A Whole Lotto Problems

“Congratulations!” Barry forced a smile. His neighbour, Cole Porter, patted him on the back and turned to his wife, Barbara, for another photograph with the winning ticket. He did not notice the look of distain on Barry’s face, as the old man shoved another chocolate cannoli into his mouth.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered.

“Sorry?”

Barry looked up from the table and noticed Beverley Knolls holding a paper plate filled with an assortment of sweets. He shoved another cannoli into his mouth and ignored her. Ever patient, Beverley’s plump hands leaned over and plundered the last two chocolate cannoli, before starting on the chocolate croissants.

Noticing that the old woman was not leaving, Barry huffed and said in a crotchety manner, “What do you want, Beverley?”

“I thought you said something,” the woman said while ogling the jam tartlets. “You were mumbling, I suspect.”

“I don’t mumble,” Barry said gruffly.

“Oh, come on, Barry Mumford,” Beverley said condescendingly, “Your best friend wins two million dollars and you can’t even be happy for him?”

“I congratulated him, didn’t I?” He adjusted his brown cardigan and attempted to take a raspberry tartlet, but it was stolen away by a gnarled hand. “Hey, that was mine!”

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” The wrinkled, round face of Gerald Fink beamed. “Not anymore.” Barry waved a hand to dismiss the old man and grumbled to himself.

“He had no right to play my numbers… they were mine!” Barry blurted after a time.

“Look, Barry, you didn’t want to play this week and your numbers came up – it’s not Cole’s fault.” Beverley explained. “Just like when he won the $1,500,000 lotto last year and the $800,000 the year before – at least he’s looked after us, hasn’t he?”

“You think buying a swimming complex for the village helps us?” Barry questioned. “I don’t want to see wrinkly old bodies splashing about a pool! Some of them can’t even control their bladders!”

Beverley smiled and said, “Didn’t he get you a new bed with that lumbar support thingy?”

Barry huffed angrily. “Yeah, well, he still took my numbers.”

“Oh, enough!” Beverley snapped, “If you must know, Barbara told me that Cole has a little black notebook where he keeps his lotto numbers. So he didn’t take your numbers, he just happened to have the same numbers as you this week.”

“What notebook?” Barry inquired, his interest piqued. “I’m Cole’s best friend and he’s never said anything about a notebook.”

“Cole doesn’t have to share everything, you grumpy old codger,” Beverley said jokingly.

Barry’s eyes fell on Cole, who was happily dancing around the hall that he had built after one of his many lotto wins. This couldn’t be a coincidence. In his 82 years, Barry had learnt a thing or two about coincidences. A thought suddenly popped into his head and he smiled (however, this smile was inside his head – it did not actually manifest itself on his face).

He pretended to yawn. “I’m off to bed,” he told Beverley.

“Well, good night, Barry Mumford. Hope you wake up with a smile,” Beverley cooed, as she took her loaded plate back to her table.

As the party lingered in Cole Porter Hall, Barry Mumford hobbled with purpose across the lamp-lit streets of the Everfield Retirement Village. As he neared Raspberry Court, he steeled himself and made a quick turn into his neighbour’s front yard. The safety light turned on and Barry fished out the spare key Cole had given him years earlier. He unlocked the door and walked in, before closing it behind him.

“Now, where’s this little black notebook?” Barry muttered to himself. He made his way to the main bedroom and was astonished by the amount of gold jewellery found on the dresser. He searched the drawers of the bedside table.

“Yes!” Barry hissed. He flicked through the pages and found numbers… so many numbers! Shoving the notebook into his cardigan, Barry strode across to the front door, opened it ever so slightly, checked the street and then slipped out.

Upon returning to his house, Barry made himself a cup of tea and sat down at the table. He flicked through the notebook. “19820413224517090628, 19820518012309323738…” Barry read the list aloud and then grumbled. “What is this?” He moved through the notebook to a dog-eared page that had the numbers 20210216130408223423, 20210223052313282509 and 20210302150719293922. He stopped reading. “This means nothing! They’re just numbers!”

Going to bed that night, Barry dreamed of numbers.

A knock on the door startled him awake. He rose wearily and looked at the clock.

“For god’s sake, it’s 7:30am!” Barry shouted. He threw on his dressing-gown and, erring on the side of caution, hid the notebook discretely in his pillow case, before going to answer the door.

“Morning, Barry.” It was Cole. He looked troubled. “Uh… sorry to bother you, but… can we talk?”

Barry nodded. “Oh, sure… come on in.”

Upon seating Cole at the table in the kitchen, Barry turned on the kettle. “So, what can I help you with?”

“Um… Beverley said that you went home early last night,” Cole began, as Barry grabbed two clean mugs from the cupboard.

“Well, I wouldn’t call 10:30pm early,” Barry responded, as he grabbed the instant coffee, “But, yes, I left around that time.”

“Did you see anyone loitering around my house?” Cole asked.

Barry pretended to think hard and then shook his head, as he poured the now boiled water into the mugs. “No – can’t say I did. Why? What happened?”

Cole shrugged. Barry passed the mug of coffee to his friend and then sat himself down opposite. “Thanks. Um… It’s like… uh… my notebook – it’s missing.”

“Notebook?” Barry feigned surprise.

“Well – it’s probably more like a diary with… uh… dates,” Cole informed.

“Oh! Dates?” Barry raised an eyebrow. “Does Barbara know about it?”

Cole chuckled half-heartedly. “No, it’s dates and years and other numbers.”

Barry shrugged. “I can’t say I saw anyone.”

Cole sighed and finished his coffee. “What about..? Oh… don’t worry, I’d best be off. Sorry to call so early.”

Barry stood up and followed his friend to the door. “You could buy another.”

Cole’s face distorted and he nodded. “Yeah… but not like this one.” He sighed again and stepped out the door, then paused and turned around. “Um… Barry… uh… you didn’t happen to come into my place last night did you?”

“What?” Barry gasped in mock horror. “You think I came into your place and stole your notebook?”

“Well… uh… no, but Barb said that you were acting strange last night and she thought maybe…”

Barry looked offended. “Strange? If you must know, I had some gastric problems. But I didn’t think I needed to share that with everyone!”

“Okay… uh… sorry,” Cole apologised. “I just had to ask.”

Barry slammed the door and hobbled back to his bedroom to retrieve the notebook.

“Ha! Dates and numbers!” he exclaimed in a low tone, as he rifled through the book. “20210216130408223423… so, 2021 is the year… 02 is February… 16 makes that last Tuesday… then 13-04-08-22-34 and 23… my numbers!” Barry scanned down to the next set of numbers. “20210223052313282509… 23rd February 2021… Tuesday… 05-23-13-28-25-09… tomorrow’s numbers?”

That evening, Barry went to the local newsagency and bought himself a ticket, using the numbers found in the notebook. He clutched the ticket in his arthritic hands and hobbled back to the retirement village. “Tomorrow I’ll be a millionaire!” he muttered to himself with glee. He spent the rest of the day avoiding his neighbours. In the evening, he watered his garden and caught a brief glimpse of Barbara tending to her own garden.

“Good evening, Barb,” Barry greeted, as he felt he should at least be civil.

“Hello, Barry,” Barbara responded, almost with hostility.

“How’s Cole doing?”

“Oh… he’s doing okay,” the old lady stated, “The winnings finally came through.”

Barry gritted his teeth, but then remembered that he would soon be a millionaire himself. “That’s great to hear.” He turned off the tap and rewound his hose. “Have a lovely evening, Barb. Send Cole my best.”

The following evening, Barry sat on his bed with the notebook and his lottery ticket, watching the television. He checked his bedside table clock and sighed. “Three minutes until the draw,” he muttered. He checked that he still had his box of matches beside the clock and the cigar he purchased earlier to seal his lotto victory.

Finally the lottery music blared and Barry shuffled to the end of the bed. “Okay, here we go,” He said, holding his excitement.

The first ball dropped… 05… the next… 23… Barry grinned. The next ball… 13… then 28… “Yes! Two more,” Barry pleaded. The ball fell into the cup… 25… and the final ball… 09.

Barry gasped. “I can’t believe it – I won!” He stood up from where he sat and danced around, as much as his arthritic legs would allow him. “Yes! Stick that up your jumper, Cole Porter!” Barry lit his cigar and sat back on his bed. “What will I do first?” He asked himself, as he puffed out smoke. “Travel the world?” He inhaled his cigar again and exhaled the pungent smoke in satisfaction.

Suddenly a ruckus outside caught his attention. Barry placed his cigar down on the edge of the bedside table and went out to inspect. The sight that met him was a crowd of elderly citizens celebrating in the streets. “How do they know about my win? I never told anyone!” Barry grizzled to himself before yelling, “What’s going on with you people? It’s past 8 o’clock, you should all be in your homes!”

“Barry, we won! We all won!” Beverley screeched, her ample bosoms bouncing about as she made her way through the crowd. “Barb gave us all the numbers and… we won! We’ve all got a share of the millions!”

“Cole didn’t give me the numbers,” Barry stated grumpily.

“Oh…” Barb’s chubby cheeks went red with embarrassment.

“That’s fine,” Barry grunted, “I won on my own. I got the numbers too.”

“But I thought your numbers came up last week,” Barb said with some thought.

“Well, my new numbers came up tonight,” Barry responded, before hobbling across his lawn and yelling at the mob. “Stop with the noise and go home!”

“What’s wrong, Barry?” Cole asked, as he and his wife appeared beside the grumpy man. “Let them celebrate a little.”

Barry’s face grimaced. “What’s with you giving the numbers to everyone, except me?”

“That would be my fault,” Barbara answered with a polite smile. “I just happened to take some notes out of Cole’s black notebook, before he lost it, and decided to share it with others. Sorry, I didn’t get around to you.”

“Ha! Well, for your information, I won tonight anyway!”

“Oh, did you?” Cole contemplated what he was hearing, as Barry looked on smugly.

“Fire!” Gerald Fink yelled.

Barry turned and noticed smoke emanating from his home. “What? No!” he began to hobble across to the front door, but Cole grabbed him.

“You can’t go in there! It’s too dangerous!”

Gerald grabbed Barry’s hose and sprayed the raging flames, as sirens rang out in the distance.

“No!” Barry yelled at the flames. Tears ran down his face, as Beverley rubbed his back. Seeing that Barry was not going anywhere, Cole went to his yard and began hosing down the house from his end.

Within minutes, two fire trucks arrived and half-an-hour later the flames were gone.

“The fire started from the bedroom…” the fire sergeant turned to Barry and asked, “Did you have anything burning in there?”

Barry whimpered. “I had a cigar to celebrate my lotto win, but I put it down to investigate them… and… well…”

“There were so many winners that we all only got $20,000!” Beverley explained some days later, as she rummaged through Barry’s waterlogged abode. “Pity… you could do with that now.”

Barry nodded, as he searched for the notebook. He found nothing but ashes.