Ailsa quietly cleaned up the debris of her youngest son’s brief and as usual uninformative visit and thought of his older brother, currently employed sweeping the streets as repayment for his somewhat antisocial practice of stealing other people’s cars. “You have to love them. But you don’t have to like them” she repeated.

She slowly climbed the stairs and paid a last visit to her bedroom. She softly touched the pink candlewick bedspread. “Goodbye bed” she whispered. She moved into each of the boys’ rooms. “By boys. Be good” and surprised herself with a doubting laugh. In the bathroom she saw her husband’s toothbrush, now alone; hers was packed. Softly squeezed the little yellow duck that had been her bath-time companion for so many years and then, on impulse, she took him with her. “I’m not leaving you to THEM” she said. Down the stairs and into the sterile dining room. Only used at Christmas. Cold and clean, it had no charm. The cheap pine dining table and matching chairs had cost them £8 a month for 12 months. She wouldn’t miss it. She hovered at the threshold to the lounge. She didn’t enter. This wasn’t really her domain. He lived in there. She simply cleaned it because she knew that he never would. She pulled the door to. She turned and saw her battered brown suitcase beside the front door. “I’m coming” she sang to it going back into the kitchen and placing the card that she had written for him on the table.

She knew what would happen, and it did. The door bell rang and she opened the front door. That part she was certain of. She had expected an oldish man to be standing there. In fact, her caller was about 30, female and smartly turned out in a chanel suit, she recognised the buttons, light grey in colour over a crisp cotton shirt. Expensive black court shoes, long legs encased in sheer tights, and a broad smile. Such shiny teeth. “Are you ready? The car’s waiting”. The girl looked at Ailsa’s suitcase and reached out her hand. “I’ll take this for you”. Ailsa closed the door behind her and locked it. Then, on an impulse she posted her key through the letter box. The girl looked at her and shrugged. “OK. First stop the awards centre. We’ve booked you into the Ritz for tonight and the George IV in Paris from tomorrow for the rest of the week. That was right wasn’t it?” Ailsa nodded affirmatively. “I’ve never handled a £30 million pound lottery winner before” the girl sighed. “I do so want everything to be right for you. Are you ready?” Ailsa took one look back at her old home and then, with a new found definition in her voice replied “I’m ready”!