Lola pondered her fate. Since the awful truth had emerged about her marriage of inconvenience she had being having wobbly moments. His dogged pursuit of her over the years was on one hand extremely pathetic and annoying but on the other could be construed as devotion. She cast that trite view aside and had a swig of gin to purify the bad taste in her mouth before she gagged.
Regretfully she put away her legal gown and instead put up her Decree Nisi in an ornate gilt frame. She had an empty frame ready for the Decree Absolute on the other side of the mantelpiece.
Lola and Bunty had come out of the court room after the hearing and repaired to the nearest hostelry to celebrate. They watched several men writing down numbers and pledging money.
“What are you doing?” Lola drawled at them
“We are having a bit of a bet missy, we pick numbers and then get Albert’s cat to fetch balls out of a bag which we have painted numbers on, the person what gets the right balls wins the pot.” said one of the men.
“Bit of a bloody lottery if you ask me” said Bunty
“I like it! The Lottery; we were thinking what to call it!” said another faintly furry looking man
“would you like to play too ladies?” he added
Bunty nodded, “I should say so, how many numbers do you have?”
“We do 6” he replied
“Right then” said Lola “I want 9, 40 and 44”
“Hmm, I will have 19, 27 and 39 said Bunty
“What happens next”
I’ll go and get the cat said Albert
Bunty winked at Lola,.
“Can I touch our chosen balls for luck” said Bunty while furtively shoving her hand in a left over plate of fish pie that had been discarded by the landlord.
His wife was a terrible cook
“I suppose so” said the man who wasn’t Albert though he was a bit suspicious but Lola unbuttoned her shirt ever so slightly to distract.
Bunty picked up their chosen numbers and smeared them with her fishy hands.
Albert came back with a black and white Tom cat that had seen better days and let it head for the sack of balls. before too long the cat had knocked several balls out of the sack.
first one out….44.
Back in Gusette, Bunty had finished her knitting and started on a more complicated project. Her scarf she started at the court ended up ft long, she gave to Branwell; he was touched and wore it in the green house. Due to its length he kept on getting caught up on his bromeliads. By the end of the day it had stretched to 8ft. and regretfully due to being nearly garrotted on several occasions he removed it and wound it up so that the resident cat could use it as a bed.
His splendid house seemed empty to him after the cheek by jowl way of life he had been leading on tour and with a sigh he sat down by the roaring log fire and went through his mail.
Amongst the pile of tedious bills, circulars and general rubbish there was one that made his blood run cold. It seemed innocuous at first, a postcard of a wooded glen and on the reverse a smudged signature that looked like an animal print with the words “Missing you” printed on the card.
With a bound he threw it into the fireplace and shuddered.
It couldn’t be – could it?