Just My Luck(20)

Oh no. I can see the train wreck that is coming. This is such a classic move. I see it at school all the time. But I can’t warn my dad. He walks right into it, admitting, ‘Well, yes.’

‘And have we, or have we not, always used those exact same numbers?’

Dad nods and tries to say something else. He’s stuttering. His spittle makes it into the room but not his words because Patrick smoothly turns back to the journalists, smiling triumphantly; point seemingly proven.

‘But you pulled out of the syndicate the week before we won,’ Dad protests.

The Heathcotes and Pearsons pull their faces into textbook expressions of confusion and incredulity. Carla tuts, shakes her head. Jennifer looks to the floor as though she’s embarrassed for my dad, shyly tilting her head. Then Fred slaps Dad on the back, quite forcefully, ‘Good joke, old man, but enough is enough now.’

‘I’m not fucking joking,’ yells Dad.

Mum touches his arm. ‘Stop swearing, Jake.’

He stares at her murderously. ‘Is that all you can say? You are worried that I am swearing when these bastards are stood up here trying to steal from us?’

‘OK, OK, that’s enough now.’ Gillian is on her feet. She signals for help and suddenly the hotel manager swiftly ushers us out of the press conference into another room. The Heathcotes and Pearsons follow us, as do a couple of the hotel staff, sensing that all sorts of crazy is about to go down; they probably haven’t had as good a day at work ever. The journalists are being ushered by security into the foyer. Gillian seems to be talking to everyone at once.

‘We will release a full statement before anyone goes to press. If I can ask you to refrain from reporting anything, either online or in print, until you get that statement that would be a great help.’

I suppose she’s appealing to their better natures, hoping that the local press will be generous as they’ve enjoyed the doughnuts, but I wonder what the legal position is. Everything that has been said has been said at a press conference, probably they can report what they like and at least one of them most likely will.

The moment we are out of the journalists’ sight, Patrick pounces on Dad. It’s really scary. ‘What’s the fucking game, Jake?’ he demands. He pushes Dad up against the wall, holding him around the neck. Patrick’s face is puce. He’s a really good actor. He keeps glancing around the room to ensure all the staff are seeing him put on this performance. They seem scared. I look around for the two security guys but they are busy escorting the journos off the premises. Patrick looks genuinely wild; I’ve never seen such unadulterated violence and anger in a person’s face. Dad is way fitter than Patrick and I expect him to just push him away, but he doesn’t – he glares with contempt. This seems to infuriate Patrick more. He tightens his grip around Dad’s throat.

‘Let him go!’ yells Mum, lurching forward. I wrap my arms around Logan, restraining him from piling in, but also because I really need to hug him. Then Fred leaps into action. He roughly grabs Patrick’s shoulders and pulls him off Dad; I guess he’s effective because none of us expected Fred to become embroiled physically, he’s a pretty mild-mannered man. My body relaxes as I feel a huge wave of relief and gratitude. Fred has calmed things down. But then – shocker – Fred punches Dad in the stomach!

‘You bastard,’ he growls.

Dad goes down like a sack of potatoes. Mum rushes to him and covers him with her body. ‘Jesus, Fred, what are you thinking? Stop this!’ she yells. Neither Jennifer nor Carla say anything to their husbands. Jennifer walks calmly to the table that is set up with iced water and glasses; she carefully pours a glass and then hands it to my dad.

Adults are un-fucking-believable.

Mum stands up and steps away from Dad. I suppose she thinks it’s over and he’s safe now, but Patrick grabs my dad by the collar of his suit and hauls him to his feet. Dad is struggling to breathe properly, winded by the punch but he tries to appear ballsy. ‘Easy, easy friend,’ he says, putting up his hands in appeasement, showing the room he is surrendering. That he is reasonable and wronged. I look around in desperation. Why isn’t anyone helping?! Patrick tightens his grip, shakes Dad viciously, a bit the way a terrier shakes a rat.

‘We are not friends,’ he insists. He draws his fist back; I think he’s going to hit Dad too. Fred’s punch was shocking, it took Dad down because he was not expecting it. I fear Patrick will land something far more malicious and damaging. He’s a stocky man. Right now, he looks like a brutal little barrel that could roll over anything in his path and destroy it. His face is contorted with a filthy anger. I scream, everyone turns to look at me. They seem surprised that Logan and I are stood here. I think they’d forgotten about us. As though I’ve pulled them to their senses, the hotel manager dashes out of the room, I hope he’s gone for help.

‘Stop it, please. Let go of him,’ begs Logan, who’s crying now.

‘This is what you get if you mess around with the big boys,’ snarls Patrick. ‘You should know that.’ I think Patrick is talking to Logan, but his eyes are on Dad.

At that moment, Gillian enters the room. The hotel manager is hovering at her side, unsure what to do with himself. I want to be sick.

‘Let go of him at once or I shall call the police,’ Gillian instructs.

‘Why don’t you do that?’ bluffs Patrick but he does immediately step away from Dad. Logan and I run to him, wrap ourselves around him.