Lia's Guide to Winning the Lottery (26 page)

‘Why?'

‘She's slurring, her eyes are strange and she can't remember much. Just that she went round to a friend's house, there was a party somewhere, they all decided to go. That's all she remembers. That's not good, is it? We need to get her checked out.'

‘I'm going,' said Raf.

‘You're coming with me,' said the policeman. ‘We're going to go back to that internet café and you're going to answer some questions.'

Raf's mouth dropped open. Anyone else would have looked gormless and moronic. He just looked like a stag caught by a hunter in a wood. A beautiful, huge-eyed stag. Is that a weird thing to imagine?

He barely glanced at me as he got into the police car. Then Mum, Dad and Natasha – a furious, tearful, stumbling, mascara-stained version of my sweet little sister – got in the car and drove off.

I waved at Mrs Little from number seventy-five. ‘You can go inside now, the show's over!'

And then I slammed the front door shut. All alone. I breathed in, hearing the silence, trying to work out what to think about. Natasha? Raf? Raf's dad?

‘How about the morning after pill, then?' said Shaz.

Argh! I jumped about a mile in the air.

‘I couldn't help hearing what he said.' Her face was stony. ‘Obviously, I wouldn't have said anything, except that I really feel you must do something, Lia, something sensible if you've done something. . .'

‘Something stupid,' I finished her sentence for her. ‘Why don't you mind your own business, Shaz?'

‘I will – just as soon as you tell me what you're going to do.'

I could see she was almost bursting with the effort of not telling me what she thought.

‘I'm going to do what I want to do, Shazia, not what you want me to do. Actually, it's not a problem.'

‘Fine,' she said. ‘Same old Lia. Does what she wants to do. Doesn't worry about her family. Doesn't worry about her friends.'

‘You what?'

‘Oh come on, Lia, you've been away with the fairies ever since you won the lottery. You spend all your time doing interviews and photo-shoots and mooning around about mystery boy. And all the time. . .'

‘What?'

‘Natasha. She's been getting into this new crowd. Molly and her mates. Did you notice? Did you check them out? They're all on that Facebook page, by the way.'

The Facebook page. My mind flinched away from even thinking about it.

‘And then there's Jack. He bought you that ticket and all he's got is the press on his doorstep and aggravation from his mum.'

‘I can't help it that his mum's a cow.'

‘She's talking to a lawyer, wants to sue you for half the money.'

‘She hasn't got a leg to stand on. Gilda told me that as long as it was my name and address on the back of that ticket, then no one else could have a claim on it.'

‘Oh, so that's OK, is it?'

‘Well . . . yes. . .'

‘What about Jack, Lia? What about how he feels? He's meant to be your friend and you're not even talking to him. He bought you that ticket. You wouldn't have any jackpot without him.'

‘I
am
talking to him. He just never answers his phone.'

‘Oh really?

‘Look, I had to let all the cake business die down. I don't want to fall out with Jack.'

‘No,' she said. ‘But people have been on the phone to him. Journalists.'

‘
What?
'

‘Trying to get him to dish the dirt.'

‘What dirt?'

‘You tell me, Lia. I feel like I don't know you any more.'

My hand reached out. I found the catch to the front door.

‘What do you care, Shaz? I'm fed up with your . . . with your disapproval . . . judging me all the time.'

Shaz's eyes didn't flicker. ‘Oh, I care, all right. But you don't notice that, do you, Lia? Well, I can tell you something. You're useless at secrets. Useless. I know there's something you and Jack are keeping from me. That day you bought the ticket – why didn't I come along?'

Just for one minute I thought I was going to hurl, like Natasha. The smell of vomit still lingered.

‘You don't know anything about me,' I said, opening the door. ‘You think you know everything, but you don't. You don't approve of me, OK, I get that, you don't approve of my money and my relationship with Raf—'

‘Relationship!' she said contemptuously. ‘Don't make me laugh.'

‘But you don't know a thing about me and Jack, because there's nothing to know. We're just friends,
that's all, we always have been and we always will be.'

‘Sure about that?' she said.

‘Yes, actually, yes I am. And how come you care so much, anyway? What's it to you— Oh! Oh my God! Shaz! You like him, don't you? You like Jack?'

‘No, absolutely not,' said Shazia just a shade too firmly to convince me.

‘Oh, come on . . . come
on
, Shaz. What's going on?'

‘Nothing is going on, Lia. How could there be? First, the whole idea of Jack and me, it's ludicrous. Second . . . well, there's you, isn't there? There's always you.'

My mind was totally McFlurried.

‘Shazia! Jack and I are just friends. Just really old friends. People think we're closer than we are, but that's just because we've been friends for so long. But you and him . . . does he know how you feel? Oh my God, he does! He does, doesn't he? And does he feel the same?'

She was trying hard to maintain her legendary calm, but Shaz's eyes shone with tears and her mouth was clamped tightly closed. She shook her head.

‘You're talking
crap
.'

‘But Shaz. . .' I took a deep breath. ‘This is great. It's great,
really
. You and Jack – it's a bit weird,
but actually, you'd be perfect together. Perfect. I'm really happy for you.'

I wasn't really sure if you could call the turmoil inside me ‘happy' but it was a good target to aim for.

But Shaz's tears had won the battle.

‘Don't be happy,' she blurted. ‘Don't make up some romantic story. Because I know and Jack knows and you know, really, that there can never be anything between us.'

Chapter 28

I've found it's best to hire somewhere for parties, and bring in outside caterers. Spend money on the things that people care about and don't worry about every small detail – there are people called party planners who can do that for you.

What does eight million pounds mean when you can't help out your best friend?

Shaz and I had a hug.

‘It'll be OK, Shaz, I know it will,' I lied, and she went off home.

I sat and thought. About Jack and me, and Shazia and Jack, and Raf and me, and Jack again. And I didn't really get very far.

Then the phone rang. Mum, calling from the hospital.

‘She's had a lot to drink,' she said. ‘My Natasha.
I can't believe it.'

‘She is fourteen, Mum.'

‘Yes, exactly. She's fourteen. Not eighteen. Fourteen. She's been drinking spirits. Jesus.'

Mum's voice was all Welsh and wobbly. She was brought up very chapel, clean-living and teetotal and, although she's made up for it since, sometimes her roots start showing.

‘They think she may have been given some drug. Some date rape drug. I can't believe it, Lia. Who would do something like that?'

‘Oh my God! Has she been raped? Mum!'

‘No, no, darling, nothing like that. They've examined her, she's fine. But she's been knocked out by something, and they're doing more tests to find out why. We'll be here a few more hours at least. Will you be OK?'

‘I'll be fine,' I said. ‘See you later.'

It was much easier to think about Natasha than Shazia and Jack. Drugs. Drink.

That phone call. Raf's dad. Surely . . . surely not. But Raf was definitely warning me about
something.

Maybe I could retrace Natasha's steps, find out where she'd been, what she'd been doing. Her so-called friends must have some idea.

I went upstairs and found her address book. Nana Betty had given it to her at Christmas. Natasha had filled in as many friends as she could. It was as though Facebook wasn't enough for her, she needed to write them down herself, make them real. I looked at the smiley faces, the careful writing. I wished that people loved Natasha as much as she loved them.

Here they were. The girls we'd been shopping with. Molly, Keira and Sophie. They didn't live far away. I thought I'd pay them a visit.

There was no one at Sophie's flat. A curtain rustled when I rang Keira's bell, but the door remained closed. But at Molly's house I knew I'd come to the right place. Beer bottles in the garden. Vomit on the pavement. The whine of a Hoover as I knocked on the door.

The door opened slowly. A tall guy, year thirteen, I thought. Ed someone.

‘Hey,' he said, ‘it's the Lottery Girl. What do you want, Lottery Girl?'

‘I have a name, you know,' I said. ‘Is Molly in?'

‘Moll!' he yelled, ‘Lottery Girl here to see you.'

The Hoover was silenced. Molly yelled, ‘Up here!' and I went up to find her, promising myself that when I moved to San Francisco – or possibly Sydney – I would never mention the word ‘lottery' ever again.
I'd tell people I was independently rich or that I'd made a fortune by setting up a website. No, even better, I wouldn't tell people anything at all.

Molly was tidying her parents' bedroom. It wasn't too bad – just a massive stain on the pink carpet, a load of bottles on the floor and someone had scrawled a lipstick heart on her mum's dressing table mirror. I've seen worse. A lot worse.

Molly had a sly, fox-thin face and long blonde hair. She gave me a pained smile.

‘My brother's birthday and I have to clean up. Lucky my mum and dad are in Croydon, staying with Nan.'

I didn't mess around.

‘Was Natasha here last night? My sister?'

‘Yes, she came with Sophie and Keira. What's the problem?

‘She got drunk. Very drunk.'

Molly shrugged her shoulders. ‘So did lots of people.'

‘She doesn't remember anything.'

‘That's what she
says.
'

‘No, she really doesn't. Come on, Molly, you know Natasha. She doesn't lie. I need to know what happened to her last night. I'm really worried.'

‘There were loads of people here. Why should I keep an eye on your little sister?'

‘I just want to know what you remember. Come on, Molly. Before the police get here.'

That got her attention. ‘Police? What do you mean?'

‘They think she might have been drugged. And we got a call last night . . . someone called me . . . made out they'd kidnapped her. What time did she leave? Could she have been picked up by anyone?'

‘Well, I don't know anything about that. You'd better go.'

Her sharp eyes shifted away from me. She picked up an ashtray from her mum's dressing table.

‘Come off it, Molly.'

She blushed, dropped the ashtray. Thirty cigarette stubs fell onto her mum's carpet.

‘Look what you made me do.'

‘Tell me about Natasha. Who made that phone call?'

‘What phone call?'

I pulled my mobile out of my pocket. ‘I'm calling the police right now.'

‘Lia! I don't know about a phone call. I was totally wasted. Some people might have been, you know, messing around but I didn't have anything to do with it.'

‘Who?'

‘I don't know!'

‘Who was even here?'

‘I don't know – everyone. Loads of people from school. Look, I'll tell you who it might have been. You know Lindsay and Georgia? That lot. They were laughing, something about Natasha. Something about your mum wanting to know where she was. They thought it was a laugh.'

‘And where was she? Where was Natasha?'