Just My Luck(24)

‘How often do you meet?’

‘Three weekends out of four. We rotate between each other’s homes. One weekend in a month, we do something separate, just as families or with other people.’

The weekends ‘off’ are healthy, essential, so we to continue to appreciate each other.

‘And you did the lottery on those weekends you had supper together?’ asks Ms Walsh.

‘We did the lottery every week. It was one of my favourite things about the weekend. Even though I always thought it was sort of silly, dreamy, impossible. Probably because of those things.’

‘Well, not impossible,’ chips in Gillian. ‘You’ve proven that.’ She beams at me.

‘Improbable,’ I correct myself.

‘Have you ever won anything before?’

‘We’ve twice won twenty pounds.’

‘How did you share the winnings?’

‘We put it towards the takeaway the following week.’ I see what Double Barrel 1 is doing, but it’s irrelevant. The past is irrelevant. I push on, trying not to allow him to derail me. ‘When the draw was still televised, we’d all watch the show together. Just for the fun of it. It was a tradition.’

At least it was to me. It was one of our things. Like watching the fireworks on Guy Fawkes Night or seeing in the new year; something we’d always done. It proved we were solid. A unit. ‘Now it’s not televised, sometimes someone remembers to put the news on and wait for the numbers to be announced at the end of the programme, but the news is a downer and invariably brings our evening to a close. So more often than not, as dessert is being served, Jake has a sneaky peek on YouTube and then he’ll announce, ‘Not this week,’ which generally solicits a round of playful groans and assertions, ‘Next time!’

Double Barrel 1 coughs and says, ‘So let’s focus on Saturday the thirteenth, in particular, shall we?’

‘I was hosting.’ We’d had a few days of dry weather and it really felt as though summer was around the corner. Summer is my season. I unfurl. Winter just has to be got through, best hope being not too many bouts of flu and not too many unwanted gifts that need returning after Christmas. ‘I was planning on serving drinks on the patio. I’d themed the night. Mexican. I’d made margarita cocktails. Strong ones. And I’d bought Corona and Sol.’

‘Sounds like quite the party.’

I sense criticism in Double Barrel 2’s comment and say defensively, ‘This sort of attention to detail is my way of showing I 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.