The Euro Lottery Ticket

She called me her lucky dip. The one she knew would finally come up trumps. Or so she told herself. Just like she had all the times before. But this time she really, really felt it – gut instinct and all that. Anything was possible. And everything was an option, with me by her side.

We’d get a house, she said. Sod it, we’d get several. A holiday home, a country house and a London base, that should be ample. Or better yet, perhaps we’d just jack it in and move to Bali. As for Children? Private school could be on the cards, though she wasn’t completely sold by the idea of all those impersonal play dates with bodyguards and oligarchs. Still, she could send the nanny. Those wonderful multiple nannies, who meant there would still be plenty of nights out and fancy restaurants, and time for a little yoga every afternoon.

In fact, she’d say, with my earnings we could help everyone out. Treat our loved ones, help the homeless, fund a cure for cancer. She and I were going places.

It made me feel a little anxious. The statistics of such success were against me. The pressure I felt was immense. Tbh, it freaked her out too - they say change is good, but this was substantial and she wasn’t sure she’d be fully equipped to hack it. Where do you store so much dough? And how could she make sure family members didn’t fall out. She was already overwhelmed simply deciding whether to eat her way around Japan or Vietnam. Both, obviously. But then there was also Italy. And money can’t buy time.

Still, she held onto me longer than she should have. All she’d have needed to do was a light Google, or to ask around, and she’d have quickly discovered that I was just another pipedream. But she didn’t want to - hope, it’s what people hold on to. Which is why, when she finally realised that I wasn’t the one, she quickly nipped out and got herself another.