One Big Win

"All right, what have you bet on this time?" Tina asked her
husband.
"Winner of the British Grand Prix," he answered, trying to sound
relaxed.
"How much?"
"Same as usual, a tenner."
She looked sideways at him.
"Honest! I told you, I would never bet high stakes, only what I could
afford to lose."
"Des," she began, "We can't really afford for you to bet at all,, every
penny counts."
"Sweetheart," he said, turning to her, you know I only do it for you
and the Kids. One big win and I'll never bet again, I promise."
She stopped folding the washing and looked at him. "Des, you've been
telling me this since the day Natalie was born that was five years ago
and still you're chasing that one big win. Face it, Des, it ain't ever
going to happen."
"Tina," he said looking over his shoulder at her, "one day we are going
to have so much money, you'll be able to carpet the lounge with the
stuff."
She continued to fold the laundry and shook her head slowly. Natalie
needed new shoes and Jamie had to have his eyes tested and their
newborn daughter needed some new clothes. She was growing so fast it
was hard to keep up with her. They needed every pound they could get.
The ten pounds he bet each week would make things that much easier.
Breathing a sigh she asked, "So who did you bet on?"
"Damon Hill."
"How's he doing?"
"He's in second place, just gone in for a pit stop."
Carrying the laundry to the kitchen ready for ironing, she picked up
her infant
daughter and carried her out to the garden, the early autumn sun still
quite warm. Natalie
and Jamie were playing in their sandpit. Tina settled down on the
blanket that she had laid and gently lay her baby on its back. She
smiled warmly as the child kicked its legs and gurgled happily. Lying
on her side, Tina tickled the baby's tummy, her kicking increased
wildly and she shrieked with delight.
Tina picked up her book of poetry and started reading. She adored
poetry. In the small
bookcase in her bedroom she had a modest but fine collection and she
would lovingly
pull a book out and run he fingers over it before she read a single
word.
The afternoon sun was beginning to lose a little of its strength when
Des came out into
the garden.
"Did he win? She asked, although she already knew the answer. Des's
face always told the story.
"Nah! Silly sod spun out four laps from the end. He was six seconds
ahead, no need to
push it. If he'd stayed on the track we would have picked up three
hundred quid."
"Hardly the big win," she commented.
"No, but the three hundred would have been useful. It would have been a
start."
Des was crouched on his haunches playing idly with his baby daughter.
Tina waited
patiently, knowing he had something else to say to her. Des was like
her poetry books,
easy to read.
Fingering a bootee which the baby had kicked off, he said, I . . . I
had another bet while I was down there, just a tenner he added
quickly."
"So you actually bet twenty pounds and not just ten."
"Well, yeah."
She gazed hard at him for several seconds before asking, "What on?" she
sighed.
"Well, it's an accumulative bet."
"Meaning?"
"Well, you bet on a series of things, you know, the winner of one thing
and the winnings goes straight onto the next bet and if you get that
right then the accumulated winnings goes onto the next. If you keep
winning, the bet snowballs. You could end winning hundreds, even
thousands of pounds.
Tina closed her eyes with a feeling of resignation. There was no point
in getting angry, the money had been spent; raving wasn't going to
bring it back. "So what did you put the money
on?" she asked quietly, thinking that another tight week was
ahead.
"Okay. First the winner of the Grand National..."
"Hang on a sec, that's not until April next year."
"Yep, that's right. I'm not going to place another bet for the rest of
the year and if my
bet keeps going I still won't bet. Just think Tina, this might be the
last time I'll ever bet,"
he said seriously.
She took a deep breath, "That would be good news. So what else after
the 'National?"
The winner of the test series between England and India."
"Then?"
Des rubbed his nose. "The winner of the F.A Cup."
"And?"
"The winners of the two singles titles at Wimbledon and then the winner
of the World Cup."
"Is that it?"
He nodded.
"And so long as you keep getting it right, you keep winning until the
last item on the
bet has won, then you get the money."
"That's it."
"So you could end up losing the lot at anytime?"
Des shoved his hands into his pockets as his gaze fell away from her.
"Yes," he mumbled.
"And you're promising me you won't have another bet until this thing is
over."
"That's right."
"Okay well here's hoping."
Des grinned. He had worked it out. If Paddy's Bar, England, Pete
Sampras, Martina Hingis, Chelsea and Italy all did their thing he would
collect four hundred and seventy one thousand six hundred and eighty
two pounds. His eyes sparkled at the thought. The winter seemed to last
for an eternity but finally the great day at Aintree arrived.
Des feverishly bit his nails all through the race until Paddy's Bar
romped home by four lengths. He was ecstatic when he broke the news to
Tina.
"One down, five to go," was all she said.
April gave way to May and Chelsea snatched the F.A cup right from under
the noses
of Liverpool. Des turned cartwheels.
Des was in wonderful spirits. Even Tina was feeling brighter. The extra
money that
they were saving was making all the difference. The children had the
shoes and clothes they needed and Jamie was proud of his new
spectacles. Tina had even managed to save enough to buy a new dress.
And when England won the test series against India, life was too
wonderful words.
The singles titles at Wimbledon went the way Des had predicted and now
everything
hinged on the last stage of the bet.
Italy suffered minor hiccups on they way to the final but the Germans
weren't playing
well and had been lucky to scrape past Brazil, as result, Des was
confident.
The day of the game and Des was subdued.
"Come on Des, it's only a football match."
"Tina," he gasped, "Do you realize how much we stand to win? All the
years of
struggling will be over."
"And if you lose we carry on as usual."
Des could scarcely believe his ears. "Do you know how much we will
get?"
"Yes," Tina said sighing, "you've told me often enough. But face it Des
if they lose what have you really lost? Ten pounds, that's all."
While Tina clicked and clacked with her knitting needles Des was
riveted to the television screen. He was a wreck. Germany came close to
scoring a number of times but only a scrambling defense kept the match
scoreless. The second half was much brighter for the Italians and he
lifted the roof when Italy scored late in the game. But his joy was
short lived. Two quick goals and the Germans led with only minutes
remaining.
"I can't stand this I'm going for a walk," he said. Taking his ticket
from his wallet he
handed it to her. "Look after this for me," he said as he left.
Tina eyed the ticket on the arm of her chair and continued to
knit.
Four minutes later the crowd hushed and she heard a whistle. "Well
that's it," she said using the remote control to turn off the
television. Des would be bitterly disappointed but there it was. It had
come right down to this but it might as well have been a million miles
away. She picked up the ticket and tearing it into squares, dropped it
into Des' ashtray. An hour later, Des, reeking of beer, rushed into the
house.
"Tina," he said breathlessly. "We've won!"
"Don't be daft, I heard the final whistle. There were no more
goals."
"No, that was a whistle from the crowd. The Italians equalized seconds
before the end.
It went into extra time and they scored two more goals. Italy won four
goals to two. We've won! We've bloody well won!" He danced around the
room with joy.
Tina's hands froze. Her knitting suspended and as her stomach lurched,
eyed the squares in the ashtray, the gray ash obscuring the
print.
"Tina darling, where's the ticket?"
Ghostly white, she continued to stare at the ashtray.
He followed her gaze. "Tina . . . Oh God Tina, what the . . . "
THE END.