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To celebrate how well the house build was progressing, Dorothy decided to treat herself to a course of computer-aided facial and eye treatments, which were advertised as a non-surgical facelift. She also began to experiment with new types of makeup. Whenever she had her face and neck zapped, Joan would apply mineral based foundation to cover the redness, a new look she loved.
She would have liked to recruit a suitable individual for the sole purpose of taking care of her hair, makeup and general styling, but to Jamie’s exasperation, refused to advertise. She was convinced such a person would come along when she really needed them, and when the time was right.
From: Dottie8888@chatulike.ie
To: SRedmond@chatchat.com; ANorris@talkalot.com
Date: June 19th, 2011
SUBJECT: CRAZY WOMEN AND MUSIC
Hi Girls,
It was such a shame you weren’t able to join us at the Take That concert in Croke Park last night. We had a blast. We didn’t make complete fools of ourselves, although it was a close call. There were thousands upon thousands of women in Dublin. Lots of them had travelled from Europe, and were spending a fortune staying in hotels. I think they temporarily forgot that, back home, they are respectable wives and mothers. Dear Lord, the state of some of them. It was hilarious.
At least we didn’t have to worry about catching the last train home or anything of that nature, because we all slept at Falcon. We stayed up half the night drinking and playing music so loudly one of the neighbours came around to complain. It wasn’t Helen because she was with us!
It was a fabulous evening but I woke up with a dreadful hangover and am refusing to leave the bed. I should be out playing golf, not lying here feeling sorry for myself. Ouch, my poor head and tummy. I have an extra-long email to read from Saul so bye for now. Love Dot xx
Having learned much about the self-build process in recent months, Dorothy was beginning to appreciate exactly how lucky she was to have Saul, Jake and Lauren to manage everything for her. One of her former colleagues, Maura, and her partner, Tim, had built their own home some years earlier and subsequently stated they would never again put themselves under that sort of pressure.
A bare six months into the endeavour, they had run out of money due to an unexpected flood, and their bank categorically refused to lend them more. The result was the project, which should have lasted no more than eleven months, had taken the best part of two years to complete.
Their builders kept disappearing off site for weeks at a time in order to complete jobs for other clients. When they were on-site, they got through a box of tea bags every day then complained when they ran out. Tim and Maura almost put themselves in an early grave as they did their level best to project manage everything while they both held down full-time jobs. Their limited funds had not allowed them the luxury of hiring a professional to oversee the scheme. They had ultimately survived the process, but only by the skin of their teeth.
Dorothy’s own self-build could not have been more different. All she had to do was make the easy choices, like the type of windows she would prefer, and pay the bills. Since the thorny issue of the pool had been resolved to her satisfaction, there were little or no disputes between her and the professionals. She merely had to make herself available to receive regular updates, and help with the decision making process. She had requested only minor changes to the layout of the main house, which had gratified Saul. He was still grumpy over the diving pool, and regularly made disparaging references to ‘dolphin man’.
Dorothy rapidly came to appreciate how ninety-five percent of construction problems could be easily resolved by the simple expedient of spending more money, therefore that was what she did. The likelihood of her ever getting involved in another self-build was remote. Hence, she reasoned, what was the point in scrimping and cutting corners for the sake of a few hundred thousand euro? Or even half a million?
When all was said and done, she had plenty of euro, yet no lovely house to live in. She had not exactly given Saul an unlimited budget. Nonetheless, she had made it clear he was to have whatever he needed, provided it helped to progress the build at optimum speed. Most importantly, she wanted the end result to be a first-class and flawless residence.
Even the fortieth richest woman in the land is a mere mortal and lacks the power to control the weather. Early on in the process, Dorothy had discovered the concept of something called ‘drying time’. According to Saul and Jake, this was absolutely crucial to the successful completion of any build involving bricks and mortar, and could not be rushed.
She hoped the builders would have enough of this drying time over the questionable Irish summer. After fruitlessly worrying about it for a couple of days, she resolved never to think about drying time again, and promptly forgot she had ever heard of it.
As she lay in bed feeling clammy, weak and nauseous from alcohol abuse, Dorothy scanned the email from Saul. It set out the agenda for their next meeting, and raised various issues which had yet to be tackled. After she had read it through from start to finish three times without really seeing it, she accepted the time had come to throw off her hangover.
Moving slowly and carefully, she pushed the laptop to one side and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Then she slowly stood upright and took an exploratory step forward. Her abused stomach began to churn at the unexpected motion, and she promptly forgot her weakened condition and bolted towards her en-suite, barely making it to the toilet before she threw up.
When her stomach was empty of its contents and she deemed it safe to move again, she took a long hot shower. Wrapped in her favourite pink towel, she cautiously exited the bathroom on shaky legs, wary of slipping on the tiled floor in her delicate condition, and making a bad situation ten times worse. Jamie had popped his head around the door earlier in the day, but had since gone to meet Jerome, leaving her alone in her misery.
She shed the towel without really drying herself properly, and pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and support top in lieu of a bra. The apartment was warm and she was sure her temperature was soaring due to the quantity of alcohol surging through her bloodstream. She slipped her feet into a pair of slippers and wandered into the kitchen. She managed to make herself a cup of nettle tea and some dry toast, which she carried into the small drawing room.
She had just finished it in front of the TV when, with a jolt of horror, she remembered it was Father’s Day and she had forgotten to call Joey. Earlier in the week, she had left a gift and a card in her mother’s capable hands, so at least that much had been done for him. When she got him on his mobile, he sounded surprised to hear from her, and she had to remind him of the date.
He told her Orla, Gemma, and the six younger grandchildren had taken him and Pat out for lunch, but now he was enjoying the peace and quiet, and watching the golf on Sky Sports. Interpreting his reaction to mean his feelings were by no means hurt by her failure to visit him, Dorothy sighed with relief.
She squinted at the far wall, trying to recall what state her sisters had been in the previous evening. They went out for lunch? How did they manage that when I can barely walk? She had a vague recollection of Gemma warning her not to overdo it on the wine, but decided it had probably been a dream. She realised her dad was still on the phone and, taking the hint about the peace and quiet, told him she hoped he liked his gift and quickly disconnected.
Channel surfing until she found a chick flick, Dorothy settled herself comfortably in her favourite chair with yet another cup of nettle tea, and was soon happily engrossed in the lives of the characters on screen. She hoped Jamie would not come home too soon and spoil the film for her, as she was rooting for the brunette who was hopelessly in love with the athlete, and who really deserved a successful conclusion.
To Dorothy’s satisfaction, the brunette and athlete eventually stopped behaving like a pair of demented teenagers and were rewarded for their emotional honesty with a happy ending. As the credits rolled, she saw she was just in time to catch the nine o’clock news on RTÉ. She missed the headlines, but sat through the first half, relieved to hear there had been no unpleasant incidences at the Take That concert. Unless of course, thousands of crazy, drunken women rampaging through the streets of Dublin could be classed as unpleasant.
As the anchor recapped the headlines, she almost fell off the chair in shock. It quickly became apparent she had been so busy buying property, having fun and drinking to excess, the sporting fixtures calendar had completely slipped her mind. Hours earlier, Rory McIlroy had won the 111th U.S. Open Golf Championship with a record-breaking score of 16 under par. Feeling shaky, and not only from over-indulgence in alcohol, Dorothy dragged herself into her bedroom and retrieved her laptop where it lay abandoned on the bed.
She was about to fire it up when she saw her phone on the bedside table. Deciding to use it instead, she perched gingerly on the side of the bed and opened her inbox. Sure enough, she had received a number of messages from institutions devoted to gambling. Taking the decision to wait until she was feeling more like her usual self before reading them, she put the phone down again and set about getting ready for bed.
After crawling into her PJs, she made herself drink a cup of the valerian tea that had stood her in such good stead during her trip to Rome and, as a result of this disciplined act, slept better than she deserved.
The next morning, grateful her hangover was pretty much a thing of the past, and resolving to watch her alcoholic intake in future, Dorothy checked her emails properly this time. She was astounded to discover she had won over two million euro. When Jamie made an entrance looking rather the worse for wear, she was prostrated on her favourite sofa, laughing and crying all at the same time.
‘It would appear 111 is most definitely my lucky number,’ she told a bleary-eyed and confused personal trainer.
Having fasted for most of the previous day, she made an extra-large lunch and sat at the kitchen table to enjoy it in solitude with only the paper for company. It was then she noticed an article about the Laura Lynne Foundation, which had just opened its new children’s hospice, the only one of its kind in the country.
Feeling it was a sign it had happened on the same day she had won such a healthy sum, she made out a substantial cheque to the hospice, added a brief note, and left it in an envelope for posting. As with every donation she made, she requested either ‘discretion’ or ‘no publicity’.
She did not want her name to end up in the hands of the media as a result of some grateful recipient finding him or herself unable to resist the urge to thank her publicly. If Bel was correct (and there was no reason to think otherwise), it was merely a matter of time before she found herself in the public eye. For now, thankfully, things were good.
From: Dottie8888@chatulike.ie
To: SRedmond@chatchat.com
Date: June 22nd, 2011
SUBJECT: SPORT AND TRUSTS
G’day Si,
I had the (some might say crazy) notion of creating my own charity, but when I sat down and thought it through, I realised I would be taking on too much. I think I would be surplus to requirements because there are already so many great organisations out there. I went online and found a charitable trust that will administer any fund on my behalf. I think it’s a fantastic idea, and it will save me lots of time, money and stress.
I made an appointment to go in and see them, and have pledged one million euro for amateur sporting clubs, especially the less popular ones like the tennis, cricket, rowing, and of course the golf. I told them I have strong feelings about more young people getting involved in golf.
I sent you a parcel earlier today. I was in town yesterday and saw a maxi dress I knew you would love. You will probably get lots of use out of it as the Australian summer is eight months long. The girl in the shop where I bought it is five feet eleven. She very kindly tried it on and it fit her perfectly. It should be long enough for even your gazelle legs. Open it carefully. I hope all is well there with you. Hi to C. Dot xx
There was a time when Dorothy would not have hesitated to tell everybody she knew about her win on the golf, but such a time had long since passed. A wiser woman than she had been six months earlier, she forced herself to sit down and think long and hard about the consequences of her actions.
How would her friends and family feel if she suddenly announced that, in addition to winning €138,495,696 in January, she had subsequently won an additional €2.2 million on a lucky bet? Not just because she had taken a chance on the number 111 and on the word of her golf pro, but also because she had seen purple lights dancing around Georgie’s head, and the clairs had given her a little nudge. As a direct result of these odd events, she had thrown caution to the wind and bet an enormous sum of money on one man, even though she had never placed a bet before, and was essentially a virgin gambler.
Would they be pleased for her? She seriously doubted it. They might feel she had already received her fair share of good fortune, and actively resent her for this latest stroke of providence.
She was mindful she was possibly misjudging them. Yet after their reaction to the solidarity bonds, and the way the villa purchase had almost become a free-for-all, Dorothy was not prepared to take a chance. Having mulled it over for a day or two, she resolved to keep schtum about the true source of the two million.
If anybody enquired whether or not she had placed a bet on Rory, she planned to lie and say she had won a thousand euro and donated her winnings to Barnardo’s, the children’s charity. Lying like that was bad, but was better than the possible consequences of being honest. Besides, they all knew she was a novice gambler, and were unlikely to even raise the topic in her presence.
Having arrived at her decision, she felt better. All she had to do now was give Georgie a thank you gift. She did not want to make a fuss, but at the same time was determined to give him something. After all, if it had not been for him, she would never have taken a chance. Dorothy made the necessary arrangements with her bank, and at the end of her next lesson handed the pro a fat envelope containing twenty thousand euro.
‘Georgie, that’s a little thank you for giving me the tip on Rory. I eh...I took your advice. I bet on him back in April, and you can imagine the rest.’
A startled expression crossed the pro’s rather weathered countenance as he peered into the envelope. His pupil was more than a little surprised to find herself unexpectedly grabbed and enveloped in a warm hug. ‘Thank you, Dorothy,’ he said gruffly, ‘this means a lot to me.’
Releasing her, he took a step back and grinned rather sheepishly, clearly ashamed of his sudden unmanly behaviour. ‘I had a bet myself,’ he said rather hoarsely. ‘I won a grand. How much did you win?’
For a moment, she was sorely tempted to tell him the truth. Doubtful he would be able to keep something so juicy a secret, and positive the news would be all over Druid’s Glen within the week, she wisely refrained.
‘It was a healthy win, Georgie, although I’d prefer to keep it quiet if you don’t mind. I’ve recently noticed folks can sometimes get a bit funny about things like that. I mean other people’s good fortune. I hope you’re not offended.’
‘Not at all,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘We do tend to be a nation of begrudgers after all, so you mustn’t worry about what folks are saying about you.’
‘Do people talk about me?’ she turned her brown eyes on him apprehensively.
He blushed, clearly wishing he had not started the conversation. ‘They say you’re a big lottery winner, that’s all. Is that true?’
‘Yes, it’s true. Which is the reason I don’t want anybody to know I cleaned up on the golf as well. Even my own family would find that hard to deal with and they love me!’
Georgie smiled at her understandingly. ‘You might have a point there. Will you be placing a bet on the British Open, do you think?’
‘There’s another one?’ she asked incredulously.
Georgie threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘Yes, there’s another one. It is golf season, after all.’
Dorothy patted him on the shoulder as she replied, ‘On the one hand, I feel I should quit while I’m ahead, although I suspect you might be lucky for me. If you decide to place a bet yourself, by all means keep me posted.’
With that, they parted amicably. Dorothy headed off to visit her parents for the usual cup of tea. In the meantime, Georgie called his wife to let her know he was unexpectedly in a position to buy her the car she so desperately needed. At first she thought he was playing a prank and did not react as he had hoped.
However, when he explained what had occurred, and assured her he would have plenty of cash left over to pay off the crippling credit card debt which had haunted them for the past year, Alma burst into tears at the other end of the line.
With the exception of his spouse, Georgie never mentioned to a living soul that the Druid’s Glen Lottery Blonde (as she was known by the members) had enjoyed a big win on the U.S. Open.
