Read Game Theory for Free Online Page B

couldn’t rid myself of a nagging thought.
    ‘Gutless?’ I said, interrupting him in full flow.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Are you on the internet?’
    ‘Duh, dude. It’s an online game.’
    ‘Okay. Could you check the lotto numbers for me, please?’ I could have used my phone but it’s pre-paid and I was low on credit.
    Gutless took his eyes away from the screen and gave me an incredulous look.
    ‘I’m in the middle of a death match, man. Can’t it wait?’
    ‘I guess,’ I said. ‘How long?’
    ‘Well, shit . . .’ His screen exploded with flashes of light and the sound of panicked voices dribbled from one headphone earpiece. Gutless turned back to his computer and the barrel of a machine gun loomed up in the screen’s foreground. I waited while he did whatever needed to be done. This appeared to involve crawling through a realistic swamp, bursts of gunfire, considerable swearing and even more smoke. At one stage, the machine gun dipped out of sight and a hand grenade appeared briefly. A flash of light and an explosion followed. It was incredibly loud and I was getting only half the sound effects. God knows howGutless’s ears were dealing with the strain, but I reckoned he’d be stone deaf by the age of thirty.
    Anyway, I returned my eyes to the television and tried to get the numbers up again in my mind: 10, 13 and 27. I was sure of those. And now I knew why they seemed so familiar. The numbers I’d given Summerlee. I’d just made them up on the spot, but I thought they were the first three.
    Eventually, Gutless must have succeeded in wiping out sufficient of the enemy because the noise abated and he half-turned in his chair.
    ‘Lotto, man? You serious?’ I nodded. He turned back to the screen and brought up a small Google window, though the game continued in the background. He typed a few letters, selected from the drop-down options and within twenty seconds, the numbers were on the screen. I sat on the side of his bed and peered over his shoulder.
    10, 13, 27, 28, 39, 41. Supplementary numbers 7, 21.
    I couldn’t remember. Not exactly. But I was pretty damn sure she had most of those. If she had bothered to get the ticket at all, of course. She hadn’t mentioned it to me again. I pulled out my mobile phone and excused myself from Gutless’s bedroom. I don’t think he heard or noticed me leaving. His bedroom is close to the back door, so I slipped out into the garden. The last thing I wanted to do was run into his old man. He’d probably want my opinion on Syria, and unfortunately I didn’t have one.
    Summer’s number is in my phone, even though I never call herand she never calls me. I pressed to connect. Her phone rang for what seemed like ages and I was sure it would divert to message bank, but then she picked up.
    ‘Hello?’
    The noise was horrendous. Of course. Summer’s eighteenth birthday do was never going to be a quiet affair. I wondered if her two hundred mates had drunk themselves into oblivion and spread wall-to-wall vomit around the public conveniences. How can anyone have two hundred mates? I’ve got one, Gutless, and he probably doesn’t even count. It will be a sad occasion, my eighteenth birthday. Me and Gutless in a pizza place, him talking about video games and me wondering where my life had gone wrong.
    ‘Summer?’
    ‘Who the fuck’s this?’ She was bellowing into the phone, competing with a song in the background that could loosen your fillings. At least it wasn’t Spider’s band. This had a semblance of harmony.
    ‘It’s me. Jamie.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘JAMIE.’
    ‘Jamie?’
    ‘Yes.’
    I was glad I hadn’t been invited. If this was the quality of conversation you could expect on Summer’s big day, then I was better off talking to Gutless. At least I could hear him, even though I didn’t want to.
    ‘Whaddya want?’
    ‘Did you get lotto tickets for tonight’s draw?’
    ‘WHAT?’
    ‘Lotto tickets. Did you get them?’
    ‘I can’t hear you.’
    ‘Never