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Authors: Sophie Kinsella
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this would happen. Sitting here silently on the sofa, I feel as though I’m in a fly-on-the-wall documentary about myself. “Becky Bloomwood always secretly knew she would win the lottery one day. But on the day it happened, even she couldn’t have predicted …”
“And another low one. Number 3.”
What? My mind snaps to and I stare perplexedly at the screen. That can’t be right. They mean 23.
“And number 2, last week’s bonus ball.”
I feel cold all over. What the hell is going on? What
are
these numbers?
“And another low one! Number 4. A popular number—it’s had twelve appearances so far this year. And finally … number 5! Well, I never! This is a bit of a first! Now, lining them up in order …”
No. This can’t be serious. This has to be a mistake. The winning lottery numbers cannot possibly be 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 44. That’s not a lottery combination, it’s a … it’s an act of torture.
And I was winning. I was
winning
.
“Look at that!” my mum’s saying. “Absolutely incredible! One-two-three-four-five-forty-four.”
“And why should that be incredible?” replies Dad. “It’s as likely as any other combination.”
“It can’t be!”
“Jane, do you know
anything
about the laws of probability?”
Quietly I get up and leave the room, as the National Lottery theme tune blares out of the telly. I walk into the kitchen, sit down at the table, and bury my head in my hands. I feel slightly shaky, to tell you the truth. How could I lose? I was living in a big house and going on holiday to Barbados with all my friends, and walking into Agnès b and buying anything I wanted. It felt so real.
And now, instead, I’m sitting in my parents’ kitchen, and I can’t afford to go on holiday and I’ve just spent eighty quid on a wooden bowl I don’t even like.
Miserably, I turn on the kettle, pick up a copy of
Woman’s Journal
lying on the counter, and flick through it—but even that doesn’t cheer me up. Everything seems to remind me of money. Maybe my dad’s right, I find myself thinking dolefully. Maybe Cut Back is the answer. Suppose … suppose I cut back enough to save sixty quid a week. I’d have £6,000 in a hundred weeks.
And suddenly my brain is alert. Six thousand quid. That’s not bad, is it? And if you think about it, it can’t be
that
hard to save sixty quid a week. It’s only the same as a couple of meals out. I mean, you’d hardly notice it.
God, yes. That’s what I’ll do. Sixty quid a week, every week. Maybe I’ll even pay it into a special account. That new Lloyds high-yield sixty-day access account with the tiered interest rates. It’ll be fantastic! I’ll be completely on top of my finances—and when I’ve paid off my bills I’ll just keep saving. It’ll become a habit to be frugal. And at the end of every year I’ll splash out on one classic investment like an Armani suit. Or maybe Christian Dior. Something really classy, anyway.
I’ll start on Monday, I think excitedly, spooning chocolate Ovaltine into a cup. What I’ll do is, I just won’t spend
anything
. All my spare money will mount up, and I’ll be rich. This is going to be so great.
OCTAGON flair … style … vision
F INANCIAL S ERVICES D EPARTMENT
8 TH FLOOR T OWER H OUSE
L ONDON R OAD W INCHESTER S0 44 3DR
Ms. Rebecca Bloomwood
Charge Card Number 7854 4567
Flat 2
4 Burney Rd.
London SW6 8FD
2 March 2000
Dear Ms. Bloomwood:
Our records suggest that we have not received payment for your latest Octagon Silver Card bill. If you have paid within the last few days, please ignore this letter.
Your outstanding bill is currently £235.76. The minimum payment is £43.00. You may pay by cash, check, or on the enclosed bank giro credit slip. We look forward to receiving your payment.
Yours sincerely,
John Hunter
Customer Accounts Manager
OCTAGON flair … style … vision
F INANCIAL S ERVICES D EPARTMENT
8 TH FLOOR T
“And another low one. Number 3.”
What? My mind snaps to and I stare perplexedly at the screen. That can’t be right. They mean 23.
“And number 2, last week’s bonus ball.”
I feel cold all over. What the hell is going on? What
are
these numbers?
“And another low one! Number 4. A popular number—it’s had twelve appearances so far this year. And finally … number 5! Well, I never! This is a bit of a first! Now, lining them up in order …”
No. This can’t be serious. This has to be a mistake. The winning lottery numbers cannot possibly be 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 44. That’s not a lottery combination, it’s a … it’s an act of torture.
And I was winning. I was
winning
.
“Look at that!” my mum’s saying. “Absolutely incredible! One-two-three-four-five-forty-four.”
“And why should that be incredible?” replies Dad. “It’s as likely as any other combination.”
“It can’t be!”
“Jane, do you know
anything
about the laws of probability?”
Quietly I get up and leave the room, as the National Lottery theme tune blares out of the telly. I walk into the kitchen, sit down at the table, and bury my head in my hands. I feel slightly shaky, to tell you the truth. How could I lose? I was living in a big house and going on holiday to Barbados with all my friends, and walking into Agnès b and buying anything I wanted. It felt so real.
And now, instead, I’m sitting in my parents’ kitchen, and I can’t afford to go on holiday and I’ve just spent eighty quid on a wooden bowl I don’t even like.
Miserably, I turn on the kettle, pick up a copy of
Woman’s Journal
lying on the counter, and flick through it—but even that doesn’t cheer me up. Everything seems to remind me of money. Maybe my dad’s right, I find myself thinking dolefully. Maybe Cut Back is the answer. Suppose … suppose I cut back enough to save sixty quid a week. I’d have £6,000 in a hundred weeks.
And suddenly my brain is alert. Six thousand quid. That’s not bad, is it? And if you think about it, it can’t be
that
hard to save sixty quid a week. It’s only the same as a couple of meals out. I mean, you’d hardly notice it.
God, yes. That’s what I’ll do. Sixty quid a week, every week. Maybe I’ll even pay it into a special account. That new Lloyds high-yield sixty-day access account with the tiered interest rates. It’ll be fantastic! I’ll be completely on top of my finances—and when I’ve paid off my bills I’ll just keep saving. It’ll become a habit to be frugal. And at the end of every year I’ll splash out on one classic investment like an Armani suit. Or maybe Christian Dior. Something really classy, anyway.
I’ll start on Monday, I think excitedly, spooning chocolate Ovaltine into a cup. What I’ll do is, I just won’t spend
anything
. All my spare money will mount up, and I’ll be rich. This is going to be so great.
OCTAGON flair … style … vision
F INANCIAL S ERVICES D EPARTMENT
8 TH FLOOR T OWER H OUSE
L ONDON R OAD W INCHESTER S0 44 3DR
Ms. Rebecca Bloomwood
Charge Card Number 7854 4567
Flat 2
4 Burney Rd.
London SW6 8FD
2 March 2000
Dear Ms. Bloomwood:
Our records suggest that we have not received payment for your latest Octagon Silver Card bill. If you have paid within the last few days, please ignore this letter.
Your outstanding bill is currently £235.76. The minimum payment is £43.00. You may pay by cash, check, or on the enclosed bank giro credit slip. We look forward to receiving your payment.
Yours sincerely,
John Hunter
Customer Accounts Manager
OCTAGON flair … style … vision
F INANCIAL S ERVICES D EPARTMENT
8 TH FLOOR T
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