The winners, p.2
The Winners, page 2
CHAPTER THREE
The clouds moved quickly, scudding across the sky, each becoming more ominously grey as they passed overhead. A storm was likely, Malcolm thought, as he tapped in the security number and pushed open the heavy glass doors to Willow Dene Nursing Home.
The wind at his back swirled crisp brown leaves around his feet to land on the doormat as the stuffy heat hit him immediately, in contrast to the cold autumnal gusts outside. The smell of boiled vegetables lingered in the corridor, remnants from the usual Sunday roast lunch. It wasn’t a bad place for his father to be; the nursing staff, although always busy, were cheerful and efficient, and Bill Grainger seemed as content as possible in such circumstances. Sunday afternoon was when his son visited alone, and the two spent a couple of hours in each other’s company, Malcolm taking the Telegraph crossword puzzle for them to tackle together.
It was remarkable how Bill’s mind remained alert, considering the little stimulation his present life afforded. A stroke four years previously had robbed him of his active retirement, denying him the simple pleasures of life, such as tending his allotment and visiting family at times to suit himself. Trapped in a body that stubbornly refused to regain its former physical strength, life was lived entirely within his mind and the confines of a twelve-foot square room.
Since his stroke, Bill possessed no mobility in his lower body and could use only a limited number of muscles in his right hand and arm. His face had only half its previous movement, permitting nothing more than lopsided smiles and winks rather than blinks. Malcolm could never decide if it would have been preferable for his father’s life to have ended on the day of his stroke, allowing him to be reunited with his beloved wife, who had been dead since Malcolm was eight years old, or if the old man enjoyed this limited existence. Communication was usually restricted to single words, which, with great effort, Bill attempted to verbalise or tap out on the electronic notepad by the bedside, an equally tiring task. A discussion on the topic of quality of life would never happen.
‘Hi, Dad!’ Malcolm fixed on his usual smile, and the old man responded with his best effort to mirror the expression. Pulling up the chair, Malcolm removed his copy of the Telegraph from his jacket pocket and launched straight into the first clue. The silence of their thoughts was broken only for the usual messages from the family to be offered.
‘Julie sends her love and will be in on Wednesday evening as usual. We saw the children this morning; they’re both well and send their love. Danny will probably pop in later in the week.’ Malcolm was sticking to the usual script, procrastinating to avoid what he needed to say.
Bill smiled and, raising his arm, tapped Mongoose on the keyboard.
‘What? Oh yes, one across, a small flesh-eating mammal, eight letters, Mongoose, very good.’ Malcolm filled in the first answer to their puzzle, wondering how to tell his father what was weighing so heavily on his mind. He took a deep breath. ‘We’ve had a bit of a win on the lottery, Dad.’ Should he give the watered-down version or be honest?
Bill’s right eyebrow arched in a gesture of surprise.
‘Well, it’s more than a bit of a win; it’s twenty-two million. I don’t think it’s sunk in yet.’ Is this how a lottery winner should act, as if it had been no more than a tenner? Malcolm continued, choosing his words carefully.
‘The thing is, Julie and the kids are bursting with excitement, ready to share our big news with everyone they know. They want to shout it from the rooftops, eager to tell the world about this new chapter in our lives. But I find myself hesitating. Sure, this news brings the promise of financial security – a huge relief for us all – but I can’t shake off the feeling that we should keep things under wraps for a while. There’s something about going public which makes me uneasy.’ He paused and looked at his father, whose expression was difficult to read. ‘It’s not only about the joy of the moment; it’s about weighing the potential consequences and opting for no publicity, you know? But I think Julie likes the idea of her picture in the papers and everyone envying her.’
Bill slowly nodded. His eyes misted as the gravity of his son’s situation settled in. With great effort, he shifted his right arm, heavy and uncooperative after lying still for so long. He reached toward the small table beside the bed, where his keyboard rested. His fingers brushed against its surface, searching for the keys. Finally, he found them and tapped softly, forming a single word, Remember.
‘Yes, Dad.’ Malcolm nodded slowly. ‘I remember.’ Events from the past, episodes that Malcolm had buried deep in his mind, were coming to the fore. The air was heavy with unspoken, perhaps even unwanted, memories, a bridge connecting their past and present.
CHAPTER FOUR
Julie’s head was still in the clouds on Sunday after the children left, and Mal went off to visit his dad. Although she’d had nothing more to drink than tea, she felt giddy, laughing aloud when she thought about their win and even dancing around the kitchen while washing the dishes. If only her parents had been around to share it.
As Julie reflected on her parents, both long gone, a pang of regret pierced her joy. Since their lottery win, she had worn a near-permanent smile, so much so that her jaws ached, but now, thinking of her mother and father, that smile faded. If only they had lived to see this day, to share in this windfall. There was so much she could have done for them.
Julie and her sister, Susan, had been blessed with a close-knit family that found joy in simple pleasures. As children, they had never realised they were poor. Their father worked tirelessly as a railway labourer, while their mother juggled multiple part-time cleaning jobs to make ends meet. Yet despite the financial struggles, their home had been filled with love, laughter, and contentment.
The sisters shared a small but cosy room in their modest two-up, two-down terraced house furnished with well-worn hand-me-downs. Their few toys were cherished and looked after. To them, this was home – a warm, loving place where life felt good. They never went hungry, always had nourishing meals, and their mother constantly reminded them to be grateful for what they had.
Even the hardships had been woven into their happy memories. Their outdoor toilet, which froze in winter, became an adventure when they wrapped up in layers to brave the cold. And when their father installed a bath under the cramped staircase, they felt like royalty. They were the only kids at school with running water in an actual bathtub, while most of their classmates still used a tin bath in front of the fire on Friday nights.
Material wealth had never mattered to Julie and Susan. They had each other, their family, and a childhood free from worry. And now, with the lottery win, Julie couldn’t wait to share her good fortune with her sister. If she couldn’t spoil their parents, she would ensure Susan’s life was filled with the comfort and happiness she deserved.
Susan had endured more than her share of heartache. Widowed after her husband’s tragic work accident, she had been left to grieve while carrying their unborn child. The days following his death had been some of the darkest of her life, overwhelmed by sorrow, uncertainty, and the weight of raising a baby alone.
Julie and Malcolm had done everything they could to support her, offering companionship, comfort, and a shoulder to lean on. Susan, despite her grief, had persevered, raising her son with quiet strength. She lived on a widow’s pension, taking work wherever she could, doing her best to provide. Julie had always wished she could do more, but with two children of their own and only one income, love and support had been all they could offer.
Now, at last, she could change that. With this lottery win, things were different. As Julie walked the short distance to her sister’s home, she was excited, eager to share the wonderful news, knowing Susan would be delighted for them, and determined to do something special for her sister.
‘Is the kettle on?’ Julie asked as she opened the front door and stepped into the tiny lounge of a house almost identical to the one where they had grown up.
‘Hello, I wasn’t expecting you today.’ Susan’s round face reflected pleasure at having an unexpected visitor.
‘Ah, I have news, good news. Let’s go to the kitchen and make a cuppa, and I’ll tell you all about it. I wasn’t disturbing anything, was I?’
‘Nothing special. I’m trying to finish knitting this little hooded coat for Luke’s birthday. I want to send a parcel off tomorrow.’
‘Aw, it’s lovely. How’s he doing?’
‘Oh, he’s a poppet! Stephen Facetimed me yesterday, and Luke sat on his knee, grinning away into the screen. He’s got two little teeth coming through, and I think he recognises me now, but maybe it’s wishful thinking, and I’m kidding myself.’
‘No. If he sees you regularly enough, he’ll get to know you, even online. The first birthday is always so special. I bet you’d love to be with them?’
‘Yes, but that’s a dream I’ll have to save up for. Or maybe they’ll come home for a visit next year.’
Susan’s son, Stephen, worked in Calgary, Canada, sent by the company he worked for three years ago. Although initially reluctant to leave his mother, the opportunity was a once-in-a-lifetime chance he couldn’t refuse without affecting his career. A few months into his new job, he met a local girl, and after a whirlwind romance, they decided to marry.
Susan had gone to Calgary for the wedding but hadn’t seen her son since. Her grandson was nearing his first birthday, and she hadn’t been able to see him or give him the cuddles she longed for. Julie was aware of how much her sister missed her family and was eager to share her news but waited until they were settled back in the lounge with mugs of tea in their hands.
Helping herself to a biscuit, Julie dunked it in her mug and nonchalantly said, ‘I think you should go and see Stephen to take Luke’s jacket yourself.’ She was having great difficulty in remaining serious, wanting to shout out her news and hug her sister.
‘Huh! Chance would be a fine thing. You know I’ve not managed to find another job since the newsagent laid me off. How would I afford to go swanning off to Canada?’
‘Maybe now you have a sister who’s won the lottery, it might be possible?’ Julie grinned over her mug.
‘You’re joking! Seriously, have you won something?’
‘Yes – only twenty-two million pounds, but it’s enough to send my favourite sister to Canada.’
‘Are you kidding me? And… I’m your only sister.’ Susan didn’t know if she could believe her, but why would Julie tease her about such a thing?
Julie jumped up from the sofa and hurried to put her arms around Susan, squeezing the breath out of her. ‘Of course, I’m not kidding, I wouldn’t do that to you! And yes, we have won the lottery – the people are coming tomorrow to get us to sign papers and stuff – we’re blooming rich, Susan, and we want you to share our good fortune!’ The sisters clasped hands, laughing as tears filled their eyes.
After two hours of excited chatter filled with fantasies and plans, it felt like the years had fallen away and they were children again, engaging in all the magical imaginings of youth – meeting princes, going to balls, and riding ponies. However, this time, their wishes had a more grown-up twist. Everything they desired was now attainable, and they found the idea mind-blowing.
Julie finally decided to leave when she remembered she still had responsibilities to attend to. And Malcolm would be home soon, looking for his tea.
On her way home, she smiled, recalling the surprised look on her sister’s face. She and Malcolm had already discussed how they could help Susan and decided to give her a generous amount to secure her future and allow her some of the luxuries she deserved. Yes, winning the lottery brought tremendous benefits and being generous to others was such a blessing. Her head spun with thoughts of all the people for whom they could make life a little easier, and her face ached after having laughed so much.
CHAPTER FIVE
Malcolm Grainger had spent years working as a security guard at Burnbridge Town Hall, a job he genuinely enjoyed. But on Monday morning, he called his supervisor to request the day off for a ‘family matter.’ It wasn’t a lie, he needed to be home when the lottery representative arrived. More than that, he wanted to make sure his family didn’t lose their heads with excitement. Danny and Kate were coming over, and from the looks of it, job hunting had all but vanished from his son’s priorities.
By 10.30am, the Graingers’ small lounge crackled with anticipation. It was rare for the four of them to be together without grandchildren or spouses in tow, and the mood felt like a throwback to years past – laughter ringing through the room as they played Scrabble or Monopoly. Even Julie giggled like a schoolgirl. While Malcolm was thrilled to see them so happy, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being on the outside looking in. A cautious voice nagged at him, reminding him that excitement and good fortune didn’t always mix well.
Then, the doorbell chimed its familiar off-key tune. Julie shot up from her seat like a racehorse at the starting gate and dashed to the door.
‘I hope one of the first things you buy is a new doorbell, Mum. That thing is embarrassing,’ Danny called after her.
Laughter dissolved into silence as they listened to Julie greeting their visitor. Moments later, she returned, cheeks flushed, eyes shining. But she hadn’t come back alone. She stepped aside, revealing not one but two visitors – a man and a young woman.
The man was shorter than his companion, with a round face and equally round spectacles perched on the bridge of his stubby nose. His body resembled a figure eight, squeezed in at the middle by a rather uncomfortable-looking belt over which his stomach sagged. In contrast, the smartly dressed woman appeared poised and oozed efficiency in a friendly way. After the introduction, ‘Please call me John, and this is Bea,’ the family studied the pair eagerly, willing them to get down to business. Hugging a bottle of champagne to his chest, John was rather gushing, offering congratulations in several different ways, clearly having had plenty of practice, until Danny could no longer hold the question back.
‘When do we get the cheque?’ he asked rather bluntly, earning a reproachful look from Julie.
Bea took over the conversation in a quiet, straightforward manner. ‘I understand your eagerness.’ She smiled. ‘Today, we need to see your ticket to confirm its validity, and then there are forms to complete. If everything is in order, which I’m sure it will be, the money will be paid into your bank account by the end of the working week. We don’t actually give you a cheque, only one of those huge ones for publicity purposes. Electronic transfer is much safer and quicker all around.’ Bea’s eyes scanned the faces of the family before her, clearly enjoying the role of benefactor and bearer of good news. ‘So, do you have the ticket?’
Julie jumped to her feet to retrieve the precious scrap of paper from under the mantel clock which acted as a temporary paperweight. It was folded in a crumpled envelope, having spent two nights under her pillow, just in case. She slid it from the envelope and smoothed it lovingly before passing it to Bea. The family stared in silent anticipation as she opened a smart leather briefcase to reveal a neat laptop computer and started typing away on the keyboard.
Malcolm noticed his son eyeing the laptop and knew Danny coveted it and several other items he’d been dreaming of. Malcolm smiled, thinking of everything he could give his children, things they’d never been able to afford until now. He might even treat himself to a new car, a sporty coupe, not too flashy…
John opened his briefcase, extracted a small bundle of forms, and offered them to Malcolm for inspection. After a quick read-through and seeing nothing of concern, Malcolm started to fill them in, digging into his trouser pocket for his chequebook to copy the account details carefully onto the form.
‘You mentioned publicity?’ he asked casually, handing the forms back to John. ‘What’s the expectation regarding this?’
‘It’s entirely up to you, Malcolm. From our perspective, we would be delighted to arrange one or two press conferences. It’s a sizeable and newsworthy win. Most winners are only too pleased to do a few publicity shots.’ John sounded eager.
‘I’m not so sure. My inclination is to keep it quiet. There’ll be another millionaire next week, so I think we’ll give the publicity option a miss.’
‘But, Mal, we haven’t decided yet. What’s the problem with sharing our good news? People are going to find out sooner or later.’ Julie frowned at Malcolm’s reluctance.
Bea was quick to offer a compromise. ‘You don’t have to decide anything now. We appreciate the magnitude of your good fortune probably hasn’t fully sunk in yet, and you’ll need time to consider all aspects. I’ll ring you tomorrow. There’ll still be time to arrange something then, and it will give you a chance to discuss it. Naturally, we’d appreciate the publicity. There’s nothing like a happy family picture with a huge cheque to sell more lottery tickets, but please, don’t feel under any obligation.’
John pushed the bottle of champagne towards Malcolm. ‘Congratulations again, Mr Grainger. Shall we, er, leave this with you then?’
Malcolm took the hint and offered their visitors champagne, which was readily accepted.
‘Gosh, champagne before lunch, I could get used to this!’ Julie chuckled. ‘But why no publicity, love? I rather like the idea of our picture in the paper.’
‘We’ll talk about it later.’ Malcolm closed the subject for the moment but knew he had to decide soon. Laughter filled the room as John popped the cork on the champagne and poured it into the glasses Julie brought from the kitchen.
Kate giggled as the champagne bubbles went up her nose. The lottery representatives congratulated them on their good fortune, drained their glasses and left the family alone after John slapped Mal on the back in a rather too-friendly way.
Julie hiccupped. ‘Goodness, this is decadent, champagne in the morning! Top me up, please, Mal.’
