Lia's Guide to Winning the Lottery (22 page)

Sayeed didn't want a trust fund. ‘They make you weak,' he said. ‘They make you soft. I want to earn my inheritance. My dad says that if I don't get into a top university, then he'll cut me out of his will.'

We gasped. Sayeed beamed.

‘He's tough but fair, my dad,' he said. ‘Not bad, is it? As an incentive, like?'

I imagined my dad saying, ‘Get into a top university, Lia, or I'll refuse to let you take over Latimer's Loaves.' It wouldn't work at all; I'd be slacking on purpose.

What if he'd said, ‘If you get into a top university, Lia, you don't have to take over Latimer's Loaves?′ What if the lottery people had said, ‘Get into a top university, Lia, or we'll take your jackpot away?'

It was all pointless thinking about it. It was too late. There was no incentive in the world that could make me work harder. No threat, no reward. I couldn't decide if that was good or not.

We learned about buying art, supporting film projects, helping put on West End shows.

‘People who invest in the theatre are called angels,′ said the banker running that particular session. ‘It's a risky investment, but great if you're interested in plays and musicals, a really fun way to get involved.'

Having money opened doors to all sorts of exciting worlds, it seemed. It was just that it was the same door every time. The door marked ‘money'.

By the time we got to our last session we were all exhausted. Olivia was enthusiastically reading through the literature on charitable giving. Sayeed and Darryl kept rushing off to take calls on their mobiles. Luke was flicking through a glossy magazine called
Tatler
.

‘Oh look,′ he said. ‘That's my sister's twenty-first.'

Olivia and I scanned a page of grinning party-goers. All the girls looked like her, I realised. All the guys looked like Luke. They all had shiny, floppy hair and bright, white teeth and flawless skin. It was like an advert for a pedigree puppy farm.

Dr Flint made us sit in a circle. Time for emotions safari again. He homed in on Olivia.

‘How have you enjoyed the day?'

‘Oh, very much, it was inspiring,' she said. ‘I'm going to research the projects Martha talked about, look into setting up a charitable foundation one day. I might even go on one of the fact-finding trips she talked about.'

‘Fantastic!' said Dr Flint. ‘Sayeed, how about you?'

‘There were some investment possibilities that
sounded interesting,' said Sayeed. ‘I might look into the art market.'

‘Very good! Very good! You'll benefit a lot from learning about art,' said Dr Flint.

‘Yes, some amazing profits to be made,' said Sayeed.

‘How about you, Marcus?' said Dr Flint.

Marcus had his gloomiest face on – the sad puppy look that had persuaded Natasha to vote for him twenty-four times.

‘It's over,' he said. ‘I'm not rich like you lot. I've got nothing to build on. I got my win, got my contract and now it's all over. I've failed. I'm going to work through my money and then what? Celebrity has-been shows on TV.'

‘Come on, Marcus,' I said. ‘You've got a great voice. You did it once, you can do it again.'

Luke slapped him on his back. ‘Come on, Marcus, you've come so far already.'

Darryl started singing. ‘Don't. Look back. . .'

It was Marcus's signature tune. His one and only hit.

Olivia and I joined in. ‘Don't worry about what's been and gone. . .'

Cue Marcus. He sniffed, rose to his feet and took over.

‘You can do better . . . you can make your life
again. . . There's always hope. Hope. Hope!'

Olivia and I harmonised. Sayeed whistled. Darryl did a drumroll on the table in front of him and Dr Flint clapped the beat.

He did have a good voice. In a tiny room he sounded a lot better than he'd ever done on
X Factor
. By the time he finished the song he was in floods of tears. We were clapping and cheering.

‘Great stuff, Marcus,' said Dr Flint. ‘Does it help you to focus on your ambitions?'

‘I'm going to get to number one again,' said Marcus. ‘I'm going to show Simon Cowell where he went wrong. I'm never going back to Rotherham. I'm going to do all I can . . . everything it takes. . .'

We cheered again.

‘How about you, Luke?' asked Dr Flint.

‘Errr . . . gosh . . . I don't think I can compete with that. I suppose I could take school a bit more seriously. . . Like Sayeed says, find out a bit more about managing money . . . kick the weed habit. . .'

We cheered him, less enthusiastically.

‘Darryl?'

‘Obviously,' said Darryl, ‘I want to play for the best premiership sides, play for my country, right, be a success on the field.'

We all got ready to cheer. He put up his hand to silence us.

‘I want a lot more than that. I want to meet a girl who isn't a WAG. I want to finish my Open University degree. I want to have a life outside football that's waiting for me when my career is over. I want to look after my mum and my sister and my little boy.'

‘Oh my God, you've got a little boy?' I said, while Olivia gasped, ‘An Open University degree?'

‘He's two.' Darryl's eyes shone, bright as his diamond stud earrings. ‘Anton. We're not together any more, his mum and me, but she does a good job. I'm going to give him the best life I can. That's why I'm studying Economics. I want to make sure I'll never let him down. He's given me more purpose than anything else. . .'

Darryl already seemed to have more purpose in his life than fifty people put together. Maybe if I had a baby, I'd suddenly be filled with ambition and confidence, and I'd just know which decisions were best for me . . . for us.

A baby. Maybe. . .

‘How about Lia?' asked Dr Flint.

‘I'm really new to all this,' I said. ‘A few weeks ago the only money worry I had was whether I could get
my mum to give me twenty pounds. I just want to get used to thinking about money. It's been great meeting all of you today. I've really learned a lot.'

Everyone clapped this pathetic speech.

‘Good stuff,' said Dr Flint. ‘We don't all have all the answers all the time.'

I never seemed to have any of the answers, any of the time. Then I thought of Nana Betty's motto, Just Muddle Through. I was good at that.

After the last session we went and had dinner together in the hotel bar. I ate a burger and chips, and chatted to Marcus about what Simon Cowell was really like, and discussed Japanese hair straightening with Olivia – her friend had done it and hated her new flat-ironed look.

And then Darryl asked who wanted to go to a club, and we started debating whether I was too high-profile to pass for an eighteen-year-old. I'd drunk two glasses of red wine and I felt like I was twenty-three. My new life had arrived. I was sure I could blag it into a club.

Olivia and I went off to get changed. We were walking through the foyer, my mind on what to wear – that little dress I'd picked up from the seven-thousand-pound shopping trip, maybe, the
shiny red shoes – when Olivia said, ‘Oh my God! But . . . it can't be!'

A tall, slim figure, walking away from hotel reception turned towards us. I saw huge grey eyes. I saw a full mouth, a slightly crooked smile.

What the
hell
was Raf doing at
my
hotel?

I opened my mouth to ask. And then shut it again. Olivia – poised, confident Olivia – was babbling and giggling like . . . like my little sister Natasha. What a weird transformation.

‘It's Rafael, isn't it? Rafael Forrest. I haven't seen you for years. You went off to Wingfield, didn't you? Freddie's at Eton, but I expect you know that. You do remember me, don't you? Olivia Templeton. Freddie Templeton's sister.'

Bloody hell. Even I'd heard of Wingfield. One of those fabulously posh boarding schools which is exactly like Hogwarts, only without the girls and the magic.

Raf hardly smiled. He barely glanced at me. ‘Oh yes,' he said. ‘That's right.'

My heart lurched around inside me, although that could also possibly have something to do with the two glasses of red wine.

‘It's so strange to see you . . . I thought . . . ummm . . . this is Lia,' said Olivia. ‘We're on a weekend course
together. We're just going to get changed, go and hit a club. Do you want to come along?'

Raf shook his head. All trace of the smile had gone. ‘No, thanks.'

Awkward silence. Olivia didn't seem to notice.

‘Freddie loves Eton,' said Olivia. ‘Plays a lot of sport, you know, same old Freddie. He won't
believe
I've bumped into you. I can't believe it either. Do you remember that time you came to stay one Easter holidays?'

‘Yes,' said Raf. ‘Yes. I remember.'

I was getting fed up with this. He was totally ignoring me. I'd been crushing on someone who was either incredibly rude or socially inept. And what was he doing here? He was a rude, socially inept, mad
stalker
.

‘I'll just go on up and get changed,' I said to Olivia. ‘I'll meet you back down here.'

‘Oh, I'm coming as well,' she said. ‘Bye, Raf, nice to see you again.'

His eyes sought me out again. What was he trying to tell me?

‘Bye,' he said.

And we got into the lift.

I was fuming. What was going on? Why was
he here? Why was he ignoring me?

‘Wow!' said Olivia. ‘Well! Rafael Forrest! How strange was that?' She was shaking her head. ‘I would hardly have recognised him. He was at prep school with my little brother Freddie – he's just a year younger than me – and he stayed with us one holiday. Last time I saw him, he had a mouth full of metal and truly appalling acne. But it was him, definitely.'

‘I thought he was rude,' I said.

‘When I knew him, he hardly said one word,' said Olivia. ‘To be honest, he wasn't really Freddie's greatest friend – a bit of a loner, I think – but he always seemed to be stuck at school for most of the holidays, and the housemistress used to ring round, see who'd have him. He's a nice boy, my brother – you'll have to meet him.'

‘I'd like that,' I said. A whole world was opening up in front of me, filled with Freddies from Eton and
X Factor
winners and going clubbing with Darryl, who was incredibly fit in all senses. Who needed some rude loser who lived in a grotty near-squat? Not me.

And then she said it. ‘I must have been wrong.'

‘Wrong about what?'

‘Thing is, I'm sure I'd heard that Raf Forrest had died.'

Chapter 23

It can be pretty annoying sometimes to have had an experience that completely trumps absolutely everything else.

My entire body was shivering. I swear my internal organs turned to ice.

‘You
what
?' I said.

‘I thought he'd died. He collapsed at school, that's what I heard – there was some talk of drink or drugs – and then he died. No one ever saw him again. But that must've been completely wrong because there he was, absolutely fine.'

Oh my God! I could hardly believe my ears. As the lift door closed behind her it was as though a drum was beating:
Raf's dead . . . he's dead . . . Raf's dead.

Vampire, angel, zombie (no, surely not), ghost. Ghost. Oh, Jesus.

I had to find out the truth.

As soon as I got to my room I texted him:
Why are you here? What's going on?

No reply.

I texted again:
Why did you ignore me?

No reply.

Argh. I called down to the front desk.

‘Is there a tall, young guy in the lobby . . . dark hair . . . black jeans?'

The hotel receptionist ummed and aahed. ‘I think so . . . would you like to speak to him? Excuse me, sir?'

‘Hello?'

‘Raf?' I hissed. ‘Is that you? It's Lia. I'm in room five seven five.'