Lottery dreams

It might never have happened if the weather had been better. If it hadn't been pissing down and we had been able to go for a stroll after Sunday lunch, then my married daughter wouldn't have got bored and started musing about what we would do if we won a lottery jackpot. My son had immediately started listing expensive high performance cars that he'd like to try. His partner insisted that they should look for a nicer house first. My daughter was all for taking her little boy travelling to see the world before he had to start school, while her husband thought they should invest in a workshop so that he could turn his carpentry hobby into a business.

I stayed pretty detatched, reading my paper while the arguments raged. I wasn't particularly interested in what my wife's contribution would be either. Why? Well, for example, this morning I had gone into the kitchen to help prepare lunch and she'd knocked a cup off the worktop to smash on the floor. It was all my fault, of course. I was stupid for leaving it there. I just couldn't be bothered to argue anymore so I went and found something else to do that didn't involve being anywhere near the bad tempered bitch. So, as you can imagine, when she started describing the beautiful country cottage that she and I would buy, I just zoned out.

"Oh, that sounds lovely, Mum," Anne said. "Doesn't it, Dad?"

I looked up. "Sorry, What?"

My wife glared at me. "Were you not listening?"

I look back at her, blankly. "If you want someone's attention, surely the logical approach is to say their name first and then ask the question. Unless of course your objective is to make them look foolish; but that would be childish, wouldn't it?"

Our son, Pete, intervened. "How would you spend your winnings, Dad?"

"I try not to think about it," I replied.

Before I had chance to explain, Lynne, the she-bitch from Hell, spoke over me. "Oh, I'm sure he'll have some pompous reason. You know what he's like."

And that summed up our relationship for the last ten years. 'You know what he's like.' She couldn't even be bothered to name the particular personality shortcoming that was pissing her off at that moment anymore; though she had listed them in detail in the past; often. Had she been perfect herself, that might have been understandable but any, any, criticism of her met with sulks and the silent treatment for weeks.

Anne obviously regretted starting this conversation and tried to change the subject but my wife was determined to make me uncomfortable. "Why don't you think about it?" She sneered. "Can't you think of anything fun to do with money?"

Ah, so this was a dig at the fact that, although we both worked and were fairly comfortably off, we weren't wealthy, so holidays and expensive entertainments had to be rationed. Not avoided, but we could only afford one overseas trip per year and apparently that was my fault.

"There's all sorts of things that you can do with money," I observed. "But first of all, you have to know what budget you have."

Again, she looked scornfully at me, "Christ! He needs a bloody budget before he can even think about having fun."

The kids and their significant others were getting uncomfortable now, so I tried to close the discussion down. "I simply mean that unless I knew how much money I'd be getting, there's no point in dreaming how I'd spend it. I mean, you can't buy an island in the Caribbean for a few hundred thousand, but you could buy a fancy car. So, unless you know how much you're talking about, where do you draw the line? Anyway, I don't see the point in fantasising about things I'll probably never be able to afford."

"A million," she said flatly. "We've shared a ticket and won six million pounds between us and split it six ways. You have a million to spend; what are you going to buy?"

It hadn't always been like this. We actually loved each other at first. Even after the kids were born, we parented them together as a team. It was probably after about fifteen years, when Anne was just into her teens, that Lynne seemed to start to lose respect for me. Not all the time; but enough that each episode shrank my affection for her a little bit more. By the time we reached our fifties I just couldn't be bothered any more. In fact, I got angry with myself if she said something that upset me, just because I really didn't care. I stayed, simply because it was more convenient than leaving.

"A million pounds," I said. "Just for me to spend?" I looked at Anne and then at my wife.

My daughter must have realised, by the look on my face that her mum had overstepped. "I don't want to do this any more," she pleaded. "It was my idea and I think it's getting out of hand."

The others seemed to feel the same but Lynne would not let it drop. "Come on then. Let's hear Mr. Thoughtful's ideas."

I put my paper down and sat back. "I think that I would buy a nice little cottage somewhere warm. Probably in the South of France. Not too far from an airport so that I could come back and visit the kids." She was looking puzzled now. This wasn't the narrative she'd anticipated.

The room was deathly quiet as I continued. "If I'm lucky there may be one or more widows or divorcees in the village. Perhaps I could approach one of them to help me learn to cook using the local produce. Maybe she'd find my helplessness and British accent cute, and we'd fall into bed. In my fantasy, the first time would be wild and passionate and we'd just fuck like rabbits over the kitchen table. The second time would be in the shower and, after we'd soaped each other all over, I'd press her against the wall and take her from behind. Then we'd go to bed and make love. I would revel in sharing my bed with a woman who actually wanted and desired me. A lover who wants to feel my hand caressing her thighs, my fingers slipping inside her while she strokes my cock."

I looked at my family as they realised what I was implying. "Eventually. I'd mount her and she'd look me in the eyes as she writhed in ecstasy and begged me to fuck her harder and harder until we both collapse in a sweaty, lust satiated, heap."

"Then, after six months, I can apply on-line for a divorce and live happily ever after. Did you know that the law changed in April, and now you don't even need to give a reason? Nope, just say that you're over it and, once you've lived apart for six months, it's done. Tell you what; I'll even pay all of the six hundred pounds fee out of my own winnings. It won't cost you a penny."

I sat back in my chair and picked the paper up. "See," I said. "I have dreams too."