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Rebecca hadn’t even made a dent in her new
fortune. Her credit card, her trusty companion, had started to
shout with glee when it was taken from her purse but even so, she
had spent very little.
    She had visited
Boots and allowed an enthusiastic young assistant show her a
selection of creams and potions especially for the ‘more mature
skin madam’. Rebecca had nodded in agreement when asked if she
could feel the softness of the cream on the back of her hand,
agreed enthusiastically when asked if she approved of the aroma and
casually handed over her credit card when asked if she would like
try its powers for herself. Then she had walked past Topshop,
continued past Dorothy Perkins, completely ignored Primark, winced
at the doorway of Harvey Nicholls, paused at the entrance of Wallis
and finally spent over an hour in Debenhams designer department.
She emerged laden with several bags and the beginnings of a new
wardrobe including a pair of scandalously high shoes, a new handbag
and a fantastic trench coat that Rebecca considered to be
criminally expensive but which would certainly keep out the
freezing Leeds air.
    And now she was
worn out and although there was a wonderful trickle of guilt
travelling down her spine, when she added everything together she
had hardly spent anything. Not when she had over 15 million to
dispose of.
    She had spoken
to Sarah the previous evening.
    ‘I’m going to
hit the shops before I meet you,’ she had confessed to her daughter
and Sarah had laughed her lovely rich laugh.
    ‘Oh God mum,
it’s about time! Make the most of it. When are you going to see
Granny?’
    ‘Well I think
I’ll go on Thursday, I’ve got a few things to do Wednesday.’
    ‘What kind of
things?’
    Sarah was
intrigued and Rebecca couldn’t really blame her. When did Rebecca
last have anything interesting to do.
    ‘Oh nothing
special. I need to go see the bank, you know what they’re like
these days. They want to give you a personal service and your own
account manager and it must be 8 years since I stepped foot in the
place.’
    Sarah had
chortled at the thought of her mum having a personal bank
manager.
    ‘Sounds like
fun! Then we’ll meet Tuesday evening, I’ll treat you to a
pizza.’
    Rebecca had
smiled, ‘That would be lovely my darling but it’s my treat and
maybe we should go somewhere a bit more upmarket?’
    ‘Don’t be silly
Mum, there is nothing more upmarket than a pizza!’ and laughing
they arranged to meet at their favourite restaurant on The
Headrow.
    Rebecca looked
at her watch. It was 3.20 and she decided to go back to the hotel
and deposit her shopping bags. She still had several hours before
she met Sarah. Perhaps she would have a bath. If the bathroom was
anything like the picture on the web site she couldn’t wait.
    The picture
didn’t do the bathroom justice and Rebecca had to hold in a little
squeak as the polite young man who showed her the room threw the
bathroom door open with a flourish. It was bigger than Rebecca’s
bedroom at home and was nothing short of palatial, full of marble,
fluffy white towels, exquisitely presented toiletries and a bath
that just invited her to jump in. The bedroom was large, the settee
soft and plump, the bed a field of soft goose down. Rebecca simply
nodded her head.
    ‘Very nice,’
she whispered then cleared her throat ‘Yes very nice thank
you.’
    She pushed a
note into the hand of the young man and then waited until she
estimated he had reached the lift before whooping and throwing
herself on the bed. Is this what happened when you had 15.7 million
pounds, a bed that reached up and enfolded you, making you feel
that you never wanted to leave it and a bathroom that looked like a
film setting? Rebecca smiled, this was going to be good.

    Wednesday
morning found Rebecca dressed in one of her new outfits and sitting
in the hotel as she waited for the Lottery advisor to arrive. She
was in a small alcove above the main reception area, away from