The Ticket

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. I dug my teeth in so hard, I tasted blood. It didn't stop the intense excitement and happiness from welling up, though.

"Did you at least remember to buy milk yesterday?" he said behind me.

I flipped my phone over so he couldn't see the screen if he stepped closer.

Milk! As if that mattered now.

Half of me wanted to laugh in his face, and tell him I could afford to buy two million bottles of milk now, you wanker! and the other half was so happy I could have turned my back on the kettle and the breakfast things, seized him (wanker that he was) and kissed him like I did back when we were in love.

The money didn't make me love him again. Obviously. No amount of money had that power. Although, I don't know, it might have, if it was in his bank account.

I was just so fucking happy it was threatening to spill out of me. I'd have snogged a tramp, or a flat-coated retriever, or my dead granny. Like that soldier in the famous photo when the war ended; there's no romance there, no love. He was just euphoric, and she was just there.

That's what it's like.

"Of course I did, I'm not a fucking idiot," I growled. I arranged my expression into a frown before I turned round, hoping my good fortune didn't shine out of face. Surely it must, this feeling was so palpable, so real!

I marched past him, ostensibly because I was still being a bitch, but really because I didn't know how long I could keep up the pretence.

He couldn't know. No matter what it took, he mustn't find out. If I had to hand over millions to that absolute cockwhistle I think I might actually die. No way. He wasn't going to see a penny of it.

"Listen," he reached out, trying to catch my arm, and I shrugged him off

"Don't start," I ground out, through my clenched teeth, still struggling to smother an enormous grin.

"Please, babe," he said.

"Don't call me babe. And I booked the day off tomorrow. I need to start packing."

"Are you sure? I thought you wanted me to leave?"

"I did. I do. But I can't bear this any longer, and it's been weeks and you're still here."

He squinted at me, the way he does when he’s trying to read a mood. I turned away before he could see too much.

I searched for divorce lawyers with renewed vigour. I could afford a better one, now. I couldn't get one that was too good, because then he might get suspicious. Wouldn't it be handy to have one that specialised in asset shielding, though?

I deleted the lottery app, cleared my browser history, even wiped the fingerprint smudges off my phone and changed the passcode.

Later, when he was asleep, I crept downstairs and looked at the ticket again. As if I'd expected the numbers to have changed, or maybe to find I'd made a mistake. But no. It was real.

For a wild moment, I thought maybe I don't need a lawyer, maybe I could find a more permanent solution. That amount of money, it can buy... anything.

I shook my head to clear the nasty thought. It was barbed, and difficult to shift.

Tomorrow, once he was at work, I’d make a call. Start the clock. I'd let myself squeal, and jump up and down.

Unable to bear even the thought of lying beside him and listening to the great lug breathing all night, I wrapped myself in a blanket and curled up on the sofa. I imagined the huge party I would let myself have after the thing was finalised.

The divorce. Yes. Obviously. Of course. The divorce.

Cocooned in my blanket, I smiled.

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