Storymania - Just The Ticket by Sue (Sooz) Simpson

Just The Ticket
Sue (Sooz) Simpson

Just The Ticket

Alison was torn between rump steak and Chinese ribs. She found herself almost on
display in the freezer cabinet and was forced to flatten herself against its cold front, to
allow the trolley Charleston to continue around her. Decision finally made, she chose
the steak. Stew and dumplings for dinner. The usual battle would no doubt ensue when
the kids found an unretrieved piece of carrot or onion swimming in their food. The
mournful, yet defiant-I’m not eating this and you can’t make me-wail of
“I don’t like this! Bouncing off the walls to finally hide behind the Welsh dresser in the
bright cheerful dining room. One day a meal would be eaten without conflict and food
would loose all its relevance.

Meals weren’t sustenance in the Carver household, more a line of defence to separate
one warring faction from the others.

At the next chill display she agonised over Sunny-D or strawberry milkshake,
eventually putting one of each into the already heaving trolley before moving away.
But then of course Sam preferred chocolate, last time he’d had strawberry, he’d
projectile vomited on the bathroom ceiling and floor, and walls, in fact everywhere but
down the toilet. The toilet gleamed with bright porcelain perfection, untouched in its
purity, while the rest of the room resembled a Whorhorl painting.

She turned on her heel. Best get the chocolate just in case the strawberry was the
culprit that caused the pebbledash to end all pebbledashes. She collided with a
pensioner, flung her arms out to steady the old dear, and sent a pyramid of Corn flakes
flying.

Still red faced by the time she stood at the checkout she found herself behind the
woman who had just shopped for the entire British army. The checkout girl pushed the
items through the barcoder at an agonisingly slow pace. The bored expression on her
face showed that roses probably didn’t halo her front door either.

Finally she was through the narrow isle of the till way. Her bags were laden and
stacked in the trolley. The only trolley it seemed in the whole of the supermarket that
had either a wonky wheel or a mind of its own. She tried to control the gathering
momentum of her chariot with wheels off kilter, but it had a firm course of direction
set. The slight incline of the ramp and the iron will of the trolley caused her to veer
off course at an angle of forty five degrees. She pulled the beast round just in time to
avoid crashing splendidly into the wall. Shopping really should carry a high insurance.

The old hag was sitting on a bench to the side of her. She grinned inanely at the
spectacle of the harassed woman doing battle with the possessed supermarket trolley.
Biting down her irritation at the amusement this obviously caused the old woman,
Alison tried to regain what little dignity she could muster and hoped the blasted trolley
would steer a direct course as she walked past the old bat.

Change missus? Spare some change please.”

She was going to walk straight past. Really she was, but something in the old ladies
eyes caused her to halt. The lady was dirty and dishevelled right enough. She was fat
and the flesh on her hips had congealed with the flesh of her stomach, and was
infusing with the flesh of her thighs so that she spread over the bench like a dirty
melting snowman. Her eyes locked with Allison’s, they were full of pride and dignity.

Alison was hit by the blinding realisation that “There but for the grace...” What had
brought the old woman to this? Inside those eyes was a keen intelligence a shrewd
awareness that somehow seemed to hold her above the plight of her begging.

Alison found herself rooting inside various carrier bags to find her purse, she knew it
was in one of them. Eventually half the bags were unpacked into the trolley. The old
lady sat with a patient amusement on her face. Alison felt that she ought to feel shame
in front of the woman, but she didn’t know why. The lady just had one of those
forceful characters it seemed that had little to do with her current status.

Alison pulled out a pound coin, was about to hand it over and then on impulse delved
into her purse again and added a two pound coin to it.
She dropped the two coins into the outstretched hand of the strange woman.

“TA duck”

Quick as a flash the coins flew down into the huge pocket the woman held open with
her other hand. Before Alison could withdraw her hand the woman had gripped her
round the wrist with lightning fast reflexes that belied both her age and her size. Her
eyes burned into Allisons, the intensity forced her to hold the stare unable to look away.
Panicked by the sudden and fierce assault on her wrist.

“ Get a ticket dear. Be sure to get a ticket this week. Old Daisy may be daft but I
knows things see? I sees yer aurora dearie and its glowing fierce like, with bright lucky
orange. I thank ye for the coins, my needs are few and this is ample to fulfil `em. In
return I reminds yer t` buy yersen a ticket. Concentrate hard afore ye go `t sleep
t`night, `an look to yer dreams for the numbers, then buy a ticket tomorra. A word of
warning though lass, don’t be too hasty, don’t be too...”

Allison shook her hand free from the crazy old woman. She was shaken, her pulse
throbbing in her temples. The onset of a headache threatening to come unannounced
and settle itself in for a visit, in much the same way as her Mother-in-law did every so
often.

She packed the shopping into the car and then sat in the driver’s seat, waiting for her
breathing to return to normal. She grinned at herself. Fancy letting a senile old coot
like that get to you.

Alison laughed at the woman’s mystic message. She prided herself on being one of
those people who won Fifty-two pounds a year, every year on the lottery. The weekly
Ł1 saving on the price of a ticket.

The night was muggy and hot. She couldn’t sleep. Harry was snoring as only a boxer
dog can, and Bob her husband was rising to the challenge, and going full snort to
show that humans can make some pretty impressive noises too. Harry had him hands
down on farting. Though in that respect too, as dear, loveable Bob showed he could
put out some valiant effort.

She turned kicking the duvet away from her hot legs, giving them clearance and
freedom to move. The crazy woman drifted into her mind, and try as she might she
couldn’t get her to drift out again. She thought of her words, and found that in spite of
herself she was thinking about lottery numbers. It was as though the strong
personality of the witch had come along with her memory.

Alison drifted dreamily off to sleep.
She was in a park, walking by the duck pond. She watched a mother duck swimming
proudly along with her brood of fluffy ducklings following diligently behind. Alison
watched the five ducklings and was reminded of the song “ Five little ducks went
swimming one day, over the hills and far away...” Five little ducks.

She saw an old lady stoop to feed the ducks on the opposite side of the pond. Her head
came up slowly, the way that things do move slowly in dreams, and Alison saw that the
hag was amused by the confusion she caused Alison, for having the audacity to invade
her dream.

Alison moved, running through invisible treacle trying to get away from the burning,
eyes of Daisy. Her eyes looked inside you and she knew things.

If only she could run properly to get away from Daisy, but dream running is always in
slow motion and so laboured. She stopped at the bandstand leaning against a tree to
get her breath back. She reminded herself that it was all a dream, just a dream, but
still her breath came in ragged gasps, and her heart thudded in time to the boom,
boom, boom, of the drum on the bandstand.

The insistent music of the enthusiastic band caused her to look up, she stood watching
as the shiny faces in their red uniforms belted out their irritating ‘feel good’ music. It
did not make her feel good, it jarred and jolted, it was too loud, it played from within
her head. The band members all turning to look at her grinning broadly.

The man on the Tuba had a purple face, but still he aimed a sinister grin her way in
between his frequent harsh blasts of discordant exertion. Daisy beat her tambourine
with the heel of her right hand, shaking it with vigour, and grinning her damned grin.
Alison was not surprised to see her this time.

She pulled away from the tree, and lurched off down the path. Thirteen band members.
Thirteen. Thirteen. The number played again and again through her mind.

At the pavilion she found herself surrounded by a group of Secondary school children.
They were, she assumed on an art field trip. Each child held a clip board and was
probably meant to be drawing the magnificent architecture of the Butterfly house. They
were milling round her, bumping and jostling. Someone pushed her, someone else
knocked into her. They were grinning all the time with expressionless glazed eyes.

Suddenly time was frozen, against her will Alison found herself compelled to count the
heads of the twenty six pubescent kids. Twenty-six. The number danced in her brain,
and dream time recommenced. Somebody clapped loudly bringing the children to
attention they parted silently, as their teacher strode towards them. Daisy clapped her
hands again and the children all sat and continued with their sketches. Daisy’s eyes
bored into Alisons over the heads of the now industrious children. Her grin held a
gleeful malice.

Stumbling now Alison ran, soon she came to the boating pond. It was the height of
summer in her dream, and yet only a solitary boat moved along the still surface of the
water. The oarsman and his sweetheart straight out of a Victorian postcard. He in
boater and striped blazer, she twirling a white frilly parasol, her skirts like ripples of
water within the boat. She trailed one hand languidly in the water. They turned to face
Alison smiling wide toothy smiles, remaining in character. Yet the sickly turn of their
mouths held no warmth and was all the more sinister in their sweetness. The white
circle painted on the side of the boat bore the black number Twenty-seven. Daisy
stood on the jetty with a megaphone in her hand. She faced Alison and grinned her
malignant grin.

The park gate was in sight, maybe if she left the park the nightmare would be over and
she could wake in her own warm bed. How fantastic it would be to hear the combined
gusto of Harry and Bob duelling the night away with backside and sinus
accompaniment.

She opened the park gate, almost surprised to find that it wasn’t locked, she had
expected to discover that there was no escape. Wasn’t that the way of dreams?

She was on a street. An ordinary terraced street. Houses standing side to side leaning
together in a companionable chain disappearing off down the road on both sides of the
pavement. The line was broken every twenty houses or so by an intersection leading
off onto another almost identical street.

She walked down the street. Seeming to glide along, the way you sometimes do in
dreams. Across the road and a few houses down a man was leaning against the upper
windows on a ladder. A window cleaner perhaps, as she drew level he turned and
grinned at her. The same mirthless cold grin that she had come to expect. The number
of the house was twenty-nine. Number twenty-nine. At that moment Daisy rounded the
corner about forty yards down from the man up the ladder. She was pushing a pram
and making cooing sounds at a fat ugly baby, who was sat up in the large black coach
built pram. The kind that went out of fashion twenty years ago. Her head turned to
look across the street at Alison, the infant followed her gaze, and they grinned.

Further down the street a road gang of workers were digging up the tarmac. They had
erected a make shift striped portacabin tent, and were on her side of the street. She had
to walk close past them. She felt intimidated, and wanted to cross the street, but was
too stubborn even in sleep to let them notice the way they made her nervous, Alison
stared straight ahead and walked towards the half naked, sweating men. She stepped
off the pavement to walk around their little eruption in the road trying desperately to
keep her eyes forward, but was unable to. Some force stronger than her own will
pulled her head to the side to face them. They had stopped work. All of them were
looking towards her and leering suggestively. Two of them wolf whistled lewdly,
whilst another grabbed his crotch and thrust his pelvis towards her. Daisy appeared out
of the porta tent wearing a yellow hard hat. It looked almost comical perched
crookedly on top of her matted bird’s nest of tangled hair. She carried a tray with mugs
of steaming tea for the workmen, grinning her by now familiar grin. There were seven
builders. The number seven floated round in her mind, almost as though it was going
to take on form and float before her eyes like the featured number in a Sesame Street
sketch.

She moved off in a daze, not knowing what was in store for her next. The end of the
street was in sight. Would this be the end of the horrible dream? A van approached
from the south end of the street. As it drew level it stopped, a figure leaned out of the
window. She was aware of the person shouting at her, the voice came from a long way
away.

“wake up stupid!” wake up stupid. Wake up stupid. Wake up stupid. The echoes of
the snarled sentence reverberated through her as the van started up and moved on.
Daisy the driver, grinned as she pulled her mammoth upper torso back in the window.
The purple van, had been sign painted in bright yellow letters a foot high “Bonus 22”
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

Alison woke from her dream like a drowning man fighting to emerge from the
oppressive water. She gasped into instant wakefulness. And sat up, fully aware sleep
not merely receding slowly from her, but banished to the nether regions of her
tormented mind. She was sheathed in a light moist sweat, her mouth felt sour and her
breath came harshly through her diaphragm. Numbers. Numbers singing in her head,
she had to make a note of them. Moving her hand searchingly over her nightstand.
Unable to find what she was feeling for, she snapped on the light, and reached for her
puzzle book and pen. Furiously she scribbled down the precious numbers before they
drifted out of her head to be lost in the night’s darkness.

Harry was the first to wake, He blinked myopically at her several times, before shaking
his huge dumb looking head. His stump vibrated and he grinned at her.
“OK you want to play, that’s cool. I don’t mind that it’s two o clock in the morning.
Lets play. You humans really are strange sometimes.”

He got up out of his bed, shook his head again to clear the fog of sleep, adjusting to
this new playtime slot. He stretched forward bracing his front paws out in front of his
body, pushing out his chest. Then he stretched the other way, again bracing his front
paws, but pushing his backside out, allowing the stretch to travel down the length of
his body. He broke wind once loudly, and had the good grace to look shamefaced.
Fetching his rubber ring, he took it to Alisons side of the bed, His jowls dropped
along with his lower eye lids when he found himself totally ignored, Still he was an
optimistic sort and not in the least put out by this, he thought he’d try his luck with
Bob and took the ring to him, slapping it down on his sleeping face.

Bob rose like Swamp thing from the depths of the bog.
“wha` Wha`. Wha` time is it?. Waz up?. Are you all right? whas wrong? what time is
it?”

It’s all right Bob nothings wrong go back to sleep love”

Bob had turned to peer through bleary eyes at the clock, his vision was hampered by
the slobbery affections of Harry, who licked, snotted, and chuffed at him to wake up
and play.

“This is new, and its fun Dad isn’t it?. You wanna play ring with me don’t you Dad?
Huh don’t you?”

“Alison it’s two am, you don’t want to make love do you. Oh please don’t tell me you
want sex now, don’t start this again. I’m not a young man, and I have to be up in less
than three hours for work.

“No baby I’m not horny, now you just roll over and go back to sleep... Harry bed!”

She leant over and kissed Bob on the cheek. The confused dog went back to his
basket, flashing the whites of his eyes, sulking in true Boxer fashion, to show his
intense displeasure at being woken up at some ungodly hour to play. Only to be told
two minutes later to go back to bed. He did what any self respecting dog would do in
this situation. He farted.

Bob buried his head under the duvet, and Alison turned the light off.

Sleep for the rest of the night eluded her. She got up taking the puzzle book with her.
She showered, dressed and spent the rest of the night drinking coffee and planning
what she’d spend her winnings on.

At breakfast before the kids finally got themselves assembled. Alison told Bob all
about the crazy woman and about her dream. She expected no more than scorn from
Bob and she was not to be disappointed.

“Mock not, ye of little faith, you’ll see tomorrow night when the numbers are drawn.”
“She kissed him tenderly and sent him on his way to work.

Saturday night. Eight O clock and the lottery was about to be drawn. Bob had teased
her mercilessly, but she didn’t care. The more she had thought about the strange
events, the more sure she became of her conviction that she was going to be a big
winner. The ticket was clutched tightly in her hand.

The numbers faithfully recorded into the machine. The special numbers generated by
her odd dream.
5/ 13/ 26/ 27/ 29/7 and the bonus number 22.

Her hands were sweaty and she transferred the ticket from one hand to the other as she
wiped her damp palms on her worn jeans. She could hardly breathe.
Matt Turner the latest “Body on the box” had finished singing his current single that
like his previous three would go straight in at number one in the charts. He was now
poised over the button ready to start the balls rolling in this weeks Lottery.

“Good luck everybody” he cooed in his girlish young voice. He pressed the button.
The smooth deep, sultry voice of the caller over rode Mats giggle.

“Right ladies and Gentlemen, the first ball out tonight is number Four. Last drawn
three Saturdays ago ...

When the caller had reached the bonus number, Alison looked in dismay at her ticket.
Not one number corresponded. She checked the numbers glaringly displayed on the
television screen. There must be some mistake, these weren’t her numbers. 4/ 12/ 24/
18/ 35/ 6 and the bonus ball was number 40.

Above Bob and the kids hilarity she hear the cackled voice of Daisy playing in her
head.

“A word of warning, don’t be too hasty. Don’t be too hasty”. What did it all mean?
Alison fought back the tears that were pricking and threatening to spill over. She said
goodbye to the dream house they had been going to buy, and to the simple things such
as new uniforms for the kids. She managed a forced laugh. “Crazy old bloody trout”
she thought why had she ever listened to the senile old fool in the first place?

Alison drifted off to sleep quickly. She was tired after the restless night before. She
was surprised to find herself walking in the park again, by the duck pond just as she
had the previous night. Mother duck was there again with her obedient offspring. She
held her slender neck proud, happily showing off her beautiful children. As they swam
on, the little fellow at the end of the formation, began to swim slower than his siblings,
he was struggling to keep up. Mother turned round to quack a warning at him to stay
close. The nag in her voice obvious to all mothers who had to cope with dawdling
children.

Suddenly a large black Labrador burst through the reeds and landed with a splash in
the water. He began to swim strongly towards the floundering duckling. The dog
yapped with excitement and he plucked his trophy from the water. He turned and
headed back to shore. Leaving the morose mother duck quacking loudly, but to no
avail for her child was lost forever. “Mother duck said quack quack, quack, quack ...
but only four little ducks swam back. Four little ducks went swimming one day, over
the hills and far away”

Alison watched the depleted little family sadly. As if by smoky illusion and in the very Mr.Benn style. Daisy appeared at her side.

“Too hasty dearie. Too hasty” She cackled to herself as she moved off down the path
her large behind rolling like waves on the ocean.

At the bandstand the same song was playing. Um pah, um pah, boom boom. It was
just as loud and grating as it had been last time. She was about to move on, when the
purple faced tuba player caught her attention. His instrument was lowered and his face
contorted into a grimace. He clutched his chest and fell to the floor of the bandstand,
his Tuba clattering noisily onto the wooden boards beside him. Paramedics appeared
from nowhere. There are no rules of physics to be obeyed in dreams people come and
go like shadows in the light. The musician was stretched off into the waiting
ambulance.

The old lady beside Alison dabbed her eyes with a white lace handkerchief, before
turning her tear stained face to her.

“Such beautiful music but a pity you were so hasty dear” The hanky disappeared into
the large overcoat pocket, and Daisy leered up at Alison. Twelve, there were only
twelve band members left.

The children again milled round her. Excited to be out of school for the afternoon, free
to gambol like lambs in the buttercup meadow. Miss Daisy the teacher clapped her
hands to bring the children to order. She bent to look at a child’s work, and a boy and
girl nearest to the pavilion on the left, instantly took advantage of their distracted
teacher, to entwine in a long and passionate necking session. His hand groped
childishly at her budding breast. They finally broke apart, whispering something into
her ear, he pulled her by the hand and they charged off across the grass, fleeing like
the wind in case they should be caught. They disappeared round the corner of the
untelling old building, to conduct whatever business teenagers do round the backs of
imposing buildings when no adult eyes are upon them.

Daisy clapped her hands a second time.
“Now children I want to see good work. Take your time, and don’t be too hasty” Her
eyes bored into Alisons on the last four words.

Alison turned miserably away, from the remaining twenty-four children.

At the boating pool, Henry and Prudence or whoever they were, Still rowed pleasantly
along on the glassy water. Their laughter and clipped accents carried over to Alison
standing on the far bank.

Daisy raised her megaphone and shouted predictably
“Come in number twenty seven your time is up”.

Henry moved to rearrange himself for the short row back to the jetty. He dropped an
oar into the water and the boat lurched sickeningly. Prudence screamed trilly and
lunged forward in affected panic. This final motion was just too much for the little boat
to endure, with one last wobble it capsized tipping its decorative occupants, blanket
and picnic basket `an all into the cold grey water.

Alison giggled as they emerged from the five-foot deep water. Henry spluttering like a
steam engine on a hill, water dripping from his limp handlebar moustache. Prudence
slopping imprudently and blowing water from her mouth, her former perfect ringlets
hanging in lank rat tails either side of her prominent ears. The crinoline of her fine skirt
hampering her retreat from the water so that she stumbled. As she was nearing the
shallower waters she fell once more into the drink, and plopped down on her bustled
behind. There she sat, up to her corseted waist in the pool, her skirts billowing around
in a pretty circle, making her look like one of those bizarre crocheted dolls, designed to
hold toilet rolls. She batted at the water ineffectually with her hands in temper and
began screaming like a banshee. It was in Alison’s opinion most unladylike but highly
entertaining. A new boat rowed into view, it bore the number 18.

“Don’t be too hasty dear” Bellowed Daisy’s voice over the megaphone.

Out on the street things were much the same as they had been the last time. As she
drew closer to number twenty nine, she was surprised to see the window cleaner open
the window and clamber inside. At that moment sirens could be heard approaching. A
police car roared into the street, followed by a second and a third. Soon the street was
surrounded by police officers. The man in number twenty nine came out with his hands
above his head. He was handcuffed and thrown into the back of one of the police cars.

The street was presently quiet again. The burglar arrested, and the cars roared off
into the distance. Three doors down at number Thirty-five, the window cleaner
dipped his chamois into the warm soapy water and began to wash the upstairs
windows.

Daisy turned into the gate and pushed the pram up the path. “Now then young man
I’m not going to pay for portholes. Make a good job of it now, and don’t be too
hasty.”

The builders stopped work to watch Alison approaching. They began hooting and
hollering. Making crass comments and being downright vulgar. One of the Neanderthal
apes swung his pick, in an effort to impress. As the pick began its downward curve he
took his eyes off it, to gauge the effect his flabby torso was having on Alison. His
scream when the pick went through his foot. Echoed up and down the street, and
probably every other street in a three-mile radius.

Daisy appeared from the porta tent.
“Now now dear” she said manhandling the screeching builder “ come on in the tent and
lets have a look at yer, it might not be as bad as it looks, Lets not be too hasty in
calling an ambulance” they hobbled off into the seclusion of the tent. The six remaining
builders turned their attention back onto the hole in the road as though Alison was no
longer there.

Looking behind her Alison saw a purple van approaching from the North end of the
road behind her. The writing on the side said “Bonus 40.” Of course this time the
opposite side of the van was facing her.

As the van roared past, she just caught the passing words of Daisy as she flew by
“Don’t be too hasty”

At breakfast Alison didn’t share her dream with the family. They would only laugh.
She thought about the amended numbers her dream had generated. They tied perfectly
with the winning numbers of the night before.
4/ 12/ 24/ 18/ 35/ 6 and the bonus ball was 40. If only she hadn’t been so hasty.

Later in the day she needed to get some shopping but Bob had taken the kids out in the
car. She came to the unhappy decision that she’d just have to walk seeing as she
wasn’t going to be the proud owner of a brand new chauffeur driven Rolls Royce. She
felt irritated that the car had not been available to her. She had the evening roast to
prepare, and they’d be the first to moan if it was late on the table. She walked fast,
agitated. Wanting to get back and have the vegetables peeled and diced, and the meat
in the oven, in time for her to sit and watch Eastenders on the Television.

She came to the crossing. The red man on the display was warning that it was unsafe
to cross.

It was Sunday for christsake, the road was deserted and the corner was clear. She was
about to step off the pavement when once again that old woman’s words came back to
her.

“ A word of warning dearie, don’t be too hasty”

When was she going to get that batty old crone out of her mind? Sighing audibly and
not really knowing why she stepped back from the road.

At that moment a bus came hurtling round the corner, quite possibly exceeding the
speed limit. It flew past where Alison would surely have been walking if the woman’s
words had not once again invaded her thinking.

The old lady turned in her seat on the back of the bus to grin at Alison, she raised her
hand in greeting. Alison raised hers to Daisy in gratitude.

Once again in the supermarket, the crowds soon got on Allison’s nerves. On the way
out of the store she was accosted by protesters campaigning for more pedestrian
crossings in the city. She tried to move past with a polite smile, but the persistent
protester forced a leaflet into her hand.

Back home the house was still empty. She clicked the button on the kettle as she began
to unpack her shopping bag. Unfolding the crumpled leaflet she began to read.

“PLEASE HELP US, TO HELP YOU, MAKE OUR ROADS SAFER”
These are the statistics for road fatalities in this city over the last six years.

1993 Four deaths
1994 Twelve deaths
1995 Twenty four deaths
1996 Eighteen deaths
1997 Thirty five deaths
1998 Six deaths

So far this year there have been forty recorded incidents of road accidents in this city.
THE NEXT STATISTIC COULD BE YOU!
Alison made herself a coffee, and thanked Daisy from the bottom of her heart for
helping her win the lottery of life