Winning ticket

Dot stared hard at her stewed cup of tea, clenched tightly between hands, as though she were praying at an altar. Thinking deeply about her life and her problems. It was a normal day, sitting in Jim’s café along the road from Liverpool Street station, waiting for her son to arrive by bus from his school. Good hearted Jim, the owner of the small café, generously served Dot her afternoon tea without opening the till. Jim was from Glasgow, a broad red-faced man, who had owned the café before Dot arrived in the area. The café was small, just a handful of tables, with aluminum and plastic lime-green cushioned chairs that only the homeless would consider comfortable. The walls need painting; once cream, the brown stains sometimes made a rustic pattern. Jim sat watching the TV, perched behind the counter. There was a small kitchen behind him. The café served stewed tea, from a large enamel tea pot. Coffee was served from a similar large pot. Jim would say “Tea, coffee, and homemade sandwiches is what we have ‘ere, nothing fancy mind, if you want the fancy stuff there is plenty up the road, with their fancy prices.”

Dot often wondered how the health and safety had not closed down Jim’s café years ago. None of those disposable paper or polystyrene cups at Jim’s. Only white chipped China mugs that probably were there before Jim arrived. Jim didn’t offer take-away service. Dot thought he liked the seated trade, because he enjoyed a natter with the clientele, to brighten up his otherwise boring days.

Dot was alone in the café, seated at a window table, looking out for her son to arrive on the bus.

Jim suddenly said to Dot, without taking his eyes off the TV screen. “Someone gonna be lucky tonight! Lotto ball is at five million.”

Dot didn’t think Jim required a response, he would often make offhand comments, or give opinions based on the TV transmission. Silence returned to the small cafe, with Dot staring and thinking, and Jim watching the TV screen.

Just then a bus stopped outside the café. The doors opened, and a small dog jumped onto the pavement. He wasn’t wearing a lead. Just before the doors closed, a man stepped off the bus behind the dog. His clothes were casual, somewhat nondescript, but he did have the dog’s lead in his hand. He looked around, and then looked at the café, and moved towards the door entrance.

The dog owner opened the door, and both entered. The door opening triggered a small jingling bell. The man walked up to the counter and ordered a cup of tea. Jim poured the stewed tea from the large pot, added milk, and said “Sugar is on the tables, how’s yer day so far?”

The man replied “Not bad. I was wondering if you know where I can find a small flat in the area, which would accept dogs, only for a short term let?”

Jim replied and looked at Dot as he spoke “Sorry, I don’t live around here, but Dot there should be able to help you, she lives ‘ere.”

The man and the dog came to Dot’s table, and the man sat down opposite Dot, and the dog jumped into the chair next to the man. Both stared at Dot, before the man spoke. “I’m looking for a small one bed flat for a few days, that would accept dogs, do you know where I can find anything suitable?”

He spoke with a soft voice, but his staring eyes were bright blue, full of gentleness and kindness, with an inviting, engaging smile, the stranger explored Dot’s face. The dog had a similar gaze, as both stared inquiringly towards Dot. Dot wasn’t startled by the suddenness of the situation. She had been thinking about her problems and waiting for her son to appear on the arriving bus. The sad feelings of hopelessness drifted away, as she concentrated on a response to the man with his dog enquiry.

She replied “There is a letting agent, just down the street, they should know. But I’m not sure about the dog.” She added “Your dog is so well mannered, he seems so independent, walking around without a lead.”

She looked at the dog sitting opposite her, the dog’s eyes seemed to understand her words, as his mouth opened, and his tongue flapped about in a crazed smile.

The man had a modern-day pencil moustache and goatee beard that cycled around the mouth and chin. His eyes sparkled as he replied.

“Thank you. How’s the world treating you today?” The stranger enquired, but Dot got the sense, this was more than a pleasantry, he genuinely wanted to know.

Typically, when people exchange small talk, nothing of any meaning really gets spoken. The communication between strangers or even friends and family never reach the depths of a meaningful conversation. But in this man, with his searching intelligent eyes, as well as the watching dog, some curtain of intimacy surrounded the table, as though Jim had brought a moving partition from a hospital ward to enclose the table in privacy, and then put up a “do not disturb” notice on the surrounding partition.

Dot felt she could share her sad thoughts, and troubles with this stranger. She felt that he would not change the subject and move to a conversation about the weather. His inquiry was searching beyond words. His eyes invited Dot to unload her problems to him.

She started to share her problems “I live alone in a small flat with my two sons, my eldest is always in trouble with drugs and the police. He is probably inches from a juvenile detention centre. My youngest child has a rare disease that doctors can’t fathom out. He has seizures every now and again and is rushed to hospital until he recovers. I can’t work because I need to care for my son every minute of the day. I take him to school each day, it’s not that far from here, but it is a special school, and they are aware of his condition. I never stop worrying about his seizures. When it will happen again, and how I will cope, how will he be attended to, can we get to the hospital in time for treatment. This continuous nightmare and tension are on my waking mind every day, all day, and I haven’t had a peaceful night’s sleep for years. Now, the landlord wants to increase the rent, and the social services have rejected any further increase of the allowance and forbid any loans. My husband left years ago, and took no responsibility for me or the children, I don’t know where he is, and it would probably make matters worse, because he had a bad temper when he drank.”

The man listened sadly. His eyes softened. He didn’t speak or reply. He reached into his jacket pocket and handed her a small envelope. An envelope, no bigger in size than a small party invitation, or a wedding invitation.

Then he said “Take this. I hope it solves your problems.”

He got up from his chair. The dog jumped down from his. Dot could not take her eyes away from the envelope. She couldn’t even remember the tiny bell ringing, as the door opened and closed with the man and his dog’s exit. She didn’t even turn her head to see the man and the dog walking away up the street.

Moments later the school bus arrived, and her son appeared at the window smiling at his Mum. They both walked back to the small flat. Talking about the son’s school day, and how he was feeling. She started to prepare the evening meal.

She then remembered the small envelope. She hadn’t opened it in the café because she was more intent on the arrival of her son on the bus. Now she searched in her coat pocket for the stranger’s gift, what was inside it?

She opened it, and a flimsy piece of paper dropped onto the floor.

The flimsy paper was a lottery ticket for tonight’s draw. Many thoughts went through her mind. This is an odd gift from a stranger. Better if it was money, she thought cynically. But, then with more positivity, better than nothing, I suppose.

She sat down later to watch the Lotto ball draw, just like many thousands of households watching hopefully that night. It was a rollover, and no one had won in weeks.

The draw started on the TV. The lucky number balls would appear one by one. There were six lucky numbers. She had the ticket in her hand to compare, as the coloured balls appeared in the announcer’s hand.

The announcer went through his usual happy jokey routines, as the balls appeared one by one.

“First lucky number, tonight ladies, and gentlemen is 7!”

Dot looked at the ticket, there was a 7.

“Second lucky number is 12!”

Dot looked down, there was the 12.

“Third lucky number is 23!”

There was a number 23 on the ticket.

“Fourth lucky number is 26!”

There the number 26 stood out on the ticket; Dot’s heart started to jump.

“Fifth lucky number is 37!”

Dot looked aghast at the ticket, 37 loomed large from the ticket.

“Now for the bonus number," the commentator said." It is 45!”

Dot looked in horror, the last number was 54.

Then, the announcer stammered, and said. “So sorry ladies and gentlemen, my mistake, the correct number is 54!”

Dot sprang out of the chair. The TV screen had the numbers lined up together in a summary line.

7. 12. 23. 26. 37. 54.

Dot placed the ticket against the screen, as though it was a dream, maybe her eyes had failed her. She needed to see the same numbers on the screen, on the ticket, side by side. They were the same. Her head, heart, and body melted, she had to sit down, otherwise she would collapse.

She couldn’t think clearly, there were about one hundred jumbled up thoughts in her head. The room was softly lit by the table lamp. The TV’s screen iridescent light, and that of the table light left the room framed in shadows, she looked up, and out of the shadowy darkness, she thought she could see the face of the stranger with his penciled outline of moustache, and goatee bread, now smiling broadly, but it was superimposed on the head of his dog.

That night she couldn’t sleep at all. The next day, as she prepared her son for school, her mind was full of answered questions. What percolated to the top of her thoughts, was the man and his dog. She must find him.

She didn’t know what she would do when she found him, but she must find him.

After dropping the son at school, she hurried to Jim’s café. She didn’t normally go to the café so early.

She went straight to the counter, where Jim was sitting on his stool behind the counter. Jim immediately saw Dot’s flushed face, and stopped looking at the TV, and turned his full attention to Dot.

“You’re early Dot, what’s up” he said.

“You remember the man and dog yesterday, enquiring about accommodation?” Dot said.

Jim looked puzzled. “What man and his dog, Dot?”

Dot replied, “The man and the dog that came in yesterday, and then sat with me, enquiring about a short-term rental.”

Jim looked even more puzzled “No, Dot nobody was ‘ere, you sat by the window waiting for your son as normal, the place was empty. You were alone Dot.”

Dot couldn’t believe it, she thought Jim was joking with her “Oh come on Jim, you’re messing with me!”

Jim became slightly agitated at the accusation. “And why would I do that?”

Dot stared at Jim aghast. Perhaps Jim is getting old, maybe early signs of dementia, she thought. It must be working in the café all these days, watching TV, and not taking any notice of the customers. She then decided to go to the letting agent shop and find out from them the whereabouts of the stranger and his dog.

The same conversation, the same result. No one had seen the stranger and his dog!

She came out of the rental agent shop bewildered, with her mind leapfrogging, she was beginning to have a panic attack. She reached inside her pocket to feel the flimsy ticket within her fingers, it was there. Was this a dream? She rushed to the newsagents that sold the lotto ball tickets and handed the ticket to the young girl behind the counter. The girl took the ticket nonchalantly, and then placed it flat on the counter, as she typed on the keyboard of the machine. Then she stared at the screen, and now with a serious look, concentrated on the screen. She looked at the screen, looked down at the ticket, repeatedly with a gathering concentration, and scrutiny. Her head taking double takes; looking down and then up at the screen. She gasped. Her mouth nearly fell to the floor, and then she looked at Dot with a speechless open-mouthed stare.

Dot didn’t need to know; the look on the shop assistant’s face said it all. It was the “winning ticket.”