The Lottery

Her eyebrows raised and her forehead creased into lines of wrinkles when I told her she'd won.

'Are you sure, Janelle?' she asked, reaching for the ticket. 'Check the numbers again. Are you sure?'

'Yes, Mum. I'm sure. You've won!'

Tears rolled from her blind eyes down her cheeks and she took my hand in hers.

'Can you believe it?' she asked. 'A lucky dip, not even my usual numbers. And I've won.'

I smiled, unsure when I'd last seen her so happy. Not for years, not since her eyesight began deteriorating.

'I think this calls for a drink,' I said, switching off the television and walking to the kitchen.

'There's a bottle of Asti in the fridge,' she called after me. 'Let's open that. It's a celebration after all!'

I poured the Asti into the crystal glasses Mum and Dad had as a wedding gift, then walked back into the living room.

'This reminds me of your father,' she said, feeling the engraved lines of his initials. 'I wish he was here now. I wish he was here to celebrate with us.'

'I know, Mum,' I said. 'I know.'

There was a moment's mournful silence, broken when I said, 'But he is only at the pub. He'll be back by nine.'