The Birthday Card by Pauline Barclay

Author:Pauline Barclay [Barclay, Pauline]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-07-11T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

Arm in arm, Doreen and Trisha entered the reception of the lottery offices.

‘Wow, what a place,’ Trisha cooed, her head turning as she took in the splendour of the surroundings.

Forgetting the need for the cloakroom, Doreen stood stock still, glaring at the marble and glass walls. A plethora of lights beamed down from a suspended ceiling creating prisms reflecting off the walls and floor. Looking down, Doreen saw a mirror image of herself in the glossy dark tiles, or were they marble too? Never had she seen anything like this and wondered if they had walked into another universe.

In a dark tailored pencil skirt that sat just above the knee and a white blouse with red relief on the cuffs, a smartly dressed young woman trilled, ‘Good morning,’ appearing at Doreen’s side.

Startled, Doreen let out a cry. ‘Blimey, I never heard you coming.’ The woman looked her over, amusement removing the business appearance on her face. Crikey this was not the best start, Doreen thought, worrying what the woman would be thinking as she had no doubt clocked her dress code; shimmering top, faded jeans and scruffy trainers. She let out a nervous giggle.

Unaware of Doreen’s discomfort, in a singsong voice, the woman added, ‘Do follow me. She waved a tanned hand that ended with beautifully manicured nails towards a large desk at the opposite side of the impressive room. Wearing dark blue shoes with kitten heels, the woman’s footfall was unnervingly silent. Doreen followed and told herself if she had really won the lottery, she would empty Marks and Spencer out of all their clothes range as soon as she had the money in her sticky mitts; a new rig out not only for every day, but for every hour. She would look as smart as this woman and chuckled silently at her extravagant thoughts and behind her back crossed her fingers. Let us hope this nerve wracking experience will not be a waste of time. Pulling her handbag to the front she tucked her hands underneath, the last thing she needed to do was display broken nails, chapped and sore hands.

Trisha remained silent, keeping pace with her mother.

Arriving at a polished desk, the woman turned to Doreen, smiled. ‘Before we go any further, I do need to know your password.’

Relieved at such an easy question, Doreen rushed it out as if she was being timed, ‘Mary Poppins.’

‘Perfect. Now your name and address please.’

‘Doreen Wilkinson, 67 Wentwoth House,’ she rattled out the details with aplomb. So far so good, she thought. Relaxing a little, it was clear she had been worrying for nothing.

‘Perfect, now would you like tea or coffee?’

‘Ohhh, the lav… the toilet would be nice,’ Doreen burst out hoping it was not too far away, now she really needed a wee.

‘Of course, this way,’ the woman said, pointing to a sign a few metres away.

Without saying thank you, Doreen rushed off in the direction the woman had pointed. ‘God, please let me make it in time,’ she muttered and broke into a trot.

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