Lia's Guide to Winning the Lottery Read Online Free PDF Page A

couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a proper conversation with him.
    â€˜Ha, ha, very amusing. No, I’ve won the lottery.’
    Dad laughed. How he laughed. He started wheezing and had to blow his nose on a tatty old hankie.
    â€˜You’re as good as Harry Hill,’ he said, playfully ruffling my curls. ‘Won the lottery, eh? How much? A tenner?’
    â€˜Nope. Eight million,’ I muttered, head down.
    â€˜Eight million? Eight
million
? Ha, ha . . . pull the other one.’
    I fished around for the ticket. ‘Here you go. You can check if you want.’
    â€˜You’re not serious, are you? How can we check?’
    â€˜Internet,’ I said, but he chortled to himself and said, ‘I must be getting soft in the head. You can’t trick me, young lady.’
    â€˜It’s true . . . it is,’ I said. ‘I’ll prove it. I’ll ring them.’
    He flopped down on the sofa and watched as I pulled out the ticket, found my mobile phone, checkedthe credit on it. There was a bit, but not enough for a long conversation. I held out my hand for his. He handed it over, saying with a big grin, ‘When you’ve got your eight million you can pay me back.’
    I got my ticket out and turned it over and found the number you have to call if you think you’ve won. Some woman with a strong Liverpool accent answered.
    â€˜Hello, I think I’ve won your jackpot. The Double Rollover. Eight million.’
    Dad shook his head.
    â€˜Just putting you through.’
    I waited. Dad waited.
    â€˜Hello,’ said another voice, with an equally strong Scouse flavour.
    â€˜Hello,’ I said. ‘I’ve won, I think. I’ve got all the numbers.’
    â€˜Can you give me your name?’
    â€˜Lia. L-I-A. Lia Latimer. L-A-T-I-M-E-R.’
    â€˜Hello, Lia, I’m Ruth. Can I take your number?’
    I gave her my mobile.
    â€˜Can you read me the numbers on your ticket?’
    â€˜Thirty-four,’ I said. ‘Seventeen. Twenty-three. Forty-one. Thirteen. Eight. Seven.’
    Dad pretended he was the lottery companyrepresentative. He mimed writing down the numbers, checking them carefully. . .
    â€˜Well, those numbers are all correct,’ said Ruth. ‘We’ll get a Winner’s Adviser to call you.’
    â€˜Oh!’ I said. ‘Wow!’ I was
squee
ing like a WAG. ‘Oh! Wow! It’s real! I really have . . . are you sure?’
    Dad grinned, rolled his eyes and waved his finger in a circle. ‘You can’t wind me up,’ he said.
    Ruth said something about security checks and validation, and asked for my address. I was trembling as I spelled it out.
    Dad said, ‘Who is it then? Shaz? Jack? That boy Ralph?’
    Ruth asked where I’d bought the ticket. I gave her the address of the newsagent at the bottom of Jack’s road.
    Dad yawned and said, ‘That’s enough, Lia. I’m going back to bed.’
    â€˜Hang on a minute,’ I said to Ruth. ‘Can you just talk to my dad? He thinks I’m joking.’
    â€˜Hand him over.’
    So I did. Dad took the phone. And I stood and watched as he refused to believe her . . . told her she was joking . . . accused her of being Shaz . . . listened . . . shook his head . . . looked at the ticket . . . wanderedover to his laptop . . . and finally, voice choking, said, ‘Oh Lord. It’s not a wind-up at all, is it?’
    And then he handed me back the phone, collapsed onto the sofa, and drank a big gulp of Mum’s Burgundy.
    Ruth told me to write my name and address on the back of my ticket. ‘Someone’s going to ring you back,’ she said.
    She told me all sorts of stuff about security arrangements and documents and all the time my heart was thumping so loud I could hardly hear her. I sat down next to Dad. I didn’t want to faint again, without Raf there to catch me.
    â€˜And then what?’ I asked. ‘When do