All those tickets. A lifetime of tickets! The same numbers on the same standing order for all these years. And we finally won.
Did you know, we’ve been playing the lottery since 1995? I remember that first ticket because I was pregnant with Seb at the time, and you held my arm so tightly and said to me that we were definitely going to win. You were right, as always. Just thirty years and one fatal car accident too late.
We talked so many times about what we’d do with the money, how it would fix everything. But we never really considered all the fiddly bits. It’s been a funny old time since I got the notification on the app. Tilly called the helpline for large prize winners, and the operator scheduled an in-person meeting. Someone called Amy rang us back. She was very nice – her mum is called Paula, isn’t that a coincidence? We had to go and see her at the office with our identification, where she talked to us about financial advisors and investments. It was all very overwhelming. If I’m honest with you, I didn’t take much of it in. Thank goodness Tilly was with me. She made all the decisions, answered all the questions and filled in all the paperwork.
I was just back from that meeting when I got the call about you.
I haven’t really been able to process anything since. Tilly says it’s the grief. She said that thing about thetentacles again and I had to stop listening because I couldn’t stop picturing clammy little suckers reaching for me.
If you’re wondering how much we won, John, I’ll tell you. It was 25 million euros on the Euromillions. I thought it would take a long time to sort, but it was only about a week. £20,725,250, just sitting there in our bank account. And there it still sits, I’m afraid, though Tilly keeps telling me I have to do something about it. It has to be moved or invested or something.
I’m sure she’s right but I can’t. Not yet.
Goodbye for now, John,
Paula xx
PS. The kitchen ceiling has another leak and I don’t know what to do.
3
‘WHERE’S THE BOLLOCKING WHISKY?’ John’s brother, Tom, hollers his question from inside one of Paula’s cupboards. His huge pink head reappears moments later. He squints angrily at her across the room, awaiting a response.
‘The cupboard under the stairs,’ she bleats, wondering what John would think of his bullish older brother stealing their very limited supplies of expensive alcohol. Tom stands up, grunting and huffing, stalking through the kitchen and back out into the hallway. John’s other two brothers – Pete and Leonard – both stand to follow. The three of them have always done things as a pack, usually leaving their youngest sibling, John, on the outside.
‘Found it!’ Tom yells, and Paula shoots an apologetic glance towards the non-family member in the room. The solicitor blinks back, looking vaguely alarmed.
‘Shall we get on with this?’ Tilly asks anxiously as the men pile back into the room, sourcing glasses and sloshing liquid.
The solicitor smiles uneasily. ‘You know, we don’t usually do these anymore,’ he gestures around Paula’s small kitchen. ‘People always ask if there will be a will-reading, like they see on TV, but it’s really not necessary these days.’
He takes a seat in John’s chair at the head of the table and Paula feels panic rising in her chest. John wouldn’t like someone else sitting in his chair, never mind a stranger. She makes a sort of strangled noise and her daughter turns in her direction. She reddens as John’s three brothers exchange a smirk.
‘You OK?’ Tilly’s wife, Misha, leans in closer. She’s always been very kind, and Paula nods gratefully. SheisOK. She just has to keep trying to remember that John is gone and it doesn’t really matter who sits in his chair. It onlyfeelslike it matters.
‘So why are we even here then?’ one of the brothers booms, looking irritated, swigging from his amber drink. ‘If this could’ve been a goddamned email, what are we doing here?’
The solicitor glances over at Tilly, and Paula understands that it is her daughter who has requested this.
‘I just thought it would be better if Mum could hear all this,’ Tilly says with self-assurance, ‘y’know, out loud.’ She looks around at the group, making pointed eye contact with Misha, then her three uncles, followed by Seb.
Paula stares down at her lap. She has been having a little trouble hearing things since she got that call about John. It’s not that her ears are failing her, it’s just that the words don’t settle. They act like a fine snowy mist that melt into nothing the moment they land. She can hear the words OK, but she can’t quite understand them. She can’t internalise them. She’s been having particular trouble with words that have been written down. Every time Paula tries to read, everything jumbles up in a confusing blur. Which is no doubt why Tilly’s made this poor solicitor come all the way out to their house, instead of letting him send everyone an email.
‘Do I need to be here?’ On her left, Seb sounds bored, his tone childish. ‘Can I go home?’
When Seb sayshome, he’s referring to the shed at the bottom of Paula’s garden, where he currently resides. There is no running water and no electricity. Unless you count the very long extension lead he has running all the way from the main house, in order to power his game console. There’s also a single bed, squeezed in beside Tilly’s childhood chest of drawers. And a lot of spiders.
But Seb likes living there because he has – his word – ‘independence’ and can just about claim publicly that he doesn’t live at home.
And it is, at least, a step up from his previous accommodation; a dilapidated, rusty old caravan on Paula’s driveway.
Seb is thirty years old.
‘Can we get on with this?’ Tom booms, pouring himself, Pete and Leonard another quadruple whisky.
Tilly brightens. ‘If everyone else is having a drink, maybe we should have one, too?’ She doesn’t wait for an answer, getting herself, Misha and Seb a beer – John’s beer – and placing a tall glass of Malibu and Coke in front of Paula.
Paula stares at it. She can’t stand Malibu and Coke. It’s like drinking fabric softener.
