I finish my cereal, wash out the bowl, then pick up my mug of tea and drag myself up the stairs. Back in my room I lay out all yesterday’s purchases on the floor and bed. I can’t believe I have to put on my boring school uniform.
There’s a tap at my door. I’m expecting it to be Mum, coming to tell me to get a move on, hop in the shower, dash for the bus, but it’s not Mum nagging, it’s Dad smiling. Logan is hanging around in the hallway, still wet from the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. He’s obviously not in a hurry, either.
“Hello, princess.”
I beam. “Hiya, Dad. Just looking at my stuff again. I still can’t believe it. Can you?”
“Not really.” He grins and rubs his hair with his hand, something he does when he’s really chuffed with life. Logan is punching the air, something he has done on a more or less continuous basis since they told us the news. “Look,” says Dad with a reluctant sigh, “your mum wants me to remind you to keep this to yourself, at least for the moment.”
“I know, I know. She’s said.”
“She’s just worried about people’s reactions.”
“Why so?” asks Logan.
“Oh, you know, people can be jealous or just weird.”
“Weird how?”
Dad doesn’t directly answer. “She’s worried about security.”
“Security?” Logan looks fit to burst with excitement. “Like, in case someone kidnaps us?”
“No one said anything about kidnapping,” replies Dad calmly.
“What then?” Logan looks crushed that his newfound wealth isn’t going to place him in immediate danger.
“The lady who is our winner’s advisor said she wanted to talk about how to deal with begging letters. You know, things like that. It’s possible once the news is out people might just turn up and ask for money, I guess.”
“Well, we’ve plenty of it so maybe we should just give these people some, if they need it,” suggests my brother, showing that he hasn’t got a clue.
Dad is kind enough not to say as much but just asks, “Yeah, but where would that stop? We will give to charity, of course we will. We just need to think it through.”
“I can’t wait for the moment when we can tell people, though,” I add, beaming, thinking of Ridley and Megan’s faces.
I. Just. Can’t. Wait.
CHAPTER 5
Toma
Wednesday, February 6
“Do you want a cup of tea? I’m about to put the kettle on.”
He didn’t respond. Not coherently. His bones ached. He was so wet and cold that often when waking up, it took a few moments for him to process where he was. Who he was. What he was.
Homeless. Widower. Immigrant.
He stared at her, the woman asking the question. She looked kind enough, concerned. He had learned the importance of making quick character judgments. Still, it was too easy to trust people. Sometimes they looked kind and then they stole your shoes. This woman wasn’t homeless, though. She was dressed in a trouser suit and had her hair tied back in a neat ponytail, suggesting she worked in an office, maybe the one he was sleeping outside. Still he remained aggravated, aggrieved, fearful. The homeless generally don’t like being woken. Who does? Sleep is an escape. But when they are woken, the best they can hope for is that they are being moved on. The worst? They are spit on, robbed, assaulted. So he stared at her like a wounded animal, savage but impotent. She waved a bunch of keys at him and nodded toward the door he was obstructing, so he shuffled to the side to allow her to open it. She did and then she stepped past him, over the threshold.
It was a simple act, but he felt a twinge. He envied the fact she had a job to go to, anywhere to go to. The sign said Citizens Advice Bureau. A place set up to help, but to help people like him? He didn’t know.
No doubt there was a protocol to follow, and naturally it was not a great idea for a woman alone to invite a homeless man into her office, so he was not surprised when she left him on the street. He might be dangerous. Desperation often leads to threat and menace. He didn’t think he was a danger, at least not to her, but he couldn’t be sure. He was no longer sure what he was capable of. He was surprised when she came back outside, carrying a mug of tea and a packet of biscuits, and sat down on the ground next to him. It had been raining—the wet would seep into her trousers and underwear. She was really trying. It was a nice gesture. Some would think it was patronizing, take offense. Not Toma. Toma hurt and he hated, but the man he had always been couldn’t be angry at this woman
