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The Lucky Winners

K. L. S L ater

penguin michae L jo S eph

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Prologue

The hillside looms, steep and silent. The damp earth slips beneath your feet, moss and rot thick in the air. Overhead, the light is fading fast, dusk becoming night.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You keep your gaze pinned on what lies up ahead. That pinnacle of perfection, the ostentatious prize.

The floor-to-ceiling glass windows gleam, a mocking beacon against the fading day. Perched on the hill like a trophy you do not deserve.

The interior is alive with light, every bulb burning as if to banish each and every shadow. The rooms within are impossibly modern and stark. Clean lines, white walls, polished steel. A place without history, without heart, without conscience.

Look at me, look at me and what I stand for!

Greed and excess. A reward for betrayal and lies.

Behind you, Lake Windermere shimmers like a restless serpent. The hillside winds ahead, steep and treacherous, but your steps are steady and your intention is strong.

The air grows colder as you climb, the damp seeping into your skin. Your fingers brush the solid metal in your pocket – its weight cold and familiar. The pulse in your temples is steady, even as the house draws near.

As you get closer, the glass panes reveal more. A figure moves within, a shadow against the light.

Your hand brushes a low branch, slick with rain, the comforting weight in your hand pressing heavier with each step. You reach the door, your breath a faint mist in the chilled

air, heart drumming slow and steady beneath the skin. One moment stretches into another, taut as a stretched wire. Your fingers find the door handle, cold and smooth.

One step, two steps, three steps. Four.

The light shifts inside, and there she is. Her head tilts, catching the glow of a pendant light, and for a heartbeat, she looks almost innocent. But you know better. That face – it’s the one that shattered everything.

The memory burns hot, twisting deep in your chest, until your knees threaten to buckle.

But you do not falter. You can’t. Not now.

It’s finally time to put things right.

Six Weeks Earlier

Friday

Merri

Dev calls upstairs as he leaves for work, slamming the door behind him. I groan. I’ve been off work sick for three days with a chest infection and I still have the banging headache. Another day of feeling rotten.

‘Make sure you get plenty of rest, keep hydrated and take paracetamol, as directed on the packet, for the symptoms,’ the doctor had said briskly, before moving on to his next patient phone call.

I pop my first two painkillers of the day with a swig of lukewarm water and sink back into my pillows, staring at the ceiling. There was the chance of picking up a few extra hours this week, too, with staff taking their summer holidays. In some ways, I can’t wait to get back on Monday, not least because I can’t afford to take any more days off.

Downstairs on the kitchen worktop, there’s a small pile of unopened late-payment letters, most of them addressed as:

URGENT: Mr D. Jain and Ms M. J. Harris.

I don’t usually ignore unpaid bills, but this month has been particularly challenging. After a couple of emailed reminders, companies have started sending hard threats through the letterbox. Final notices that are getting more difficult to

ignore. Rent, utilities, credit cards – most of them overdue. It sounds dire but we’ve been even worse off than this.

We have our problems, but at least we still have each other. People generally leave us alone and our little routines help me to keep stuff zipped up inside where it belongs.

I know we’ll get on the straight and narrow again. We’ll just have to suffer a while longer first. No meals out, or impulsive purchases. Just more slog and lacklustre weekends when we’ll probably end up bickering about whose fault it is this time.

I pull my cardigan tighter around myself as I sit on the sagging couch looking around at the cramped space that seems to get smaller every day. We had to battle to get this place among stiff competition from three other couples. Two months’ rent up front as a deposit and a monthly amount that stretches us further than we’d originally planned, but the landlord was a Man City fan like Dev and he jokes that’s what swung it for us in the end.

It’s a tiny two-bed semi with a garden view on a fairly new estate at the edge of Colwick, in Nottingham. Dev felt cautious about it at first, but I’d just found my current job as a healthcare assistant, which offered a thousand-pound raise on my last place, the chance of extra hours sometimes and a decent pension. It was a big improvement on the private fertility clinic I worked at before that paid only minimum wage.

‘Come on, let’s do it!’ I’d urged him, full of optimism for the future. I didn’t mention the backdrop of desperation to get away from the dingy flat we were living in, with the nosy neighbour who was always trying to get friendly. Asking me which school I’d been to, where I’d lived before. Stuff like that.

Once Dev had viewed the house and seen the new nocontract gym that had just opened close by, he was keener than I was to move in. Now, though, we have less spare cash than ever. He can’t stand his new boss, and the two girls

who’ve just moved into the house next to us throw parties every weekend, often until the early hours. I’d started to think things couldn’t get much worse. Until last night, that is.

Yesterday had been our third wedding anniversary. Dev’s ‘special dinner’ that he insisted on making for me had turned out to be a simple affair – Spaghetti Amatriciana. We sat at the peeling wood-effect table for two that we were planning to replace with something of better quality when we moved in here. To give him credit, he’d tried his best to make it special, lighting a candle and playing soft music in the background, but the ambience couldn’t disguise the undercurrent of exhaustion between us, especially with me continually yawning and snuffling into a tissue. It had been a long time since either of us felt like celebrating anything.

‘Right, then,’ Dev said, with a nervous little grin. ‘Time for your present.’

‘Present?’ I leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. ‘Dev, you didn’t need to get me anything. We agreed just cards, didn’t we?’ I wanted to say we had better things to spend our money on than this, but he was already reaching into his jacket pocket. With a flourish, he pulled out a folded white sheet of paper.

‘Ta-dah! Happy wedding anniversary, honey.’ He unfolded it and waved it in front of me, beaming. ‘You are now the proud owner of a ticket for the DreamKey national prize draw. It’s that amazing house in the Lake District we saw on their advert.’

I blinked at him, confused. ‘A raffle ticket?’ My voice sounded flat, even to me, and I could feel my patience already wearing thin. ‘You bought a raffle ticket?’

We’d seen the ads on TV, of course, and I’d joked a couple of days ago how amazing it would be to win a house like that. Dev had joked how inconvenient it would be to win, a big

move, leaving the jobs we hated and friends we never saw much any more.

‘Come on, Merri. It’s not a raffle, it’s a prize draw with a difference,’ he said, reaching across the table and pressing the ticket into my hands. ‘It’s the DreamKey mansion by Windermere, remember? Imagine it – a beautiful home, no more rent, no more leaking taps. You said it yourself! This could be it, Merri. Our chance at something better.’

I stared at the ‘ticket’ that Dev had mocked up and printed off after he’d bought our entry online. The bright lettering did little to cheer me up. Dev, however, was beaming.

‘How much did this cost?’ I tried to swallow my frustration. ‘We can’t afford to waste money on silly things like this. You cancelled the Netflix subscription last week.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ he said sheepishly. ‘But I had the idea after a few beers on the sofa last night.’

I’d gathered up the empty cans when I came down this morning.

‘Hey, it’s just one ticket,’ he said, his smile fading. ‘It wasn’t that much, just twenty quid. And it’s our anniversary. I thought it might give us the edge, you know? If the universe is looking for a Nottingham winner, I mean.’

Twenty quid. On a single ticket with ridiculous odds stacked against us.

I let out a weary sigh, my head pounding. My eyes felt tired and heavy. ‘Dev, we need to be realistic. We’re drowning in bills. And now you’re spending money on stupid pipe dreams.’ I let the ticket fall out of my hands, not caring where it landed. ‘I’m going up to bed.’

I stood up and instantly felt dizzy, my blocked sinuses making me sway slightly. As I made my way to the narrow staircase leading up to our bedroom, I heard Dev’s voice call

up softly behind me: ‘I just thought it could be a chance to escape all the crap.’

I didn’t respond. I was too tired to speak – too frustrated to argue.

The ticket didn’t feel like hope: it felt like another gamble we couldn’t afford.

Monday

I lean against the counter in the staff room on my break, waiting for the drain of the morning to leave me. The faint smell of cheap instant coffee drifts through the air while I wait for the kettle to boil.

The door swings open, and Paige breezes in, bringing a little sunshine with her. Her dark hair is pulled back in its usual signature bun, not a strand out of place. Her tunic looks pristine, too. She always has a calm, composed air about her. I don’t know how she does it.

‘Morning!’ she sings, reaching for a mug from the rack. She gives me a quick once-over, her brow quirking. ‘Oh dear. You already look like you’ve been chewed up and spat out.’

‘I came back before I’m properly better.’ I sigh, pressing two fingers to my temple. ‘I’ve already done six blood samples, nine blood-pressure readings, and if I see another cuff today, I might scream.’

Paige gives a warm chuckle. ‘Yep, sounds familiar. Busy and mind-numbingly dull. My life in a nutshell!’

The kettle clicks and we fill our coffee mugs. I add milk to mine and stir and we take them over to settle into the comfy chairs in the corner. The moment feels easy, like I can let the weight of the morning slip away. With Paige, I don’t have to hold everything together. She makes it feel safe to let some of it out.

‘So, spill. How was your anniversary? Did it turn out to be the wildly romantic night of your dreams?’

I pull a face. ‘It was OK. Dev cooked. Burned the sauce, undercooked the pasta, but he tried his best, bless him. To be fair, the biggest problem was I felt too rough to enjoy it.’

‘Shame he didn’t take you out for dinner.’

‘Money’s a bit tight this month. We’d agreed to just give cards.’ I sigh. ‘But Dev bought a ticket for the latest DreamKey house draw. Twenty quid, Paige. Can you believe it?’

Her eyebrows rise. ‘For one ticket? I wouldn’t fancy those odds.’

‘Exactly. He might as well have just tossed the cash out of the window.’ I fold my arms, my chest tightening.

I’ve only known Paige for a couple of years, but it feels longer. After we moved house, I left behind the friends I’d made at my old job, the ones I could grab a drink with after work or call when I needed to vent. I’ve always liked a fresh start. But here, in a new area and new job, I had no one at first – until I met Paige.

She makes the long days at this job bearable, her sharp humour cutting through the tension and making me laugh. Back when I started, her easy warmth made me feel I belonged. I trust her and, right now, I need someone to talk to.

‘I know twenty quid’s not a fortune in the great scheme of things, but we’re scraping by as it is and . . . Well, I think I went on a bit about it and managed to upset him.’

‘I reckon he’s lucky you didn’t kick his arse.’

I laugh, already feeling validated. ‘I felt like it, I can tell you.’

A small frown wrinkles her forehead. She takes a sip of her coffee before setting the mug down. ‘Men,’ she mutters disparagingly. ‘My brothers get away with everything at home. My dad can’t go a day without asking if I’ve made the “right choice” in going for the nursing degree. And Mum –’ She

breaks off, her expression darkening. ‘Mum expects me to wait on them all hand and foot, like she chooses to do.’

‘I trust you’ve set her straight?’

‘I have, but I need my own place, Merri. I’m desperate. But between nursing-college fees and paying board, I can’t save anything. Not with this crappy part-time job. I’m just . . . stuck.’

I understand her frustration. From the cramped gloom of the staff room, I look out of the window at the bright blue sky. We’re in the same boat in a lot of ways. Both broke financially, both feeling suffocated by life.

Paige gives me a small smile. ‘At least we have each other to moan to.’

The door opens, and the senior nurse, Karen, sticks her head in. ‘Ladies, break’s over I’m afraid. You’ve both got patients waiting.’

Paige gives her a tight nod, and we make a move, our unfinished coffees abandoned. The hallway smells faintly of antiseptic as we head back to our respective rooms.

I glance at my watch, heart sinking. Only another five hours to go.

It’s almost three by the time my next break comes around, the steady rhythm of patients a background hum. I head for the staff room, glad to find it empty, and pull my phone out of my locker. I have two missed-call notifications from an hour ago.

A prickle of discomfort starts in my chest. I can’t keep ignoring these debt calls, but I haven’t got the money to pay them yet. I just don’t know what we’re going to do.

Dev has parked on the far side, away from the building, next to the road. He doesn’t usually use the car for work, but he sometimes has to help out at other warehouses, and today he’s been on a training course. I think he’s also trying to make amends because of our recent tensions.

The large car park is fairly empty now the health centre is closed, but the building also houses a pharmacy, a play centre and various other community services, so there are still people around.

I’ve got a bit of a headache but, thankfully, I feel much better than I did last week. I’m relieved to be heading home.

Dev still hasn’t seen me, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel in time to whatever music he’s playing.

I walk towards the car as a red double-decker pulls in to a bus stop. The profile of a young girl sitting on the top deck staring straight ahead makes me catch my breath. I stop walking. She turns and looks my way and I see that, of course, it’s not her. It’s never her. But that doesn’t stop the hope rising like a bullet in my chest, then dissolving, leaving me feeling hollow.

I head for the car, pushing down the feelings. No matter how deep I bury them, the memories of Beth are only ever a heartbeat away.

When Dev catches sight of me, his face lights up with a smile and I feel a rush of affection. ‘Long day?’ he asks,

as I slide into the passenger seat, dropping my bag into the footwell.

‘You could say that. Why? Do I look that bad?’

‘Course not!’ He leans across and kisses my cheek. ‘You always look fresh as a daisy to me.’

He shifts the car into gear and eases it out of the car park. The low hum of the engine is the only sound between us for a moment or two. I glance sideways at him and get the impression he’s had a tough day, too. Dev is one of three operations managers at a large distribution warehouse located about a mile from the health centre. ‘Basically I’m a troubleshooter for any operational problems, of which there are many,’ he’d told me proudly, when he got the promotion.

Now, he says he has nothing but problems. Every single day, all day long. I get the impression it’s a thankless job. At least most of my patients express some gratitude to me.

Dev looks tired. It doesn’t help he’s unshaven, the dark stubble on his jaw catching the light when he tilts his head. Still handsome, though. I want to reach out, trace my fingers along his cheek. Instead, I settle for ‘Sorry about being a bit grumpy at the weekend.’

Surprise flits across his face. ‘Don’t be sorry. You were knackered and feeling like crap and . . . I get it.’

‘I shouldn’t have gone on about the ticket. I know you meant well. It’s just that it seemed like a waste to spend on a prize draw, that’s all.’

‘I know. Don’t go getting mad all over again.’ He laughs, and when we stop at the lights, his hand finds mine. ‘Am I forgiven now?’

‘Yeah, course,’ I say, and this time my smile comes a little easier.

The road stretches ahead of us. The sky is cloudy and the weather unusually cool for the end of July.

I still feel an ache from seeing the girl on the bus, but it’s fading now. Like it always does.

When we turn off the main road, the side-streets are already lined with parked cars as people arrive home from work. The smell of Dev’s car wraps around me. The faint scent of pine from a dried-out air freshener softened by gentle heat from the vents is oddly comforting.

‘So, what do you fancy doing this weekend?’ he asks. I know this is his way of lightening things up, keeping me in a better mood even though it’s only Monday.

I lean my head back against the seat. ‘Something that’s cheap. Free, ideally. We’re down to the last few pounds of this month’s budget, remember?’

‘I do remember. How can I forget?’ he says glumly. ‘I checked the weather and it’s going to brighten up again, so how about we have a ride out to Wollaton Hall? Fresh air and acres of green stuff. We can stretch our legs after being cooped up at work all week.’

I think of it. Masses of natural parkland. The trees, the quiet rustle of leaves underfoot, it’s one of my favourite places and we haven’t been for ages. Why do we tend to turn from nature, hide ourselves away when we feel the most troubled? It’s the perfect balm. ‘Sounds good,’ I say.

‘Good. We can even feed the ducks. On the cheap, of course, using only stale bread from the cupboard,’ Dev adds, with a cheeky wink. ‘We’ll take a flask of coffee to save buying some.’ He grimaces. ‘Oops. I broke the flask last year. Scrap that.’

Despite myself, I laugh, the sound seeming to soothe the tension in me. ‘Maybe we can share a coffee.’

‘I like your radical thinking, Ms Harris.’ He grins.

‘You’re ridiculous.’

‘Guilty as charged,’ he says breezily. ‘But, hey, we don’t need much money to have fun. Agreed?’

I nod, trying not to look downhearted. I wish I had Dev’s optimism. His easy belief that things will work out, no matter what. All day long, whether I’m at work or at home, my mind constantly circles back to crunching the numbers, working out how to pay the bills that keep coming at a rate of knots.

I’m so sick of feeling we’re just treading water, always one step away from sinking.

‘Things will get better, Merri. I promise.’ Dev’s voice cuts into my thoughts, quiet but determined.

‘You always say that.’

‘Well, then, you should believe it because it’s true.’ Eyes pinned to the road, Dev squeezes my hand again, his warm fingers steady against mine. ‘We’re best friends, remember? We can talk to each other about anything and everything. Lots of couples aren’t that lucky.’

I look out of the window. I love that Dev is a glass-halffull type person while I’m the opposite. It’s so ‘him’ to get the ridiculous idea to enter a prize draw on the spur of the moment. He’s the yin to my yang, and even when I’m mad at him, I don’t know what I’d do without him. Which is why I can never be an open book to Dev. Especially to Dev.

‘No parking space outside our house again,’ I grumble, keen to change the subject.

Dev drives slowly up the street, the familiar row of small semis slipping into view. Maybe he’s right, I think. Maybe this is just a rough patch and we’ll emerge from it stronger and better off.

The car jolts – a sudden, sharp lurch that sends my heart plummeting.

‘What the –’ Dev’s hands tighten on the wheel as he pulls in sharply to the kerb. The engine coughs and sputters, then dies, leaving a heavy, suffocating silence.

‘What happened?’ I ask, alarmed.

‘I don’t know.’ He gets out of the car and pops the bonnet. I follow, wrapping my thin jacket tighter around me.

‘Did any warning lights come on?’ I peer over his shoulder. He doesn’t answer straight away, just stares forlornly at the dark tangle of metal and wires.

‘I didn’t notice,’ he says again, frustration creeping into his voice. ‘It could be anything.’

We stand there for a moment, the street quiet, apart from the hum of nearby passing cars.

‘We let the AA membership lapse last month,’ I say.

‘I know.’ He slams the bonnet, his shoulders slumping. ‘We’ll figure it out tomorrow. This isn’t a permit spot so we can leave it here. Let’s just get inside.’

We lock the car and trudge up the road together. Dev slips his arm around my waist, pulling me close, and I lean into him, because even with the mounting bills and the broken car and this bloody headache, he’s here and we’re together. And that’s got to count for something.

Thursday

I hear Dev creeping around, getting ready for work and trying not to wake me since it’s my day off. The clinic is overstaffed for once because the main treatment room has a leak. My manager, Karen, practically begged someone to take a day’s leave and I wasn’t about to argue. It’s not as if I need to save it up for anything: we haven’t had a holiday since our minimoon in Cornwall.

I must have dropped back to sleep before he left because when I wake again the house is silent. Sunlight filters through the Venetian blind in soft, lazy stripes, but I still don’t want to get up. I think about the fridge, almost bare except for a half-carton of milk and a few sad-looking vegetables. About the message I ignored yesterday, the one I already know isn’t good news. Instead, I pull the duvet tighter around me, as if that might make it all go away.

I dreamed about the girl on the bus again, and this time when she turned to look at me, it really was Beth.

I need to get up and do something to take my mind off it. Wait for the guilt to fade.

I glance at the digital clock on the bedside table. Dev must have left over an hour ago. Now the car has given up the fight, he has to catch the early bus to make it to work on time – two buses, actually. One into the city centre and another to take him back out to the business park where he’s working for the next couple of weeks.

I picture Dev standing at a bus stop somewhere. Hands shoved into the pockets of his battered mac, the one he refuses to replace because, he says, ‘It still does the job.’ He’s not one to complain and at least he gets travel expenses when they send him somewhere else.

That’s Dev all over: steady and dependable. Always managing to find a way to make things work. Even now, when the odds feel downright impossible.

Since things got tight, he’s been staying for every bit of overtime he can, but there hasn’t been much offered lately. Not enough to make a difference.

That’s my Dev. Always trying to shoulder more than his share. Always putting me first. It’s one of the reasons I love him so much, but it’s also why the guilt in my stomach never lessens. Would he have married me . . . if he’d known?

He doesn’t deserve the lies I feed him. He deserves better than that.

I get up and wrap a fleecy dressing-gown around me. Downstairs, I make a cup of tea before shuffling back to bed.

My eyelids are just starting to feel heavy again when the doorbell rings, rattling me fully awake. No way am I getting out of my nice, warm bed again to answer the door. I’m not expecting a parcel today, and I’m not about to haul myself up and rush downstairs to take yet another Amazon delivery for the single guy next door who works regular nights.

I squeeze my eyes closed again and turn my face into the pillow, willing whoever it is to go away.

But the bright cheery ringtone continues to bounce around my skull. Every. Ten. Seconds. Whoever is at the door isn’t going away anytime soon.

Bleary-eyed, I reach for Dev’s crumpled pillow. I see my phone is flashing silently on the bedside table. Propping up on my elbow, I see Dev’s name emblazoned on the screen.

The call rings out before I can reach the phone but when I do manage to grab it, I see a stack of missed-call notifications. All from Dev.

I sit up, rubbing my eyes. He must have forgotten his keys and be trying to get back into the house for some reason.

I pull the belt of my dressing-gown tighter and move to the top of the stairs. The doorbell chimes again.

‘Hang on, I’m coming!’ I call out, my voice cracking with frustration.

Halfway down the stairs, my phone rings again, its shrill sound cutting through my headache. I pull it out of my dressing-gown pocket and stab a finger at the screen.

‘I’m coming! Dev, what the –’

‘I’m nearly back home! They say they’re outside, ringing the bell!’

‘Who?’ Icy fingers trace down my spine. ‘That’s not you at the door?’

He’s laughing, tongue-tied. Trying to get his words out and failing.

‘Dev, what’s happening?’ This is too much. I feel a rush of nausea and pause halfway down the stairs. ‘Who’s at the door?’

Even though I know it can’t be anything to do with what happened, the old fear never lessens.

Dev is babbling incoherently. His nonsense fades out as I take another couple of steps down and see the dark shadow of a person through the opaque glass panel that runs down the centre of the front door. As I get closer, the shadow moves and I realize there’s more than one person outside.

I swallow, my throat pulsing.

He cuts off the call, and just as I get to the bottom of the stairs, the doorbell chimes yet again, ricocheting around my skull. I snatch open the door, suddenly seething. ‘Can you please stop ringing this bloody bell!’

A woman with blonde shoulder-length hair and a full face of make-up stands there, grinning. Behind her are two more people and they’re both grinning too. One has a camera. A big one.

‘Hi! Merri, isn’t it?’ The woman beams, glancing at a card in her hand. ‘Merri Harris?’

I frown, folding my arms to hide the tea stain on the front of my dressing-gown. ‘Yes. Who are you?’

‘I’m Susie from DreamKey Homes, and this,’ she sweeps a hand behind her, ‘is the DreamKey crew!’

‘What?’ I grip the door frame, my skin suddenly clammy. I actually question if I’m hallucinating for a second, but no. There really is a cluster of smiling, slightly manic- looking people on my doorstep. A couple of doors across the street are already open with our near-neighbours peering out, watching the circus.

The man with the camera thrusts it forward, and when the red light starts to flash, Susie from DreamKey sparks into action. ‘Congratulations, Merri!’ she sings, her wide mouth slick with red lipstick. She pushes a microphone towards me. ‘How does it feel to be our lucky winner?’

The woman steps aside and gestures to a high-sided van parked close to the house, ‘DreamKey Homes’ emblazoned across its bonnet. The gold lettering alone has drawn a few more neighbours to their doorsteps, openly watching the activity with curious expressions.

I blink, trying to process the chaotic scene before me. ‘Lucky winner?’ I repeat vaguely, my brain still refusing to compute. Then it hits me. My anniversary gift! The ticket Dev gave me . . .

An actual drumroll booms out from a speaker on the van and Susie looks like she might burst. Party poppers explode in our faces as she yells, ‘You’ve won a three-million-pound mansion in the Lake District, and that’s not all . . . You also get a quarter of a million pounds! Congratulations!’

The enormous screen on the side of the vehicle lights up and the most beautiful house of glass and steel is displayed. Taken at night, every room in the property is fully lit and overlooking a vast expanse of water.

My hand flies to my throat. It can’t be real. It can’t! Things like this just don’t happen to people like us. There must be some mistake.

I’m about to ask her to repeat it when a blur and a screech of tyres cuts me off. A cab pulls up behind our broken-down Ford Fiesta, jutting out untidily into the road. The passenger door flies open, and in seconds Dev is bounding up our tiny

front path and then he’s right there, standing right in front of me, fizzing with energy like an overexcited schoolboy.

‘They rang me on the bus, on my way in to work,’ he yelps, bouncing on his toes. When I look at him, he laughs and pulls me into a bear hug. ‘Merri, we’ve won! Do you understand? We’ve won the bloody house!’

Dev throws back his head and lets out a euphoric roar of delight, prompting a couple of passers-by to begin clapping. I notice a few of the neighbours across the street are smiling and waving now, too.

‘Congratulations to you both!’ Susie shouts triumphantly, her ever-widening grin distorting her features. ‘How do you feel, Merri, Dev? How does it feel to be an instant millionaire?’

For a second or two everything sounds as if it’s happening far away before it springs back into sharp focus. Dev’s arms are open wide as if he wants to pull the whole street into this moment with him. Someone hands him an enormous gold-cardboard key.

‘It’s the most amazing feeling in the world! Thank you, Universe!’ he cries, practically bursting with joy. ‘Thank you, DreamKey!’

Dev is the perfect winner, providing every emotion they want to see. He holds the outsized key aloft while the photographer circles him, like a great white shark, snapping what seems like hundreds of machine-gun shots.

When the camera turns to me, I freeze.

I must look like crap, still in my dressing-gown with bed hair – more than that, I don’t like cameras. Cameras capture things. They make moments permanent. And the last thing I need is for someone, somewhere, to recognize me and start raking up a past I’d rather forget.

I’m Merri Harris now. I left Jane Meredith Harrison behind a long time ago. There’s no one left from back then to come

after me. Nobody who would put two and two together and start to dig. Yet all this press attention feels very uncomfortable. Most reporters are resourceful by nature. They’d happily ruin someone’s life for the sake of a story.

And if they did, what the hell would I tell Dev? How would I explain, after all this time? It would break my heart if he couldn’t get over the truth.

I shiver. It’s unlikely, but you never know . . .

Susie latches on to my distraction. ‘Come on, Merri, share how you’re feeling with us! Isn’t this win just beyond your wildest dreams?’

‘Yes! It’s – it’s amazing. I can’t believe it. It’s just incredible!’ And it is. It really is. I’m trying so hard to push through the disconnect I’m feeling. Trying to put the irrational fear behind me and enjoy the moment.

‘Why don’t we go inside, and I can tell you more?’ Susie suggests. ‘Is that OK? We’ve brought champagne!’

‘Everyone, come through.’ Dev laughs, his eyes wet with emotion as he regards the DreamKey team. ‘Come on in. All of you.’

Everyone squeezes inside, clogging our tiny hallway with bodies and technical equipment. Someone shuts the front door behind us.

Dev leads them into our cramped living room and I cringe at the mess. Magazines, dirty plates, half-filled mugs of cold coffee. The clothes dryer strewn with damp garments Dev must have draped over it when he emptied the washingmachine before leaving for work.

This was supposed to be my job for today: catching up with the cleaning.

A young woman moves quickly, plumping the sofa cushions while another gathers the dirty dishes. Within minutes, the mess disappears, leaving the sofa spotless.

‘I need to – I should get dressed,’ I say faintly.

‘No, no, you look fine. Really!’ Susie insists, laying a perfectly manicured hand on my arm. ‘You’re keeping it real, Merri. People will identify with your shock. They’ll believe it could be them next time!’

Still smiling, Dev guides me to sit down while tripods and light equipment are quickly assembled around us. I step over thick, snaking cables and sit next to him on the sofa in a daze. Watch as someone carries in a couple of cut-glass flutes –not the flimsy supermarket specials from our cupboard – and pink champagne, with a custom DreamKey label, appears as if by magic.

‘Ta-dah!’ Susie holds the bottle aloft like a light sabre.

‘How?’ I whisper to Dev, as she pops the cork. ‘How is this even real?’

‘Who cares?’ Dev answers loudly, taking two glasses of champagne from Susie and handing me one. ‘The important thing is that we did it, honey! We actually won the bloody house. Cheers!’

I clink my glass against his, excitement finally beginning to triumph above the nausea rising in my chest. The photographer appears again. ‘Let’s capture this moment. Faces a little closer together. That’s it! Both look at me and smile.’ I try my best to muster a grin but, out of the corner of my eye, I can see Susie growing frustrated at my lack of visible enthusiasm.

‘What will the photos be used for?’ I ask. The photographer beams. ‘This is all for the DreamKey winners’ section on our website. People love seeing the real people behind the biggest prizes. OK, both looking at the camera for me, and . . . smile!’

At the last second, I lift my glass, trying to inject some energy into my expression as the camera shutter fires off in rapid succession. It helps to know the photos are just for the

website – that hopefully they’ll go no further, and we’ll be able to maintain our privacy. Dev is like a pro, playing up to the camera. Holding up his glass, changing his pose. I’ve never seen him like this, giddy on the attention and excitement.

‘We’re rich, Merri . . . Do you hear me? We’re rich! ’ Dev whispers in my ear, his face suddenly serious. ‘All our problems are behind us now. You’d better believe it because it’s true.’

I swallow more champagne and nod, feeling the warmth of the alcohol in my throat. And for the first time since I opened the door to the DreamKey team, I start to believe it is.

Later, when the DreamKey people have finally left and the light is dropping outside, Dev and I sit in our cosy little living room. The last of the sunlight filters through the wooden slatted blinds, casting long shadows across the floor.

‘So, is it OK with you if I call people to tell them the news?’ Dev says. He has lots of friends and acquaintances. He keeps in touch with mates he met at primary school, which I find incredible. ‘I’ll WhatsApp the footie-group lads.’

‘Yes, and I’ll ring Paige,’ I say, realizing how woeful it sounds that I’ve got only my best friend – my one friend – to call, and that’s it.

‘Meet up here again after and finish the champagne?’ Dev grins.

‘It’s a date.’

In the kitchen, my thumb hovers over Paige’s name on my call list. She’s a good friend on so many levels and she’s always there for me. But I’ve learned to get ready to brace myself when I have good news. Like when Dev’s family bought us a second-hand car. I’d been so excited, gushing about how much easier life would be, but Paige had just smiled tightly and said, ‘Must be nice, having in-laws with deep pockets.’

Or that time they covered the rental deposit on our house. She’d laughed then and called me ‘jammy’, but there had been something in her voice. Something that made me feel I should almost be apologizing for it.

But this news is so out there she’s bound to be thrilled for me. I know it.

I tap in Paige’s name and tuck the phone between my ear and my shoulder, my hands still shaking from the sheer madness of it all. I stand at the window and wait. The line rings twice before she picks up.

‘Hey,’ she says, her voice warm. ‘Can’t manage without talking to me for a day?’

I let out a half-laugh, half-breathless gasp. ‘Paige, you won’t believe this.’

There’s a pause. ‘O-kayyy . . . go on, then.’

‘I mean it. It’s insane.’

She sighs. ‘I’m listening!’

‘OK. Well . . . we’ve won the house.’

‘What?’

‘The house, Paige! We’ve only gone and won that bloody mansion in the Lake District!’

Paige says nothing, so I carry on. ‘You remember the prize draw Dev entered? The ticket I told him was a complete waste of money? Well . . . we won.’

There’s absolute silence at the other end.

‘Paige?’

‘So . . . this is a joke, right?’

‘I swear on my life. We found out this morning. It’s all real. Reporters, photographs, we’ve had the whole shebang today.’

A beat. Then at last –

‘Oh. My. God. Merri!’ A little screech bursts out of her and then she’s laughing. It’s the kind of laugh that bubbles up when you can’t quite process what you’re hearing. ‘You’re telling me that you – you of all people – have just won a mansion?’

‘Yes,’ I say, still breathless. ‘It still doesn’t seem real. But it is. It’s real. Can you believe it?’

‘Er, no! I can’t!’ She lets out another stunned laugh. ‘Bloody hell, that’s totally incredible. Seriously. I’m so happy for you both!’

My chest loosens, warmth flooding in. I feel bad doubting her now. Of course she’s happy for me. This is Paige, my best friend, the person who’s often my unpaid counsellor.

‘Listen. We need to celebrate,’ she says. ‘Let’s meet for a few drinks this weekend, if you can.’

‘God, yes. I need a few strong cocktails after today.’ I rub my forehead, still trying to wrap my brain around it all. ‘I’ll know much more by then. We’ve got to visit the place first, find out all the details.’

‘What will you do about work?’

‘I – we’ve not even talked about that yet. It’s crazy. The DreamKey people have only just gone.’

‘I’m so happy for you, I am, but I don’t think I’ll be able to stand working there without you.’

‘Oh, don’t,’ I say miserably. ‘I can’t even think about leaving you behind. But listen, let’s meet up. Saturday night at our usual place?’

‘Deal.’ She pauses, then says again, ‘Merri. A mansion.’

‘I know.’ I let out a disbelieving laugh. ‘How the hell has this happened . . . to us?’

She chuckles. ‘No clue. But I can’t wait to hear every single detail over cocktails.’

Dev swigs the last of the champagne straight from the bottle. ‘So the footie lads want to know if we’ve got a ninety-inch flatscreen yet so they can come and watch the cup final.’

‘No chance.’ I laugh. ‘Paige was so excited. She wants to meet up for a few drinks on Saturday. I love that everyone is happy for us.’

Dev nods and grins, but he’s already staring again at the DreamKey Lake District home on his iPad – the same iPad he was getting ready to sell on eBay just last week.

His face is animated, his cheeks flushed. His eyes dart hungrily across every millimetre of the screen, soaking in each tiny detail of his good fortune. Our good fortune. ‘I just . . . I still can’t get my head around this. I mean, can you believe it?’ He spins around to face me, his eyes shining with excitement. ‘Our own house in the Lake District! It’s like something out of a fairytale. I can’t wait to see it tomorrow. I’m picturing the landscaped gardens, maybe even a library . . . I’m going to have space for a home gym!’

He flops down on to the couch beside me and looks at me expectantly. Waiting for my face to mirror his excitement.

‘It’s just incredible . . . amazing.’ I shake my head. ‘Being honest, I’m having a hard time accepting it’s true, Dev. I keep thinking they’re going to come back and apologize that they got it wrong.’

‘No one can take this away from us, Merri.’

I force a smile, nodding as if he’s right. As if it really is that simple. But my stomach still tightens at the thought of the press coverage, the articles, the pictures – my face suddenly out there. It’s been years, but cameras have a way of pulling ghosts out of the dark, of sending fresh echoes where they don’t belong.

But there’s nothing I can do without explaining to Dev why I’m so concerned. So I smile wider. Play along. Pretend my nerves are nothing more than disbelief at our luck.

He tilts his head and studies my expression. ‘You have to enjoy it, Merri . . . every moment of it. This way of thinking you’ve always had, always imagining what could go wrong. Now’s the time to knock that on the head because things are finally going right for us. Things are going to be perfect.’

‘You’re right . . .’ My voice trails off as I glance out of the window, the last rays of sunlight disappearing behind the houses across the road. ‘It’s just a lot to take in, isn’t it? This sort of thing doesn’t happen to people like us. Are we sure we want to move? Just think of all the logistics of moving so far away, and there’s work too. And leaving the people we know here.’

He leans back, draping a casual arm over my shoulder. ‘Think about the alternative view – no more landlord breathing down our necks. No more leaking ceilings or catching two bloody buses to work.’ He hesitates, a twinkle in his eye. ‘We could quit our jobs tomorrow, if we want to. We could live in a home most people can only dream of. Why would we give that up?’

‘Yes, but surely we wouldn’t want to do that right away?’ My eyes snap to his, my heart skipping a beat in alarm.

‘We’ll be moving to the other side of the country soon and there’s the cash prize too, don’t forget. A buffer. It will probably all happen very fast, Merri. We might as well keep it simple and start afresh now. I hate that job, you know that. And neither of us is overrun with friends here, right?’

I turn away my face, feeling his hand slip off my shoulder. I can hardly say how much I’ll miss Paige, my only friend. Dev seems to make casual friends everywhere. I don’t. I look around. Our tiny living room suddenly feels even smaller.

Dev shifts in his seat, his voice quieter now. ‘You’ve been acting weird since the photo shoot. I can hardly believe I’m saying this, but are you seriously having second thoughts about moving into the house?’

‘No. It’s just . . . This whole thing feels a bit like a runaway train. A good one, I know, but we’ve not had time to reflect on our choices. To talk things through.’

9780241678466

The Lucky Winners

the same author

The Lucky Winners

K. L. S L ater

Prologue

Six Weeks Earlier

Friday

Merri

Monday

Thursday