New Zealand teacher, Ryan Gibson, intends to claim his million dollar Lotto prize but finds his winning ticket stolen.
A chase across the world.
Excerpt
Sitting alone on a sofa in his living room, Wellingtonian Ryan Gibson leaned back and stared in disbelief at the glowing TV screen, then at the rectangle of yellow paper he held in his hand.
He’d written down the winning numbers in sequence as one Lotto ball after another had come to rest on-screen. He was sure he’d recorded them accurately. If he’d somehow messed up, it had been in subsequently comparing the numbers on the notepad to the numbers that, with increasing excitement, he’d underlined on his ticket.
He carefully checked again, his heart in his throat. Then he leapt up with a whoop of delight and, on the spot, did an uncharacteristic caper of celebration; one he would never have done except in privacy. Even then, he couldn’t believe that financial luck had finally turned in his favour.
He purchased Lotto tickets only five or six times a year, on impulse, using no regular outlet. He’d never collected more than a $25 prize before. If his fortunes had really changed, it was a staggering turn-around. Not that he’d necessarily won the whole million dollars. To find out, he’d have to wait for the confirmed results.
The thought of having to share the prize was sobering. But even if he got half, it was more than he’d earn in ten years as a high school teacher.
Pessimism crept up on him. What if he didn’t have a winning ticket at all? What if he’d made a mistake he hadn’t spotted? An instant fortune wouldn’t just drop in his lap; money had to be earned by hard slog. Only a lucky few got a windfall.
He could use his cellphone to check the Lotto website but wasn’t sure how soon, after a draw, details were posted. On the other hand, he couldn’t bear to think that his hopes would be dashed; so, to postpone any disappointment, he chose wait an hour for the confirmed results to be shown on TV2.
Bursting to share his news (on the off-chance that he hadn’t got it wrong) he thought of phoning his girlfriend, Kristen. But she would be doing an evening shift at work and had told him when they first started dating never to phone her at the hospital unless it was a dire emergency. “Nurses don’t have time for personal calls when they’re on duty,” she’d said. He could text her but he preferred to wait until he could tell her face to face. By that stage, he’d know the final results of the Lotto draw and be sure one way or the other.
Restless about waiting, he opened the sliding door to the rear balcony and went outside. The air had cooled as the sun went down, and there was a breeze, but the mid-Autumn temperature was tolerable without a jacket.
His rented dwelling was one of four stand-alone townhouses staggered at different levels over a plot of land on the slopes of suburban Mt Victoria. One end of the balcony gave him an angular view between two high-rise buildings lower down. In the dark, he could see bright city lights reflected on a framed patch of black water.
Staring into the distance, towards the Hutt Valley, he let himself indulge thoughts of how he could spend a million dollars. His parents were his first priority. Then there was the Big OE he’d put off a decade ago after graduating from teachers’ training college. Now he could quit his job and travel – call it a sabbatical and find another teaching position when he returned. That’s if he actually had the winning ticket, he reminded himself. He didn’t want to prematurely indulge in dreams; it would just make any disappointment greater.
He returned inside, stood behind the sofa for a moment and stared hopefully at the programme playing on the TV screen, and then checked his watch to see how long he would still have to wait for the confirmed results. Time was dragging.
He walked through to the kitchen and, while the electric jug boiled, wiped down the bench and re-arranged things on it. After that, carrying a hot mug of instant coffee, he returned to the living area and sat in the same place as before. Making the wait even harder, he checked his watch once again before carrying out another careful comparison of the Lotto draw numbers. He had a complete line, he was sure. He had missed out on Strike and Powerball but that didn’t matter when it was possible that half million dollars or more would be coming his way.
Anticipation threatened to swamp his reserve again. Leaping up impulsively and returning to the kitchen, he put a bottle of New Zealand bubbly in an ice bucket which he took back to the living room with a wine flute. He’d purchased the bottle of sparkling wine, price-reduced, at the inner-city supermarket he regularly used. He hadn’t planned to open it, or its companion in the refrigerator, until he threw a dinner party on his thirty-second birthday in May.
He drained his coffee and then waited again with an eye on the TV screen – though he wouldn’t remember afterwards what had been playing. Finally, following a commercial break, the Lotto theme music playing from the speakers brought his full attention on the screen. The confirmed results of the night’s draw came on and he jotted down the numbers again (in case that had been where he’d made a mistake the first time). His heart soared when he saw that there had been only one winner of the first-prize. Having used the remote to turn off the TV, his pulse quickening, he quickly picked up his ticket again, and one at a time on the notepad, crossed off the numbers that he read to himself from the third line on the front of the ticket. After repeating the process, with the same result, he punched his arm into the air and surprised himself by saying out loud, “Yeah! I’m a winner!”
He placed the ticket on the coffee table and lifted the bottle of wine out of the ice bucket. Tearing off the coloured tinfoil before untwisting the wire cap, he used his thumb to ease up the cork. It exploded with a loud pop, and gas bubbles and froth gushed up the neck and out of the bottle. He quickly capped it with his mouth and then hurried to the kitchen to wash his sticky fingers and bring back a sponge to soak up the spillage. Fortunately, the Lotto ticket hadn’t been caught in the puddle that had begun dripping off the coffee table onto the carpet. He dealt with that too.
The chore finished, he filled the flute, pouring slowly, and then raised it in the air. “To you, you lucky bastard,” he said aloud. Under his breath, he added, “I never thought I’d see the day.” He knew that the win would become totally real only when he had the prize money in his bank account. The staggering sum of money would make him a millionaire – until he started spending it.
He took a long swig, pleased with the sweet taste of the wine and the pleasant warmth it sent to the pit of his stomach. Even so, celebrating alone wasn’t much fun. In hindsight, he shouldn’t have opened the bubbly but taken it to his parents’ house and celebrated with them. Or maybe being alone at a moment like this constituted ‘a dire emergency’ and gave him sufficient grounds to call Kristen – though he doubted she would see it that way. He chuckled to himself at the prospect of her reaction, but didn’t call her.
He had to tell his parents though. They were the most immediately affected. He picked up his iPhone off the table and selected their landline number. His mother, Angela, answered.
“I wanted to come round and give you some good news. Are you still up?”
“Your dad’s in bed and I was just about to go. Otherwise we’d love to see you. Can’t you give us the news over the phone?”
“It’s too big for sharing like that. I’ll come and see you tomorrow.”
“You’re not going to become a father, are you?”
He teased, “You’d love to become a grandmother. You’re always asking when I’m going to properly settle down.”
“I’d prefer to see you do that before you become a parent.” There was a momentary silence. “You are still with Kristen?”
“We’re still dating but she’s not pregnant.”
“What’s your big news, then? Have you two gotten engaged?”
Ryan decided, “You’ll just have to put up with your curiosity about that until tomorrow.”
“What time should we expect you?”
“I’ll be there before ten.”
“That’ll be good. You can look after your father while I go to Communion.” Angela was a devout Anglican. “Then you can have lunch with us.”
“I’d like that.”
“Will you bring Kristen? We haven’t met her yet.”
“She’ll be sleeping in after working late – she’s on night shift. I won’t be seeing her until tomorrow evening.”
“Alright. Look forward to your visit... Love you. Goodnight.”
Ryan had two more glasses of bubbly, rendering himself over the legal limit for driving that evening. He felt as if he should go out on the town and celebrate (probably most young winners would) but these days, from his perspective, the crowds in city bars and nightclubs had become increasingly immature and less appealing to mix with. If he stayed home, showing discretion, he’d avoid the risk of getting so drunk among strangers that he spilt the news about being a Lotto winner. Who knew what consequences that might have?
He decided on an early night, like his parents obviously had, and wondered what he should do with the Lotto ticket until he could collect the million dollar prize. A lock-up drawer was the nearest thing he had to a safe, but in an emergency – like an apartment fire or major earthquake – there might not be time to retrieve it. Reputedly, some winners taped their winning ticket to their person as the best form of security they could think of until they were ready to claim their prize.
Getting practical, he decided to follow their lead, though he hoped warmth or sweat wouldn’t do the ticket any harm. To mitigate the risk, he found two envelopes, placed the ticket in the smaller one, sealed it, and then put it in the larger one. He taped its corners against his ribs, low under his left arm.
Later that night, Ryan lay awake. Despite the careful checking he’d done, he still feared the embarrassment of arriving at the Lotto office only to be told that he didn’t hold the winning ticket. To counteract his pessimism, he forced himself to picture more successful collection outcomes. Then he went on to consider how much to retain in a savings account at the bank, the investment opportunities, and the sums he should give to the overseas and domestic charities he’d developed an affinity with.
Ryan couldn’t be definitive about the allocation because it all depended on how much it would cost to make his mother’s life easier and ensure that his father got the best possible therapy, even if that meant taking him to a treatment centre overseas.
Ryan had no plan for a big spending spree. He’d grown up with the frugal attitude that, by and large, while he mightn’t have all he wanted, he did have all he needed. Maybe the idea had come from a Sunday sermon at church. He could recall from an early age feeling guilty that his family were reasonably well-off while poorer people had so little.
Ryan’s parents, and now deceased grandparents, had given up spoiling him with cash before he’d finished primary school. They found out that any money he received as a gift was being passed on to good causes. He’d overheard his paternal grandfather say, “It will be interesting to see how long it takes him to put two and two together about us just buying him presents in future.” It’d made Ryan even more determined to help the poor and suffering once he grew up.
He restlessly turned over in bed, thoughts still filling his head.
If he went on an overseas holiday he’d be spending selfishly, but he had waited ten years and that made him feel less guilty about it. Also, it would be a good idea to replace his aging car before the next warrant of fitness, though he could postpone a purchase until he returned from the Big OE. The holiday, and a second-hand car, would be enough self-indulgence and not make that much of a hole in his winnings.
Kristen wouldn’t be legally entitled to half his windfall. They weren’t in a de facto marriage relationship, just dating. But he did want to buy her a nice big present – though she would have to help him out with deciding what it should be. He’d never heard her talk about things she wanted. It was part of what appealed to him about her.
His mind floated to the idea of paying all her expenses so she could come with him on the overseas trip. Such a pleasant outlook led, after awhile, to sleep creeping up on him.
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