‘Er, no.’ Shit,I’ma millionaire! How on earth did Iforget? I sidle away, pondering the weird state of human nature that means youcan be buzzing with joy and excitement one week, and then by the followingweek, the thing that made you ecstatic is now just something you took forgranted... part of your new way of living.
It’s very odd, this coming into money thing. Already, I’vecaught myself glancing at the price tags of houses for sale in upmarket estateagents’ windows and wishing my share of Carrie’s win had been two million insteadof ‘just one million pounds’, which – when I stop and think about it – makes mefeel quite ashamed of myself. Are human beingsneversatisfied?
In the end, though, I pretty much buy one of everything atthe garden centre, on the basis that if I go the economical route and buy whatI think are the basics, I’m sure to get it wrong – and then driving The Beastthe thirty miles to the garden centre to get the special implement that isabsolutely essential to a gardener’s life will guzzle so much extra petrol, it’llhave been cheaper to buy one of everything in the first place...
On the way out to the car with my trolley, my eye catchesthe flow of water glinting in the sunlight. I admired it as I walked in earlier– a stunning water feature sitting near the entrance. It’s like a huge, silverybowling ball, set on a plinth. Concealed lighting is catching the ripplingwater, making it gleam softly.
I know just the place for it, back at the cottage, and I’malready imagining how gorgeous it will look, lighting the patio as I sit underthe stars drinking wine on a balmy summer night.
I pause, glancing at the price tag. It’s ridiculously expensive.Of course it is.
Moving on, I take my trolley to the car and load my newtools into the boot, but the fountain is still on my mind. It costs theequivalent of a month’s rent at our old flat. Could I really pay that much fora water feature? It seems over-the-top, even though I know I can easily affordit.
Fifteen minutes later, a cheery garden centre assistant iswheeling an enormous box over to the car, although his smile slips a littlewhen he claps eyes on the Porsche. ‘Might have a bit of a problem getting it inthe boot space?’
‘Oh, it’ll be fine,’ I tell him confidently. ‘You’d besurprised what you can fit in there. Honestly.’
‘We could have it delivered for you?’
I think again of the cost. Delivery would add another thirtyquid onto the total price, which is already more than I ever thought I’d shellout for a garden fountain! ‘No, no. It’ll fit. And if it doesn’t, I’llmakeit fit.’
We exchange an optimistic smile and I open the boot. Butsure enough, when the box is inside, the lid won’t quite close. I try shiftingit around a bit, and eventually, I hear a satisfying click.
‘Great!’ I beam at the assistant, who according to his badgeis called Alan.
He nods. ‘Enjoy the fountain! Have a great day.’
‘Thanks!’
Alan leaves with a cheery wave and I get behind the wheel.Carrie would have opted for the delivery, but she can be way too cautious attimes. It’s going to be absolutely fine.
But halfway home, I’m driving through Sunnybrook whenwithout warning, the boot lid lifts up slightly. Panicking that the motion ofthe car will make it fly up and block my view, I immediately signal and pullinto the nearby bus stop.
Damn! The box must have stopped it closing completely.Either that or the boot lid catch is faulty. Why the hell didn’t I justorganise a delivery?
I glance anxiously in the rear-view mirror. It’s sod’s lawthat three buses will now arrive in quick succession while I’m sitting heretaking up their space. Edging out of the bus stop, I crawl along, glaring atthe boot lid and daring it to open. Parking safely on the high street, I switchoff the engine with sweaty armpits and a sigh.
What do I do now?
I could drive home really slowly and hope for the best, butthe last thing I want is to be a danger to other people on the road. Maybetying string around it would hold the boot lid in place temporarily?
Five minutes later, I’ve tracked down a ball of string andI’m coming out of the village store when I spot a familiar person jogging onthe other side of the street in my direction and my heart nearly leaps out ofmy chest.
April!
Has she seen me?
I pull up my hood and start running along the high street inthe opposite direction, in the vain hope she hasn’t actually spied me. But whenI glance back, my heart sinks. She’s turned around and is now dodging throughtraffic, crossing the street to get to me.
Oh, hell, why didn’t I just pay her the extra thousand to gether off my back once and for all, instead of being all stubborn and principledabout it? The ‘interest’ I owe her has probably quadrupled by now...
Help, she’s gaining on me. Why did I have to fall outwith a crook who’s also a bloody Olympian sprinter!
I dive into a side street and start tanking along thepavement, quickly realising to my dismay that I’ve chosen a cul-de-sac. So I’mtrapped! I glance back, praying she didn’t see where I went.
So far, so good.
There’s no sign of her... oof!
