Just My Luck by Adele Parks (best romance books of all time txt) 📗

to show up. Because neither of her friends were there, Emily hadn’t bothered coming to the table. She’d shut herself in her room with a plate of toast and her phone. The younger ones had stuffed down their food as fast as humanly possible and then dashed off to play video games. Jake tried to strike up a conversation about work, but Patrick said as it was the weekend, he didn’t want to think about ‘the bloody office.’ There was definitely an atmosphere. Something was off.”

“And did you have any idea what was off?” prompts my lawyer, Ms. Walsh.

“No, not at first. No idea. But it became very apparent. The atmosphere was off because they had ganged up and decided to pull out of the lottery.”

“And that was a big deal, was it?” asks Double Barrel 1. He throws out a laugh that is shot through with incredulity. Double Barrel 2 and 3 joins in.

I glower at them. “Clearly, since we are all here.” I enjoy watching the smiles slide off their faces.

“But before the win, why was it such a big deal? It’s just a game,” insists Double Barrel 1.

Gillian coughs and wiggles on her seat. She and her boss throw a look between them. Working for the lottery company, they know, more than any of us, that it’s never just a game if money is involved.

“Them wanting to leave the lottery was symbolic,” I explain.

“How do you mean?”

“They were dumping us, as friends. At least that’s what it felt like.”

“Let’s stick to the facts, should we? Rather than feelings.”

Double Barrel 1 is a smug toad. I remind myself I can buy and sell his butt now, and it’s some comfort. Still, I do as he asks. The outcome of this meeting will determine just how many times I can buy and sell his butt. I need to cooperate. They need to hear my story and they need to believe it.

CHAPTER 13

Lexi

“Fred was talking about, oh, something or other, I don’t remember, his car engine? Tire pressure? It wasn’t interesting, then Jake interrupted to announce we weren’t lottery winners. Like he does pretty much every week. But that week, his interruption created an odd mood. The air was sort of heavy. I guess no one likes to be reminded that they’ve lost at anything, even if there was never any real expectation of winning.” I shrug. Who knows? People are strange. “I broke the silence by reminding everyone it was time to chip in to the kitty again. I collect a fiver off each couple every few weeks. As each game cost two pounds, the kitty lasts a little while.”

“And does everyone always pay in advance?” asks Ms. Walsh.

“Sometimes I forget to ask for the money, I just buy the tickets anyway. I’d done that for the preceding two weeks as it happened. It’s just a few quid. I only mentioned the money for something to say. But then Patrick demanded, ‘Why are we even doing the lottery?’ His face was flushed, his voice booming. ‘What’s the bloody point?’ he asked. He sounded angry. I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t just reaching for his wallet and casually handing over the cash. I guess it was the drink. I don’t want to be mean about this, but facts are facts. Patrick had downed two cocktails and polished off a bottle of red before I’d even served the main. By this point in the evening he was drinking whiskey straight. It was a bottle that my mother had bought Jake for his birthday.” I look at Gillian and Ms. Walsh. “I was wondering if maybe Patrick is misremembering things because of the amount he had to drink. I want to think the best of him, you know.”

Gillian squeezes my arm again. My lawyer nods and asks, “In your estimation, did Mr. Pearson drink more than usual that evening?”

“Yes, I think he did. Not an unprecedented amount—we’ve all seen each other quite the worse for wear at some point or other over the years—but yes, thinking about it, he probably did drink more than usual. Fred, too, actually. But he’s such an easygoing drunk. Just sort of dozes off in his chair.”

“And Patrick isn’t an easy drunk?” probes Ms. Walsh.

“He gets a bit edgy with alcohol.” I pause and then admit, “Or even without it. We’ve all got used to his short temper. His belligerence. Jake and I have privately wondered if perhaps Patrick is a tad stretched.”

“Stretched? Do you mean at work? Workload? Financially?”

“Possibly both. I don’t know for a fact. It’s just rumor at the school gate.”

“Can you elaborate?”

“I am reluctant to speculate. When I first heard the whispers, I dismissed them. It is hard to imagine. Patrick and Carla have always been financially successful. Big house, two family holidays a year. Patrick has his fingers in many pies, he talks about his investments a lot. Jennifer and Fred are comfortable, too, although they talk about money less. Fred insists his job is dreary and rarely mentions it beyond saying his boss is a wanker. Until our numbers came up, we simply got by.”

“What happened next?”

“We all started to talk about what we would spend our money on if we won. Just joking about, you know. That’s when Patrick turned quite nasty.”

“Nasty?”

“He shouted, ‘Will you cut the crap. All this talk about lottery wins is doing my head in.’ The more I think about it, the more I believe maybe he does have money issues and that’s why he’s making this stuff up. I almost feel sorry for him.” I stare right at Double Barrel 1. “You need to know, even if the money was split three ways, that’s an enormous amount to us. We wouldn’t keep it from them if they were due it. But I’m not a pushover. I’m not going to cough up the cash after the way they insulted Jake.”

“Insulted him?” asks Ms. Walsh.

“Patrick said the lottery was common, that it was for losers.” I