Short Story
The Winds of Chance “I don’t suppose there’s any chance we could do a deal?” Laura said sweetly. “You know, woman to woman?” The lady in charge of the tombola rolled her eyes. “It’s five goes for a pound or one for twenty-five pence.” She gave Laura a withering look. “No deals.” “I know, but I’ll really like to buy that.” Laura pointed. She’d spotted a bottle of perfume, The Winds of Chance, on the tombola table. Her mother used to wear it when Laura was a girl. It was discontinued years ago. Just a cheap perfume, worth nothing to anyone, but so many happy memories to Laura. “This is not a shop,” the woman snapped. “Do you want to buy a ticket or not?” “I’ll have five then,” Laura nodded anxiously. The woman took Laura’s pound without even looking at her. “Fetch me a cuppa, Janice,” she shouted across to the refreshments tent while rolling the tombola barrel. “I’m spitting feathers over here.” Laura allowed the barrel to stop and reached in, praying that number ten was somewhere between her fingers. She had two winning tickets – a carton of long-life milk and a bottle of anti-dandruff shampoo – but number ten was not among them. “I don’t suppose I could do a swap, could I?” “No swaps,” the woman grunted. Laurae had one pound left in her purse, the odds weren’t good. A young boy nudged her aside, threw some change on the table and said, “One ticket please.” “Feeling lucky?” Laura smiled. “Yep, I’m going to win those sweets.” He thrust his chin at a tall jar of cola cubes with all the confidence of youth. “Be lucky,” she laughed. He opened the ticket in his sticky fingers. It was number ten. “It’s that bottle of cheap scent.” The lady smirked at Laura as she handed him the perfume. “What am I supposed to do with that?” The boy looked at the perfume with disgust. “Give it to your mum,” the woman shrugged, “or bin it, for all I care.”
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“Can’t I swap it?” the boy asked hopefully. “No swaps,” the woman snapped. “I don’t do deals.” “Or,” Laura interjected quickly, before the boy started crying, “you could swap it with me?” She held up the milk and shampoo enticingly. The boy pulled a face. Fair enough, Laura thought. “How about I buy you a ninety-nine instead?” she suggested, wondering if she even had enough money for that. “Raspberry sauce and a flake?” He contemplated the offer for a moment. “Don’t like ice cream,” he said finally. “No?” She remained calm. “What do you like then?” “Them sweets,” he said, nodding at the jar. “Okay,” Laura sighed, handing the woman her last pound coin, “let’s have another go then, shall we?” Four tickets later and Laura was the proud owner of a jar of piccalilli. There was only one ticket left to open. The boy fidgeted at her side, staring hard at the jar of sweets as though willing it into his possession. “You’re not going to be happy,” Janice called over shrilly from the refreshment tent. “We’re all out of milk.” “You know I can’t abide tea without milk,” the woman huffed. “Good job I’ve got some on here somewhere.” She searched the tombola table as Laura peeled open the last ticket. It was not a winner. The boy’s bottom lip wobbled, but Laura realised she had one last card to play. “I think you’re looking for this.” Laura held up the carton of long-life milk she’d won and smiled sweetly. “Now, are you finally ready to do a deal?”
By Jackie Brewster
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