Just My Luck(4)

We’ve barely slept. How could we? We lay side by side, hand in hand and whispered to one another about how this could possibly be happening. What it means. What we should do next. We made plans late into the night, or actually early into the morning. The illusory feel is accentuated by the fact we fell in and out of consciousness and each other’s bodies throughout the night. Clinging to one another in a new entangled, intense way. I’m left unsure as to what is real, what is a dream. The dream. All night Jake whispered into my ear. He told me he loved me. That everything is going to be perfect from now on in. That we have nothing to worry about. That we’ll never have anything to worry about ever again. He repeated this over and over, like a hypnotist. And I want to believe him. I want that more than anything.

At seven o’clock we get up and go downstairs to make coffee. Jake takes the time to mess about with the old percolator, which he very rarely bothers with. In fact, I can’t remember when it was used last; the ground coffee is probably well past its sell-by date. Still, I understand; the aroma drifts through the kitchen, declaring it is time to indulge. Cornflakes just won’t cut it this morning. We’re going to have French toast. I crack some eggs into a shallow, flat bowl and hum to myself. A butterfly fluttering of excitement ripples through my body; I recall Jake’s urgent whispers delivered in the dark, oozing seductive possibility. What an opportunity. How lucky we are. I am.

‘Wow, Lexi, can you believe this?’ asks Jake yet again.

‘Nope, not really.’

‘I’m a different man!’

‘Are you? How exactly?’ I challenge gently.

‘OK, I’m the same man but you know, better. Richer. Definitely richer.’ He laughs. ‘I can’t wait until the kids get up. Shall we go and wake them? It’s like a massively exaggerated Christmas morning, isn’t it?’

For the past couple of years, we have woken up earlier than the kids on Christmas morning. Something I see as a bit of a bonus – it gives me time to listen to the radio, prepare the sprouts. For me, Christmas is about food, family time and ideally, a little contemplation. Jake finds the kids’ teenage lie-ins frustrating; he is always desperate for them to open their presents. He likes to spoil them and see their faces light up when they discover he has after all bought the latest must-have they’ve longed for, that we can barely afford. For him, Christmas is all about the giving and getting of stuff.

‘I’ve been thinking about it. Maybe we shouldn’t tell them straight away,’ I suggest carefully.

‘What?’

‘Let’s wait until we are sure.’

‘We are sure.’

‘But it’s complicated, isn’t it? Because Emily is best friends with Megan and dating Ridley. She won’t be able to keep her mouth shut. I thought we agreed the longer we can keep this from the Heathcotes and Pearsons, the better.’

‘How are you going to hide seventeen point eight million pounds, Lexi?’

‘I’m not trying to hide it.’

‘We’ll have to tell our families.’

‘Of course.’

‘They’ll expect a slice of the winnings. Well, maybe not expect but certainly they would hope for it, that is natural enough. How much is the right amount to give?’ He is like an excited kid. I know he can’t wait to start handing out bundles of cash.

I shake my head a fraction, trying to clear it. It is impossible to think straight after everything I discovered last night, after the poor night’s sleep. I lost so much, then won so much. Their betrayal, his loving. My head and heart are about to explode. ‘I just think that it would be best to wait until the money is in the account. Just in case.’

Jake stares at me. ‘I don’t know how we can keep this from the kids. They’ll be able to tell something is up. It’s happening, Lexi. This is real.’ Jake is grinning so widely; it looks like his face is about to split.

‘But it’s a big responsibility. This is going to change their lives forever. We need to think about what to tell them, give them ideas on how to adjust,’ I insist.

‘How to adjust to what?’ asks Logan.

I jump. Where did he come from? I want to kick myself; my excitement had made me careless. I know, and usually remember, that one or other of our kids is invariably lurking, especially if they can smell food.

‘We’ve won the lottery!’ yells Jake.

‘What?’ Logan looks sceptical.

‘Seventeen point eight million pounds. We’re bloody millionaires, my boy!’

‘Jake!’

‘Sorry, didn’t mean to swear.’

Actually, I was reproving him for his lack of discretion and caution more than his bad language.

‘For real?’ Logan asks. His eyes on me; he most likely thinks his dad is playing with him. ‘We’re millionaires?’

‘Several times over,’ I confirm, with a shrug and a smile. ‘Most probably. Our numbers match and we’ve phoned to confirm it, but I—’ My words are cut off because Logan starts to yell, actually squeal like a pig. He jumps up and down on the spot, he runs to his dad and launches himself, so their bodies smash into each other with a ferocious energy. A move that is somewhere between a hug and an attack. He doesn’t know how to contain himself. He is literally overflowing. Effervescent. It’s brilliant.