Just My Luck(61)
‘We can certainly meet today but you can’t take me for lunch, I’m afraid. We’re not allowed to accept any gifts from winners. We can go for lunch if I pay my way. Would you like to do that?’
‘Yes, please, I really want to get out of the house.’
We arrange to meet in a pasta chain restaurant in town. I appreciate her choice. It’s low-key and straightforward. We’ll be able to chat freely without any overly officious waiters – understandably keen to score a big tip – constantly interrupting to ask if our food is good, if there is anything they can do for me, anything at all. Honestly here, we’ll be lucky to catch the attention of the waiting staff when we actually want it; the staff are much more interested in huddling in a group, talking about eyebrow shapes, than they are in attending to us. I oddly like it. It makes me think of work; standing in a gaggle with Rob, Heidi and Judy in the grubby kitchenette that passed as a staff room, talking about what we watched on TV at the weekend.
Gillian is already at the table and as I approach, she stands up, draws me into a big hug, which lasts longer than most. She’s a curvy, motherly woman and I enjoy sinking into her. When she breaks away and then produces a small bunch of orange gerberas, they are tied with an elastic band. She hands them to me with a broad smile. Over the past month we have received at least twenty bouquets of flowers from people congratulating us on our win. Maybe more. I’ve lost count. We didn’t have enough vases and, in the end, put them in glasses and buckets. Every bouquet was beautiful; flowers are an undisputed joy. Many of them came from family and I massively appreciated the thought of my sister, Jake’s brothers and sisters-in-law wanting to celebrate with us; others came from people I hadn’t heard from in years, people that had fallen off the Christmas card list. I meant to take the flowers to the local old people’s home, but things were so busy that before I got around to it, their stems began to rot. The house was flooded with a pungent, slightly sweet fetid smell of dead foliage. The bouquets were all significantly more elaborate than these five bright blooms, but I think this is the bunch I appreciate most.
‘There’s nothing in the rule book that says we can’t buy you a gift,’ explains Gillian with a smile. ‘I’m so sorry about what has happened. You’ve been very unlucky. I checked with all my colleagues who’ve worked with numerous other lottery winners and, as far as we’re aware, no one in the past has endured anything similar.’
‘I imagine it’s because I work with people in very difficult situations. They are more vulnerable and therefore the small minority of them might sometimes be reckless. I suppose that has left me exposed.’
We order and as we eat Gillian asks, ‘What did the police say?’
I sigh, it’s awkward. ‘Jake said there was no point in going to the police.’
Gillian looks shocked. ‘But of course there is. You said you recognised the woman. I’m certain they’ll be able to track them down.’
I shrug. ‘He thinks we have had enough upheaval and we should just focus on moving forward.’ Obviously she already knows about the Pearsons and Heathcotes making a claim on our win, and I explain that I’ve been asked to take a break from work, that Jake has resigned and that we are going to change the kids’ school. I don’t tell her about Emily’s beating. It’s not as though she can do anything about that situation; it would be a case of a problem shared, a problem doubled, not halved. We are not her responsibility.
Gillian understands that it is almost impossible to continue living in our home. There are no walls, fences, there isn’t even a gate. What if those three from last night are just the thin end of the wedge? Should we expect to be inundated with people just turning up asking for money? Some might ask politely, or there may be more threats. Either way it will become impossible, intolerable.
‘If you move though, can I recommend you consider staying close by, at least to start with. We’ve found that really works for other lottery winners,’ suggests Gillian. ‘Keep your support system around you, just pick somewhere less accessible for strangers. Maybe somewhere less remote.’ She reaches for her iPad. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of doing a bit of a search on the internet. Just to give you some ideas. There is a new development in Great Chester that’s almost finished. A gated cul-de-sac – that might be worth a look.’
Gillian shows me photos of five lovely new houses in a private road. I am aware of the development as Jennifer, Carla and I have been closely watching the building project progress over the last year. We were planning on having a mooch around the showhouse together as soon as it was open to the public. At the time none of us had any intention of moving but we all like a nose because you can get some inspiration on how to do up your own home – it’s a good way to spend a Saturday afternoon. The showhouse opened up Easter weekend, we never got there.
The houses in the photos are certainly grander than ours. They are all basically the same with a few cosmetic differences. For example, you can choose your own kitchen units, and the tiles and carpets vary throughout. There are two different sorts of front doors to pick from. According to the listing, all the houses have five bedrooms, three with en suites, a reception room and a snug – whatever that is, somewhere for the kids to hang out, I suppose. They each have separate garages and huge kitchens. I could see myself living in one of these houses, happily. They are not too impossibly grand, but they are elegant, spacious, aspirational.