by this fact. ‘Isn’t it unbelievable to think the winner might be someone we’ve passed in the street. Brushed up against and we wouldn’t know. Seventeen point eight million pounds! Can you imagine! Lucky sods.’

‘How did you find out that the ticket was purchased locally?’ I ask, a sliver of something uncomfortable gliding up and down my spine. I’m not used to keeping secrets. I’m normally an open book, available for anyone to read.

‘Said so online. The local news feed on Twitter.’

‘But how could anyone know?’ I ask, sharply. ‘I mean, unless the family are taking publicity then those details are kept private.’ I know this from my conversation with the lottery people on Saturday. Judy eyes me intently, I blush. I’m not usually sharp and it must seem odd that I know the procedure so well. Have I given myself away? I’m relieved when Judy laughs.

‘Are you jealous? Well, if you’re right about that, then I’m guessing the winner is taking publicity.’ I shake my head. That’s not what we agreed. Has one of the kids said something? Already? They’ve only been out of my sight for a few hours.

‘I expect they’ll announce the name of the winner soon. Just think it might be someone who has walked through these doors and we’ve helped.’

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ says Heidi. ‘There’s some Eastern European guy here to see you. I asked him if I could help but he was pretty insistent he only wants to speak to you.’

I dash out of the staff room, keen to get away from Judy and her speculation. I see Toma, sitting at my desk, with his now-familiar expression of solemnity and determination and I feel a wave of territorialism and affection sluice through me. It’s not strictly professional but I tell myself it’s not wrong, it is manageable. My body goes hot then cold, the feeling my granny would have described as someone walking over my grave. A warning. I am suddenly certain that I can’t share the knowledge I gained on Friday. Even though we have been hunting for it together, even though he is desperate for someone to blame. Because of that. This knowledge would overwhelm him. Knowing the landlord’s name, but also the fact he won’t be brought to justice, could cause Toma to do something stupid. He might want to attack the man, kill him. It sounds extreme, but Toma, like me, believes in justice and doesn’t care how unjust he has to be to get it. I have a solution. I can protect Toma. The money I’ve just won can be put to good.

‘How are you?’ I ask.

Over the past ten weeks, besides investigating Toma’s claims about the slum landlord, I have also helped him find a room in a decent house. He now lodges with an elderly couple who like having him around the place because he acts like a surrogate son (their own lives in the States and calls just once a month). Toma changes light bulbs, cuts their grass and makes them feel secure.

I can understand that.

Whenever I am with him, I too feel safe, assured. Even when we are creeping about grubby properties, meeting people who are unsavoury through choice or circumstances. It’s not his huge physical presence, it’s his deep, poignant calm. I guess when the very worst thing that can happen to you has happened, nothing ever scares you again.

‘I am good. Thank you.’ He’s a man of few words.

‘I’m glad you popped in. I think I may have found a lead on a job for you.’

‘Yes?’ He looks keen. He doesn’t like to be idle. He’s been busy enough whilst we’ve been playing detective but that has to stop now. A job might distract him, at least temporarily, from his hunt.