No More Than 10 Words.

Just like that. Brutal. A life changed in no more than 10 words. It was a phone call. It was a Monday. And of course, it was a woman. Just 10 a.m, office break time, for those with jobs. There was rain on the window, damp on the wall. You’re welcome to my waterworld, I thought.

Friday previous, the money had run out. I helped it on its way. Just before the leccy went off, I blew my last. Not the cash. I blew that and the weekend in one go. I emptied the joint account, on line, the last monkey. Funny; my money used to go in a joint account. Hers didn’t. The money had lasted a month. A month after she left, that is. There had been a lot. It was a boiler-room operation. I had known it couldn’t last forever. She’d set it up, but never set foot in it. How had she managed to sleep with all of us? Jake, Rick, Grant, me – and Ursula, of course. I’d had my suspicions. Sudden unavailabilities; two overnights in a row a luxury. Of course, no one mentioned it - until a month ago.

The last time I saw her I was naked. She wasn’t. It was still good. Good enough to take her back. Maybe we all would have, especially Ursula, I think. My last hundred in the bank went on the lottery. On-line: bet and forget. That’s why the cash was bendered away. I’d felt reckless, careless and feckless. The drink made me hopeless, and that’s a full set.

So Monday. Head like a balloon and tongue like a mole’s skin. The old-fashioned bell ring hurt my head. I picked up the retro-phone. An unfamiliar woman’s voice said:

‘Mr Lucci? Mr Giovanni Lucci?’

‘Yes.’ It was the croak of a dying frog.

‘Date of birth?’

‘First of the fourth 1978’

‘Father’s name?’

‘Alberto.’

‘Address please.’

‘Look, who is this?’

‘Bear with me, sir. Your address?’

I gave it. The room was spinning, I felt sick.

‘Do you have a mobile I can call, sir?’

I sighed and reeled off the number. Maybe they hadn’t cut me off yet. They hadn't. My ring tone was Kylie’s first big hit. She’d been Australian, the woman who’d recruited us. Brunette, amazonian; I had nicknamed her Kylie.

It was the same rigmarole on the mobile. I thought this unknown woman sounded excited. God knew why, I wasn’t buying double glazing from her.

Then came the ten words.

‘Many congratulations, Mr Lucci, you’ve won the National Lottery Jackpot.’