Short Shockers: Collection Two
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For as long as Gail had known Ricky Walters, he had dreamed of winning the lottery — the National Lottery, with its promise of £50 million, if not more. Much more.
Loadsamoney!
Moolah!
And he would win it, he knew; it was just a matter of time. He had a winning system, and besides, he had always been lucky. ‘You make your own luck in life. I was lucky meeting you,’ he told Gail. ‘Marrying you was like winning all the lotteries in the world at the same time!’
That was then. Now was ten years later. Five years ago, a clairvoyant in a tent at a charity garden party told Ricky she could see he was going to have a big lottery win. Gail had scoffed, but Madame Zuzu, in her little tent, had simply reinforced what Ricky already knew. He had absolute confidence. Absolute belief in his system.
It consumed him.
Yes, he was going to win the lottery. It was a fact. An absolute racing certainty. He was so damned confident that he was going to win that often, over a few drinks at his favoured corner table in The Dog and Pheasant, which he visited most weekday nights on his way home from work, he would spend time going over the list of all the things he was going to buy and the investments he would make with the money.