Just the ticket

Steph had won the lottery, but there was one small problem¼

It was Tuesday night when I told Cliff that I was going to kill him.

Sometimes I check my lottery numbers on Saturday night. Sometimes I forget completely. Because I know, now, that a one in 15 million chance is practically the same as zero.

So this particular Tuesday, it was lucky I checked the numbers at all. If it hadn' t been for Mum pointing out that both hers and Dad' s birthdays had cropped up in Saturday' s draw, I probably would never have known I had won six million pounds.

Maybe that would have been better.

Are you all right, Steph?' Cliff said when he finally got home. I had phoned him at work and told him we had an emergency. What' s wrong?'

I need you to call an ambulance,' I replied.

Oh my God! Where are you hurt?'

I' m not hurt,' I told him. But you will be when I' ve finished with you.'

He took a step back.

The puzzled frown I saw on his face filled me with uncontrollable rage.

WE' VE WON THE

LOTTERY!' I screamed. AND YOU HAD THE TICKET!'

He backed away some more until his bum bumped up against the sink. There was nowhere left to run.

I know,' he replied. I was tidying the kitchen on Sunday. I saw the ticket on the counter, so I¼ I¼' His mouth turned into a wide O' of horror. Oh, Steph! I didn' t, did I?'

I nodded slowly.

Yes, Cliff,' I said softly, my rage slowly fading into a feeling of utter misery and despair. You did.'

He staggered out of the kitchen. I heard the lounge door open and the ancient computer we couldn' t afford to replace begin grinding sluggishly into life.

Cliff s footsteps pounded loudly on our bottom-of-therange laminate flooring as he waited impatiently to get online. He was swearing loudly. His frustration should have given me some comfort.

But we had just lost six million pounds.

So it didn' t.

A few minutes later I heard my husband' s furious fingers pounding on the keyboard. Then his voice as he spoke to someone on the phone.

He stayed on the phone for nearly two hours. Eventually he slammed it down and swore again.

But when he reappeared in the kitchen where I had been sitting, unable to move for nearly three hours, he was smiling.

I' ve got an idea!' Reluctantly, I agreed to help. Cliff went to the garage, came back 10 minutes later, and it was almost midnight before we were ready.

Do we go now?' I asked him.

Cliff was already nodding. You bet we do.'

We drove slowly and it took almost three hours to reach London. That' s when disaster struck.

Roadworks¼' Cliff said flatly.

Somehow I managed a bitter laugh. Not just roadworks,' I said. It looks like half of central London has been turned inside out.'

Of course that' s what it looked like. They were building a new railway line beneath the streets. You couldn' t do that by lifting up a couple of pavements.

We' ll need to walk the rest of the way,' Cliff said.

Are you joking?' I replied. He wasn' t joking.

This was deadly serious. The most serious thing we had ever done.

The lottery organisers' head office was in an area of London called Holborn. The nearest we could park was 500 yards away.

It took us over two hours to cover those 500 yards, but I suppose it killed the time we would have spent waiting for the office to open.

In our house, Sunday is washing day. And my husband has one particular fault that drives me nuts. He never remembers to empty his pockets before putting his jeans in the laundry basket.

I usually check. Sometimes I forget completely. Like the day I washed his jeans with a winning lottery ticket in the pocket.

But it worked out OK in the end. After driving our washing machine to London, carrying it halfway across the city, then waiting desperately for three adjudicators to scrutinise the pieces of the ticket splattered all over the washing machine drum, they delivered their verdict.

Mrs Johnson. I am pleased to be able to present you with a cheque for six million pounds.'

I need you to call an ambulance, I said. I m not hurt, but you will be when Ive finished with you