By Oliver Barton.
Gary checked into his room in the Angel. Tomorrow he would report the theft of his wallet. For now he needed a drink. Several drinks. He went to the bar, and ordered a double scotch. ‘And free drinks for everyone,’ he said. With £384 million, why not? ‘I had a little win on the lottery,’ he explained, feeling the warmth of gross understatement course through his body.
After a couple of large ones, he thought he ought to let his wife know he’d arrived. He went up to his room to use the phone there, since his mobile was dead.
On the way, a thought struck him.
This afternoon, when he left London, he had been unaware that he’d won the lottery. It was only after he’d had a snooze on the train that he’d woken knowing with complete certainty that it was so. And the exact amount. As the dreadful implications of this sunk in, not to mention his stolen wallet, his Rolex watch given to the taxi driver, and the bar bill he’d incurred, his wife answered the phone. ‘Gary,’ she said, ‘you’ll never believe this. We’ve won the Premium Bonds!’
The black clouds lifted. Gary’s heart leapt again. ‘How much?’ he cried.
‘Fifty pounds!’ she said. ‘Isn’t it wonderful!’
Oliver is a member of the Abergavenny writing group THE WORD COUNTS.
