Lia's Guide to Winning the Lottery (14 page)

And kissing Raf was just as sweet and strange and special as I'd imagined.

Chapter 13

Set up a system for paying bills and household budgeting, so your spending doesn't get out of control.

The way our family finances used to work was really simple. Mum and Dad paid for everything.

Nat and I got a puny allowance – forty-five pounds a month for me, thirty-five pounds for her – which, half the time, never got paid. In theory we were meant to do chores or get jobs if we needed more cash. Actually, we'd just bum cash off whichever parent seemed to be in a better mood, always pointing out that we hadn't been paid our allowance. I usually reckoned to be able to push up my income to about thirty pounds a week.

As soon as I won the lottery, though, it all changed. Mum and Dad still paid the mortgage, and stuff like gas and electricity, but they started handing over
credit card bills to me. And a lot of other ones too.

Anyway, that particular Sunday I was not interested in anything to do with money or even imagining my future in a Primrose Hill penthouse. I wanted to think about Raf's soft lips, and the way I gently slipped my arms around him, and how I applied more lip pressure . . . and touched the smooth skin of his back under his T-shirt . . . and what could have happened if his brother hadn't thumped on the door and yelled for him to take over downstairs. . .

‘Really, it's not a great system,' said Mum, chucking me her Visa bill. ‘We need to set up a direct debit or something. When are you seeing those financial advisers, Lia? You need to sort everything out properly.'

‘Soon,' I said briskly, lying back on the sofa, closing my eyes and conjuring up Raf's big grey eyes . . . that toothpaste taste. . .

‘Put a nest egg away for your future,' said Dad, ‘and then perhaps we can talk about the bakery . . . the plans I've got. . .'

‘And we can move house,' added Mum. ‘It's ridiculous that you and Natasha are still sharing a room. You need your own space. Look at this one' – she
waved an estate agent's brochure at me – ‘six en suites, a conservatory and a swimming pool. A swimming pool!'

Mmmm. . . Raf, all wet, and not wearing many clothes, me in a bikini, cuddling in the water . . . and my parents sitting on deckchairs, watching with vulture eyes and possibly binoculars and a video camera.

‘What's the point of having a swimming pool in London?' I asked, glancing briefly at the Visa bill (£450 at John Lewis, £220 at Top Shop, £140 having her hair done). ‘You'd only use it for two weeks a year. And six en suites? You can only use one at a time. Anyway, it's in Hertfordshire. That's not even London.'

‘It's virtually London. It's in the green belt. In the countryside, darling. You could have a pony.'

‘I don't
want
a pony.'

‘You used to cry at night because you couldn't have one. Look,
this
house has a stables and a paddock.'

‘Mum, I was seven and I'd just read some book about a girl with a pony. I don't want one now. And I certainly don't want to move out of London.'

‘It's still on the Tube,'

‘It's still frigging Nowheresville-in-the-Marsh.'

‘There's another bill too, Lia. This one came
from Natasha's new singing teacher.'

I looked. I swear tears came to my eyes when I saw the amount.

‘
Four hundred pounds
?'

‘She's having two lessons a week. It's a wonderful opportunity.'

‘Four hundred pounds a
month
. She can't—'

Natasha chose that moment to skip into the room. She was looking all happy and bouncy. Luckily she didn't hear the words ‘even sing', because she was talking into her mobile. Mum glared at me. I turned my attention back to her Visa bill.

‘Eighty quid getting your nails done?
Jesus
, Mum. Eighty quid! I'll do your nails for that.' Or would I? I didn't really need more money. Typical. A promising source of income opens up just too late to be useful.

‘Don't be cheeky to your mother,'

‘I'm not being cheeky. I'm paying her Visa bill, which comes to . . .' I turned to the second page, ‘an unbelievable three thousand, six hundred pounds.'

Mum looked a bit shifty. Natasha had finished her call.

‘Molly's invited me to stay over,' she said, eyes shining. ‘Is that OK?'

‘Who is this Molly?' asked Mum. ‘Why don't you
bring her back here one day? I feel like I never see you any more, Natasha. You should have your friends to stay here.'

Natasha and I both snorted.

‘Yeah, right, Mum, where are we going to put them?' I asked.

‘Well, Lia, that's why we need to get on and look at a few houses. I know you girls will be much happier when you have your own space.'

It was the perfect opportunity.

‘Thing is, I was thinking . . . I might buy myself my own flat.'

‘Oh!' said Mum.

‘Lia!' said Natasha.

‘That's a great idea,' said Dad. ‘The ideal investment. You could rent it out for a few years and move into it when you're older. Had you thought where you might look? Docklands?'

‘Umm no. . . Primrose Hill, or Hampstead.'

‘Very nice,' he said. ‘Pricey, mind you, but you can afford it, Lia. And you can charge what you like in rent. You'll find some rich kid who'll want to live there.'

‘Umm, well, actually, I want to live there.'

‘Yes, when you're older. Maybe when you're eighteen, depending on where you go to university.
Buy something you can share with a few friends. Then they'll pay you rent.'

‘Yes, well, maybe I won't go to university.'

Dad's face went all serious. ‘Look, darling. I know we've always talked about you taking over the bakery. And I know I left school at sixteen and went straight to work with my dad. But you don't have to do that. Not now. Not now you've got all this money. We could get a manager. . .'

‘No, I—'

‘You don't have to worry about tuition fees or anything,' said Mum. ‘I've been looking at some prospectuses for private schools; you could transfer for sixth form, Lia. Natasha, some of these schools specialise in Music – you'd get a great grounding.'

‘Look,' I said, ‘I'm not bothered about university. I want to leave school as soon as possible. Buy a flat. Live in it. That's it.'

‘That's
it
?' Mum looked like I'd slapped her in the face. ‘When were you thinking of moving into this flat?'

‘Well, you know. Soon.'

‘And then what? Parties every night? Spending all your money on God knows what . . . drugs . . . unsuitable boyfriends? I've seen stories in the
newspapers about girls who win the lottery and go wild. You're sixteen, you have no idea what you're doing. I've been worrying ever since you won.'

I flung down the Visa bill.

‘No you haven't. You've been spending
my
money. You want me to pay your bills for waltzing around getting acrylic nails and hair extensions and new shoes, while I'm stuck at school, bored stiff, learning about stuff I'm never going to need. And in the meantime all my money's going to be used up on your six en suites and giving the bakery a new kitchen.'

Silence. Then Natasha said nervously, ‘Look, I'll take over at the bakery if you want.'

‘With your Voice? Don't be silly, Natasha.' My mum's own voice was trembling.

‘Lia, we won't take a penny from you if you don't want us to. But you know why we live in this house? So that we'd be in the catchment area for your school. We debated moving – somewhere further out, a bigger house . . . but we wanted to make sure of your places. And your dad needed to be near the shop, for his early starts, of course. We could've sold that bakery. We could've had a much easier life, but we wanted what was best for you.'

‘Yes, right, but that was your decision. You chose that. Now I'm choosing this. You always just assumed I'd take over the bakery. I want to run my own life.'

Mum's face was grim. Dad just looked sad. I opened my mouth to take it back, say sorry, say I'd buy the six en suites, expand the bakery, but Mum got there first.

‘I might have known you'd only think about yourself. Selfish, Lia, that's what you are. Completely selfish.'

‘I am not!' I shouted, hoping no one could see the tears in my eyes.

‘Your dad works his fingers to the bone for this family. I slave away in an office, writing a load of rubbish on behalf of useless losers to get them mentioned in publications that no one reads. Why do we do it? For you girls. How do you thank us? By throwing everything we've worked for in our faces.'

I was choking with fury.

‘I'm not. Anyway, what about you? You're always horrible to me! You threw me out of the house – really late at night! You didn't care what happened to me! You've only been nice to me because you want my money!'

Natasha was crying. Dad put his arms around her.

‘Don't worry, Nat,' he said. ‘They don't mean it.'

‘I do mean it!' I shrieked. ‘She is just an evil cow, and I hate her, and I can't wait to get out of here and start spending
my
money on
me
.'

‘Well,' said Mum, suddenly icy calm with a rasp to her voice just like Cruella de Vil. I wouldn't have been surprised to find a load of skinned Dalmatian puppies stashed in the freezer. ‘You're going to have to wait a few years, madam. Like it or not, we're responsible for you until you're eighteen. There's no way I'm letting you shack up in some flat on your own.'

‘Oh yeah?' I screamed, heading for the door. ‘Try and stop me!'

Chapter 14

It can be difficult to get anyone to take your problems seriously
.

I went to Shazia, of course. The other options – rushing to an estate agent, buying some penthouse on my card, running away to Paris with Raf – seemed a little complicated to organise right away.