No. This can’t be serious. This has to be a mistake. The winning lottery numbers cannot possibly be 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 44. That’s not a lottery combination, it’s a . . . it’s an act of torture.

And I was winning. I was winning.

“Look at that!” my mum’s saying. “Absolutely incredible! One–two–three–four–five–forty-four.”

“And why should that be incredible?” replies Dad. “It’s as likely as any other combination.”

“It can’t be!”

“Jane, do you know anything about the laws of probability?”

Quietly I get up and leave the room, as the National Lottery theme tune blares out of the telly. I walk into the kitchen, sit down at the table, and bury my head in my hands. I feel slightly shaky, to tell you the truth. How could I lose? I was living in a big house and going on holiday to Barbados with all my friends, and walking into Agnès b and buying anything I wanted. It felt so real.

And now, instead, I’m sitting in my parents’ kitchen, and I can’t afford to go on holiday and I’ve just spent eighty quid on a wooden bowl I don’t even like.

Miserably, I turn on the kettle, pick up a copy of Woman’s Journal lying on the counter, and flick through it—but even that doesn’t cheer me up. Everything seems to remind me of money. Maybe my dad’s right, I find myself thinking dolefully. Maybe Cut Back is the answer. Suppose . . . suppose I cut back enough to save sixty quid a week. I’d have £6,000 in a hundred weeks.

And suddenly my brain is alert. Six thousand quid. That’s not bad, is it? And if you think about it, it can’t be that hard to save sixty quid a week. It’s only the same as a couple of meals out. I mean, you’d hardly notice it.

God, yes. That’s what I’ll do. Sixty quid a week, every week. Maybe I’ll even pay it into a special account. That new Lloyds high-yield sixty-day access account with the tiered interest rates. It’ll be fantastic! I’ll be completely on top of my finances—and when I’ve paid off my bills I’ll just keep saving. It’ll become a habit to be frugal. And at the end of every year I’ll splash out on one classic investment like an Armani suit. Or maybe Christian Dior. Something really classy, anyway.

I’ll start on Monday, I think excitedly, spooning chocolate Ovaltine into a cup. What I’ll do is, I just won’t spend anything. All my spare money will mount up, and I’ll be rich. This is going to be so great.

OCTAGON — flair • style • vision

Financial Services Department

8th Floor, Tower House

London Road, Winchester SO44 3DR

Ms. Rebecca Bloomwood Charge Card Number 7854 4567

Flat 2

4 Burney Rd.

London SW6 8FD

2 March 2000

Dear Ms. Bloomwood:

Our records suggest that we have not received payment for your latest Octagon Silver Card bill. If you have paid within the last few days, please ignore this letter.