I WAS IN PRISON for the whole of Wednesday. Prisoners were allowed newspapers and I speed-read the front page headline: ‘Wotta Lot o’ Lotto!’ Huh. Another undeserving lottery millionaire. Why couldn’t I get a look in? I often picked the winning numbers. One of these days I’d have to buy a ticket. I was seething. Then the name of the winner leaped out at me. I knew her! It was Bounteous Brenda from Bromley. My luck was turning. She owed me a favour. Four years back, I had helped her move. Getting her twenty-two-stone bulk into a wheelbarrow and pushing her all the way to Bromley was no mean feat. It certainly left my feet feeling mean. I remember her saying if there was anything I ever wanted, and she meant anything apparently, I could call on her anytime.
That night phantoms, doubt and fear assailed me in the prison cell. I failed to get to the exam room on time and my mother appeared except she looked like a skeleton and she pointed at me, laughing and cackling madly. With all that going on, it’s no surprise my cellmate and I got no sleep.
As expected, I was released the next day. But they gave me a caution: ‘The contents of takeaway apple pies might be hot.’
Eric Preet’s Week of Sins continues tomorrow!