Can't buy you ...

OUTSIDER

Eastern Daily Press

The National Lottery announced that this week’s Lottery winners live in a South Norfolk village, but the winners have asked not to be named. It’s believed they have scooped around £15.6M. Lucky people.

Monday

Adrian sat in his corner in the White Swan behind his half of Adnams. The pub had just a few regulars from around the Green not bad for this time of the week . They were loud as usual. He didn’t exist. The builder was still in his white dusted work boots, they left prints on the dark red pamments. They were talking about the Lottery and what they would do were they to win the jackpot. The builder told the old joke about the man pleading to God for a Lottery win. The group laughed even though all had heard it before. The builder laughed loudest. His wife/girlfriend/mistress didn’t really laugh, she’d heard him tell it many times. It had been a good joke, but no longer. She looked about the room and focussed on the sepia photograph directly above Adrian as though seeing it for the first time.

‘When was that house knocked down Den? nodding towards Adrian. Den turned, quickly took in the photo and turned back to the group before saying ‘sometime in the 50s I think, it was full of rats, so they pulled it down.’

Adrian didn’t normally drink more than the one half, he couldn’t afford to. But now he moved carefully around the little table taking the empty glass in his one free hand. ‘Another half please.’

‘Was that Adnams?’

‘Of course it fucking was, same as I had earlier, same as I always drink, same as I’ve had three times a week for years, fucking years.’ There was a beat. ‘Yes Adnams please.’

The half arrived. He handed over a note with the odd coins before the landlord said anything or had time to go to the till and press one of the buttons so that the machine could tell him how much was due. Giving the odd coins to round down made it easier on the change. The man carefully counted the coins with a frown, took a while, tapped in the amount, picked out the change and gave it to Adrian without a word.

‘I-I don’t usually drink more than one, but this is a sort of celebration.’

‘Oh yeah,’ said the man tidying some peanuts and not turning around.

‘You see I’ve won the lottery and this is a kind of little celebration.’

‘Oh, ye….’ the landlord turned half-word but Adrian had shuffled back to his corner with his precious second half, accompanied by a smile.

Tuesday

The pub was quite crowded for a mid-week, there was a lot of talk, a kind of white noise that Adrian knew was voice but without hearing words. When he opened the door leaning on both the handle and his stick, the sound stopped as though in a vacuum. All turned and watched him struggle towards the bar, no-one spoke. A space at the bar opened up, this was unusual because the regulars - the chosen ones - had priority and could sit at the bar and block it with impunity. He wouldn’t ever have been allowed to block it and had never tried.

‘Evening Andrew, usual?’ said the landlord with the cheeriest tone Adrian had ever heard.

‘It’s Adrian you dick.’…. ’Thank you.’

The half came quickly and the woman stepped forward and said, ‘I’ll get that Bob, put it on my tab.’ She turned to Adrian and sat on the bar stool, he sat on the other stool, he had no choice.

‘I’ve seen you in here many times but you’ve never bloody spoken before.’ … ‘T-thank you er…’

‘Teresa, Teresa Wilton, you’re Andrew aren’t you?’ He gave a half-smile and a kind of half-nod. ‘I see you in here quite a lot Andrew, but I’ve never known what you do for a living…?’ He smiled again and gave her a chin-up acknowledgement and said nothing. She waited.

‘So, what do you do then?

‘So, what do you want then.’….. Oh, I- I grow cacti, well succulents mostly’

‘Cactii, cactus, prickly things?

‘God.’ …. Well yes, but not prickly things, they don’t all have spines, succulents don’t usually anyway.’

‘Oh…. how fascinating…’

‘You don’t give a damn about cactii do you?’ … ‘Yes, the ones I specialise in are called “living stones”, they look just like, well, stones.’

The woman was losing heart but she ploughed on, ‘so do you sell these “stones”?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘Shop?’

‘On-line.’

‘Right, so people what, collect these cactus?’

‘Oh yes, there are many different types and yes, people collect them.’

‘So, now you’ve won the lottery, Andrew, so, will you carry on doing this?’

‘It’s Adrian, Adrian, bloody Adrian.’ …. ‘Umm, I don’t see why not, it’s what I do. Thanks for the drink,’ and he shuffled back to his corner. The noise in the bar began to increase again as the woman returned to her clan. Adrian didn’t look up to see the woman laughing and shaking her head as she related the conversation.

Wednesday

Perhaps because of his win, Adrian returned to the pub the next night. It was even more crowded than the night before and as he struggled with the door, he heard someone say, ‘here he is’. The white noise dropped back again as though the sound had been sucked up the chimney. By the time he got to the bar his half of Adnams was already there. ‘On the house Andrew,’ said the landlord with some pride, and then closer in, ‘we’re having a good week.’ And then he winked and made a little click out of the side of his mouth.

‘So quite a celebrity now Andrew,’ said a man, that Adrian had seen before a few times. The man thrust out a hand to shake and then had to withdraw it in some embarrassment as Adrian had no spare hand. ‘Robert,’ he said with an odd little salute in place of the expected handshake.

‘Funny how people want to know me now isn’t it.’….‘Oh hello’, said Adrian.

‘I expect you’ll be planning to move into a more palatial property now eh?’

‘Are you a bloody estate agent?’… ‘I don’t really think so, this is where I live.’

‘Yeah, you do now, but you’ll be looking to move sooner or later and when you do I can help, I’m an estate agent you see and I specialise in finding property for people, you know, a bit like Phil and Kirsty.’

‘Who the hell are Phil and Kirsty.’ … ‘Right, thank you.’ said Adrian taking the proffered business card and turning back to his normal table in the corner.

Thursday

There was a BBC Outside Broadcast van standing outside the pub’s front door as Adrian walked up. There were now so many people in the bar that they spilled out into the foyer. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. The people blocking his way into the bar were not known to him, they were from somewhere else. He wondered what was going on and nearly turned back home. However, he elbowed his way in and got his walking stick caught up a couple of times as he manoeuvred towards the counter. There was a bit of a space and as he reached it there was a shout from the builder, ‘Here he is. Hello mate, we’ve been waiting.’

There was a round of applause, no-one was really sure why, but if in doubt, give it a clap. The man from the BBC came forward with a microphone but was pushed aside by the mass of strangers surging and Adrian was nearly knocked over. Teresa was beside him and put her arm round his shoulders. ‘Don’t worry I’ve got you darling.’

‘I’m not your sodding darling you stupid witch, get off me.’…’Thanks, what’s going on?’

‘You’re famous they want to put you on television.’ He lurched upright as the man from the BBC got back into pole position and held out his hand, which was difficult because Adrian’s right hand was on his walking stick.

‘Hi, I’m Justin from BBC East, can I have a few words?’ shouted Justin over the clamber.

‘What about?’ shouted back Adrian.

‘Well Andrew, you know, what will you do next, how will you spend all your Lottery winnings, just personal interest stuff. Do you mind if I record, the background noise may be a bit distracting but will probably be more interesting.’

‘My name is Adrian.’

‘Oh, your friends all call you Andrew, er why’s that?’

‘It’s because they’re not my bloody friends, they don’t know shit about me – or care accept they now all want to know me because they think I’m rich’ …. ‘They have made a mistake.’

‘Right, Adrian, can you tell me how much you have won.’

Adrian paused for a second before he answered, ‘of course, it’s exactly £625.16.’

‘Sorry I don’t think I got that, how much?’

‘£625.16,’ he shouted over the noise. People closest heard and the figure spread out across the room like a tsunami. It flowed back to the two central characters as anger. People shouted at Adrian and pointed fingers. Poor Teresa she was beside herself, almost foaming at the mouth. The locals all felt betrayed. The man from the BBC was already packing up his recording kit and leaving. So were most of the others, pushing past the man with the leg callipers, spitting out their disgust. Adrian decided not to get his half of Adnams and left in their wake.

Friday

Adrian found the bar pretty empty. Those at the bar turned when the door opened and as a man, they resumed their conversation. There were clenched jaws. Adrian got to the space at the bar.

‘Yes,’ said the landlord.

‘Bastard.’… ‘Half of Adnams please,’ said Adrian

He sat in his corner and slowly drank his beer and then left.

Saturday

Adrian sat in the taxi, the driver was friendly. ‘Here, have you heard the joke about the Scotsman and the Lottery?’ He continued even though Adrian had said nothing. “You see this Scotsman was having money troubles so he went to church and prayed to God, he said, please God let me win the Lottery this week as my business is crashing. There was no answer. The next week he did the same. Please God I am in debt and I only have a few more days before I’m made bankrupt. No answer. The third week he was frantic, please, please God let me win the Lottery this week and a deep voice said “Jock meet me half way, buy a ticket.’

The driver laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks, ‘What a cracking joke eh? Do you think?

‘Yes, very funny,’ said Adrian, ‘I’ll try and remember it.’

The taxi took Adrian to the station where he got the train to London and he picked up his cheque for £15.6M.

©Lawrie Hammond

March 2017