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

the hugeness of the jackpot was slightly diminishing the enormity of being with Raf, and vice versa. I needed to concentrate on both things and my mind was skittering like a spider on speed.
    â€˜No . . . Shazia’s busy,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll just go home, I suppose.’
    â€˜What about that guy, Jack?’ he asked, ‘He’s—’
    â€˜Nah,’ I interrupted. ‘He’s busy too.’
    â€˜It can’t be too bad at home. They’ll be so happy when they hear your news. And it’s late. They’ll be worried about you.’
    I wanted to spend time with him, but I felt like such a wimp . . . a damsel in distress, needing an escort home.
    â€˜I’ll be fine,’ I told him.
    But he shook his head. ‘You fainted. It could happen again. And those guys, they saw your ticket and where you . . . umm . . . where you keep it. I’ll walk with you, it’s fine. You live up on Windermere Road, don’t you?’
    He knew where I lived. How? OK, that did seem a little strange. Could he have followed
me
one day? Surely not. I mean, what a coincidence. Also, although it was a completely normal, sane thing for me to have done, in a cool boy it would seem demented. I glanced sideways at him. He was frowning.
    Actually, it was kind of helpful to be obsessing about Raf as we walked uphill to my road. It stopped my mind churning around, thinking, eight million! Eight million! Every now and again an
eight million!
would break through and once I let out a little squeak. Raf didn’t say anything. His default silencewas infuriating. At last I had a chance to talk to him and he wasn’t making it easy at all.
    We walked past the big, posh houses, and got to our end of the street – the line of modern maisonettes that someone had squeezed onto an empty plot in the 1970s. I always felt that our house was a bit embarrassed to be living near such impressive neighbours. Well, never mind. I was soon going to be looking at luxury penthouses in Hampstead or Primrose Hill, maybe. . . Yes, Primrose Hill, to be closer to Camden Market, with all the lovely shops and stalls. I’d be able to buy anything I wanted. One of those pretty cupcake-pink houses. Oh my God.
    I dragged my mind back from clothes and jewellery and an amazing, bright purple velvet sofa that I’d seen last time I’d been to Camden. In two minutes time we’d be at my house. I had to find something to say to Raf.
    â€˜Look – that guy, shutting up the café – was it OK?’ I asked. ‘I’m not going to lose you your job or something? He sounded pretty angry.’
    â€˜It’s OK,’ he said. ‘Jasper loses his temper really easily. He’s just a bit . . . a bit tired, that’s all.’
    â€˜Jasper?’
    â€˜My half-brother. He owns the café. I have to work for him.’
    â€˜Oh,’ I said. ‘Why? My dad owns the bakery but I don’t work for him.’
    He shrugged. ‘I just do.’
    I was going to ask more but the door opened. Grrr. My dad must’ve been looking out of the window. He was wearing his dressing gown, pale-faced and unshaven. God, how embarrassing. He should know to keep out of the way, looking like that. Just because it was midnight, there was no reason to show himself in public looking like a zomboid hospital patient.
    â€˜Where on earth have you been?’ he asked. ‘Your mum’s been so worried about you. . . She’s gone out in the car to see if she could spot you.’
    What the hell? ‘She threw
me
out,’ I said, furious again. ‘She told me to leave. Did she tell you that,
huh
? Oh no, I suppose it was all
my
fault.’
    â€˜She said you were rude and obnoxious.’
    â€˜She’s a cow! She’s a liar!’
    â€˜Well, come in now, anyway. You’ll have to apologise when she gets back.’
    â€˜I’d rather
die
!’
    Raf