Pipe Dream Reality.

“Fancy another?”

I look up from my phone where I’ve been doing my usual mathematical gymnastics with my bank balance.

Xander, towering above my small table nestled next to the main group, reaches for my foam-encrusted glass.

“Oh, er, yup…” reaching down, I root around in my bag and draw out my purse, counting change quickly. “One more, use up my change, sounds good.”

Wisely, Xan doesn’t say anything as I hand over the coins.

As he leaves, I tune back into the conversation around me. Ry is slouched with an arm over the back of the sofa he singularly inhabits, laughing at a comment Eli has just made. Ammie is leaning into Eli, his arm around the back of her chair. Her scarf, long, and silky, trails to the floor behind her. Bree, as usual, is sat slightly apart, smiling but sat awkwardly on the small stool, the type you only seem to find in pubs, with a faint air of fatigue and social discomfort.

Understandable, really. Bree was never the best in social situations anyway, and she’s just lost nearly a whole year of physical interaction. As we all have, of course.

Nevertheless, it’s a lovely and welcome evening, the chill in the air belying the start of autumn and the bar humming with the chatter of patrons, clinking glasses punctuating the noise with a background rhythm. There’s a sense of camaraderie that, again, is a staple of small English pubs, but tonight it somehow seems heightened; no one wants to jeopardise this.

“Jenna?” My musings are interrupted by Ry, managing the conversation with his usual vigour. I start and look to him quizzically.

“I was just checking you’re ok? You were looking at your phone awhile? Is he,” this word is emphasised with disdain, “still messaging you?”

“What? Um, no, I was just …” Oh God, they’re all looking at me now. “Um, I was just reading a news story.”

I hear the lie in my voice and cross my fingers under the table, hoping none of them notice.

They do.

Ry sits back on the sofa, which creaks ominously, and tips his head back to the hop-strewn ceiling before fixing me with his ‘stop-the-bullshit’ stare. “Try again.”

Ok, so I admit, it was an awful lie, but does he need to be like this about it? I’m entitled to secrets, aren’t I?

…Except, the time and distance of our forced separation has made me forget that no, I am not, for we all know each other too well for that.

Xander thunks a new glass on to the table in front of me, and I jump slightly. He places my change slightly more gently next to it. A quick glance shows me that he has not used any of the money to buy my drink. Bastard.

I sigh and meet Ry’s gaze. “Just checking money. Since furlough and – well, y’know, I’m not exactly rolling in it.”

It’s a difficult admission, not least because despite our closeness, we have always lived self-sufficient and separate lives.

There’s a small uncomfortable silence.

It grows.

It’s not easy.” This is Bree. Five heads swivel towards her fast enough to create whiplash. She’s not looking at us, though – that would be too much – and instead picks at a frayed thread on the stool.

“My Mum always said, you’ve got to work with what you have. Whether you believe you can or believe you can’t, you’re right.” She glances up at us and then flushes and looks away. “What I mean is, if we’re honest with ourselves I think the last year has hit us all hard in different ways. We need to not be afraid of that, and well – make the best of the good things.”

The silence this time doesn’t stretch as long. Eli nods approvingly at his lap and Ammie snuggles into to his arm a little more. The air gradually starts to become thinner again.

After either a few seconds or an eternity, Ry rallies the conversation again, letting Bree slip into the comfort of our disregard. “Alright then, there’s no point talking about saving money, we’re all old enough and ugly enough to know what works. But, let’s say you got some money. A lot. I dunno… twenty grand. What’d you do?”

I look at him curiously, unsure where this is going.

He shrugs and looks around at us all. “We can all dream, can’t we?”

Xan takes up the conversation baton, and I’m beginning to regret my honesty. “I mean, twenty K, that’s a car, or a flat deposit. It’s not millions.”

“A flat deposit is fine, but you gotta have the income to live in it,” Ammie pipes up, and I’m curious that she of all people has raised this, but it’s a question for another time.

“Nah, no, no, that’s where you’re wrong.” Ry sits forward, animated now with the hand gestures to match. “Y’see, it all depends on how you use it. You can blow it on something you want now – a car, holiday, whatever. But you can also go longer term. Invest it, save it, whatever.”

“I’d pay for a course, change career,” Bree is back again; clearly, this has sparked her interest. At Ammie’s raised eyebrow, she clarifies. “And then have a job with higher pay. Like Ry says, it’s an investment.”

“Seems a shame to have all that money and not use it,” this is Xan, and it’s so very him that I chuckle despite myself. “Trust you,” I mutter for only him to hear, and he sends a smile and wink my way.

“You’re forgetting,” I point out to the group, involved now despite myself, “the chances of having that sort of money drop into your lap. Even a scratch-card you’re unlikely to win any more than you spent.”

“Yeah”, Ammie chimes in, taking the opportunity to elbow Eli in the ribs, causing him to splutter into his drink, “especially if you then spend the winnings on a new scratch-card!” Ok, then. Looks like that incident is still not forgotten.

“Hey!” Eli protests, drink safely back on the table. “You can’t miss what you don’t have – and anyways, there is some luck in these things. You gotta be in it to win it, is all.”

Ry rolls his eyes. “You’re a walking, cliché, E.”

“You started this!”

“Yeah, but I don’t waste the money I do have on the lottery.”

“Local lottery is ok,” I chip in. “Can be considered a charity donation.”

Ry gives me an incredulous look, but I’m saved by Eli. “No, honestly. Only today Tones in the shop said the lottery has been on the phone to him. ‘pparently there was no jackpot winner and so there was a rolldown to those who matched fewer numbers, or something. Anyway, Tones told me that he reckons that a ticket with matching numbers was bought in his cousin’s shop in the city.”

Xan scoffs. “Money’ll be growing on trees next.”

“And here’s to the fools who dream,” Ry toasts with his beer, “and those too naïve to know the reasons why.”

“Yes, how are the kids?” Xan asks brightly, causing us all to smile; the relief in the subject change palpable as we sip our drinks, stretch out legs and shuffle positions.

Eli snorts a laugh. “Still spending money like I got it.”

And with that, the evening continues.

***

Much later, I’m pondering Bree’s comments as I push open the wrought iron gate and the overgrown plants brush out of the way. I note that the house is in darkness and make an effort to keep my steps quiet as I work my way up the path and round the side to the annex. I’ll check for post or messages first thing tomorrow – I set a reminder on my phone to do this, the meagre light bouncing off the glass doors which lead to my studio.

I almost trip over the parcel on the step, and my foot scrapes noisily on the tiles. I cringe inwardly and wait a few moments, but there is nothing. Rooting for my key, I bend to retrieve the padded envelope now scooted to the side behind a plant pot and a cemetery of roses. Pulling it free as I fit my key into the well-worn lock, I flip the parcel over and wait for my eyes to adjust to the main room light to read the address.

It’s addressed to me, which makes sense if it’s here. Bit odd that it says “The annex” above the main address, but then I suppose my living situation is not a secret. I recognise the writing too, as belonging to an old family friend – the blue ink, calligraphy fountain pen which curls across the envelope looks as though she has used a ruler to write it. Classic sign of age, Xan’s voice in my head says, and I do sort of get his point.

What’s more odd, however, is that she has never, to my knowledge, written to me except at birthdays, and much less sent me a parcel. Dropping my work bag onto the armchair, I perch on the arm of the sofa and rip the tab open.

At first, I think that the envelope is in fact empty, until I see a dark object nestled at the bottom. It’s heavier than I am ready for when I draw it out. It’s a small black notebook, bendable and maybe A6 in size, lined by the look of it, and… yes, that’s real leather. It has one of those ribbons attached to the top to act as a bookmark, though since it’s exactly in the middle of the book it looks to be unused.

I flip open the cover and fan the pages. It’s lovely, don’t get me wrong – anyone who knows me knows my love of stationary – but somehow incongruous. There’s no explanation as to why it is with me. Frowning, I place the book on the arm of the chair and reach to check the envelope for a note.

The book slips and drops to the floor, and as it does, a piece of paper slips out and skids across the wood, almost disappearing under the TV unit.

I leave the envelope where I have been sitting and make my way over to hook the paper out with a finger and open it.

In my hand, sits a lottery ticket, wrapped with a receipt for the most recent draw.