A CHANGE OF FORTUNE

Jack led a lonely life as a night security officer, four nights a week. Every evening just as the sun dipped below the horizon, he arrived at the industrial complex ready to begin his shift. After signing in the logbook, he approached the massive ten-foot-high gates that enclosed the sprawling factory complex. He took three robust chains and wrapped them tightly around the sturdy gate frame, ensuring they were secure against unauthorised access.

At the points where the chains intersected, Jack attached a large, heavy-duty padlock. With a satisfying click, he snapped it shut, pulling on each chain once more to double-check their tightness. The sound of metal clinking echoed in the quiet night, a reassurance to him that he had done his job well.

Once the gates were secured, he embarked on a meticulous patrol of the perimeter. The factory complex was surrounded by a high, imposing fence designed to deter intruders, but Jack knew that vigilance was crucial. He walked the grounds under the cover of darkness, carefully observing every shadow and sound. To maintain an element of unpredictability, he deliberately varied his patrol schedule; he adjusted the intervals between patrols, ensuring that anyone with ill intent would have no way to predict his movements.

As the night stretched on, Jack found solace in the rhythmic monotony of his rounds. The stillness of the factory complex at night became both his sanctuary and his prison, a place where the weight of solitude hung heavily in the air. Each step he took was a reminder of his responsibility to protect the property, but also a reminder of the quiet life he led.

It hadn’t always been like that. As Jack settled in to watch the array of security video screens, he pulled his chair closer to the small heater, unscrewed the top of his thermos, poured himself a warming cup of coffee, and reached into his small plastic container, taking out a peanut butter sandwich. He smiled to himself as he did so; since childhood, peanut butter had been his favourite spread, often mixed with strawberry jam, syrup or honey. Today, though, it was plain peanut butter with a generous layer of butter. When his children were of school-going age and the morning routine included making their lunch boxes, his wife would admonish him for bending to the children's request to make their sandwiches, as she preferred to fill them with more nutritious contents like chopped egg and cucumber or tomato and cheese.

He found that at the age of 72, all of that was behind him, and his life had descended into loneliness, its presence more noticeable at night. His circle of friends had diminished over the years, some moving out of state in their retirement and others succumbing to incurable medical conditions. He lived in a small timber cottage on the edge of town, which he had bought with his limited savings soon after the accident that claimed the life of his beloved Jane and the bad loss he incurred in a business partnership that had gone belly up. He had spent his working career selling heavy-duty farm equipment, rising to a managerial level until his company was eaten up in a merger, leaving him out in the cold but with a reasonable golden handshake. Foolishly, he had taken the bulk of this windfall to invest in a small startup, which went horribly wrong, leaving him with meagre savings, and if not for Jane’s income and savings, life would have been difficult for both of them. He had always blamed himself for the accident and carried an enormous burden of guilt. The two of them had spent a week fishing in the lakes region, and on the morning they were due to check out of their lakeside cabin, the heavens had opened up with driving rain and hail, making for very unsafe driving conditions, but they had no option but to leave as the cottage had been booked by another guest and there was no alternative nearby. He had convinced Jane that he would be careful. The logging truck loomed up at them out of the gloomy conditions. It was so sudden that Jack had no option but to try avoiding the impact, but he was too late; the truck slammed into the passenger side of the vehicle and killed Jane instantly. Jack woke up in the hospital two days later, his son and daughter by his side. Both of his children had later moved overseas, and over the years, they had all drifted apart.

His daughter would phone him from time to time to check up on him, but sadly, he and his son had fallen out over the death of Jane, as he continuously blamed Jack for her death, questioning his driving ability, as well as failing to understand that the weather on that day was totally unsuitable for driving. The more his son picked on him, the more he convinced himself that the fault was all his. Jack tried to shut out the dark thoughts plaguing him: ‘the devil's playground,’ he would say to himself, trying to shut out the memories.

He picked up the remote for the small television set and switched through the channels until he found a sports channel showing highlights of the last Football World Cup.

Daybreak washed over the industrial estate, and a glimmer of sunshine poked through the gaps in the factory buildings, reflecting off the metal sheeting and glinting on the windows. Jack had packed his small backpack in preparation to finish his shift. Looking at his watch, he saw it was 6.00 am, and soon the factory staff would arrive. He walked to the front gate, unlocked it, and stood ready to receive the first arrivals. ‘Hiya, Jack, ’ Tony, usually the first to arrive, shouted out the window of his truck. ‘All well last night, ’ Jack replied with a ‘Yeah, all good and morning to you. Looks like a nice day ahead.’ Tony replied, ‘Have a good one,’ as he accelerated through the opening.

Jack briefed Pete, the day shift officer, on his uneventful shift and handed him the logbook. “Have a good day’ Jack said as he made his way to his SUV. Staff were now pouring into the Industrial estate as Jack eased his way out of the gate and into the morning traffic. He turned up the radio to listen to the news and soon abandoned the news stations, muttering under his breath that the world was in a mess and there seemed to be no end to the madness. As if in protest to the news channels, he turned the radio on high volume to Neil Diamond singing Sweet Caroline, one of his favourite pieces of music, but with a sad undertone, as when he first met Jane, he would often sing it to her, saying ‘You are my sweet Caroline.’

He sang along with the set of Neil Diamond songs as he drove out of the built-up Industrial area, making his way to Lakes Way and his favourite coffee shop built on an old jetty extending from the lakeshore. ‘Your usual, Debbie said as Jack walked up to the counter to place his order. ‘Thanks, Debbie and good morning to you. It's beautiful outside. I’ll grab a table outside.' Jack had been frequenting the coffee shop for a while and always looked forward to seeing Debbie, feeling a tad disappointed on the days that she wasn’t there. He knew that she was widowed and, like him, seemed to keep to herself despite her gregarious demeanour. She lived above the coffee shop, which she had converted from a derelict waterside fishing cabin belonging to her late Father. He had, on occasion in the past, thought to ask her out for a meal, but had never picked up enough courage and could not bear the thought of her rejecting him; better to keep things as they were, he had thought.

The young, pretty waitress placed a mug of cappuccino in front of him, cheerily saying, ' Enjoy,’ shortening the sentence as seemed to be the habit of the younger generation these days, 'Your order is on its way.’

Jack lingered for a while and ordered a second cappuccino, enjoying the view and the warmth of the morning sun. Small leisure craft were making their way onto the lake on the way to their favourite fishing spots. Jack had given up fishing many years ago, considering it unlucky after what had happened to him years earlier. He knew he was being silly, but Jane enjoyed fishing with him so much that it had become their passion over the years. His thoughts were interrupted by Debbie. The coffee shop had cleared from the morning rush. ‘Penny for your thoughts, ’ she said as she sat down opposite him. He felt himself flush slightly as he caught a whiff of her lavender-scented perfume. ‘Just enjoying the peace and quiet and watching people out and about.’ He replied. ‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’, she concurred. ‘I am having a small celebration next weekend and wondered if you would like to join me and a few friends, nothing flashy, but you are welcome to come, in fact, I would like you to come.’ She emphasised. Jack was a little taken aback, as he never thought she would consider him such a friend. “Of course, I would be delighted’ he stumbled over his words and cleared his throat. He loved her smile and the small wrinkles it created around her blue eyes. She tucked stray blonde hairs behind her ear. ‘That’s fixed then, my place at 6.30 next Sunday, you know where I live.’ She pointed to the flat above the shop.’Looking forward to it, Jack had regained his composure. ‘Can I bring anything? ‘No, just yourself’ There it was, that cheeky smile playing on her lips. Jack thought his heart was beating a little faster than usual.

Jack felt he could have skipped to his car as he fastened his seatbelt and pressed the starter. The radio immediately sprang to life, and now it was playing a Roy Orbison set. ‘Pretty Woman,’ Jack sang along with the volume turned high.

Sunday couldn’t come soon enough for Jack; he managed to get through the week. On Fridays, he usually did his grocery shopping and any other business. Saturdays were usually spent in his garden and doing household chores before he would go into his small studio in the converted second bedroom. He had taken up painting after he had lost Jane and found it fed his soul, listening to his favourite music whilst he explored different techniques and subjects. It was what had first brought him into contact with Debbie, who had seen him painting beside the lake in front of the coffee shop one day, admired his work, and offered to hang some pieces in her cafe. She had carefully selected pieces from his portfolio, and he had helped her hang them; this shared intimacy was the beginning of his infatuation with her.

Jack was not a gambling man, but one vice he had was to buy a weekly lotto ticket on Saturdays using a combination of the same numbers each week, Jane’s and his birth dates. His stake was never high, and he limited himself to one ticket combo a week, knowing that people in his position often became heavily involved in gambling out of loneliness. He had an online lotto account and, with it, realised how easy it was to get hooked on online gambling, but he had also promised himself a modest weekly wager, realising that his chances of a big win were millions to one. It would make his future more secure if he had a big, lucky win. He was only working to make ends meet and would have preferred to be fully retired so he could pursue his various hobbies and interests. His modest wage covered his weekly expenses; he dreamed of travelling to other parts of the world, maybe a cruise, a painting holiday in Tuscany, and perhaps a visit to his children overseas to meet the grandchildren.

He was putting the finishing touches to a piece of artwork when his mobile buzzed and bounced on the table next to him. ‘Hello, ‘Is this Jack Sloane? ’ the voice said. ‘Who is this?’ Jack said irritably, he was so sick and tired of scam calls. ‘Jack, this is the lottery office, and we have some news for you.’ ‘Come off it, ’ Jack replied and pressed the hangup button. The phone stubbornly buzzed again as soon as he put it down, he looked at the number calling, and it was the same as the first call. ‘What is it?’ he said angrily. ‘Don't hang up, Mr Sloane, we are phoning to let you know that you are a winner in tonight's Lotto. You have won a first division prize of five million dollars.’ He listened to the rest of the conversation about the payout details, but in his excitement, didn’t take any of it in.

Jack put the phone down and sat back, shaking with excitement mixed with doubt that this was really happening to him. Five million, he thought, he quickly cleaned up in the studio and took a bottle of Shiraz out of the wine rack in the sitting room. He so much wanted to share his good fortune with someone, but did not feel he wanted to break the spell of the moment, beside which there was nobody that he was close enough to share it with. I must be sensible, he thought. Wait for it all to sink in, make sure the money is in the bank before you spend a cent. He tried to settle down, hoping the wine would help him relax and think logically, but his mind wandered to all he could do with the money. He thought of his two children and how much he could help them, set up a trust for the grandchildren, he thought, go on that cruise, world cruise if I want. What about Mark, my estranged son? How do I handle that situation?

Jack woke up as the morning sun cast a beam across the polished timber floor of the sitting room. He realised that he hadn’t made it to bed, the wine knocking him out. His mouth felt terrible as he looked at the empty wine bottle, I must get cleaned up he thought. He staggered into the kitchen and switched on the coffee machine, his mind buzzing again with the thought of all that money at his disposal.

He drank a cup of coffee outside on his deck in the cool early morning air. The twittering birds reminded him that he was not dreaming; today was a new day for the rest of his life. He remembered that he also had a date that night. The thought of spending time with Debbie filled him with excitement tinged with a smidgen of nervousness he had not felt in a long time.

He took a long, hot shower, and as he was carefully shaving, he looked at his frame in the mirror, not bad for a 72-year-old, he thought. Sturdy and upright at six foot two, a reasonably acceptable flatish belly, totally grey hair, but enough of it to keep it neat and tidy, and a small bald patch showing on the crown. Eyebrows a little out of control, must keep them trimmed, and one thing Jane had always been on him about was nose hair. He took out his small trimmer and made short work of any strays. His deep blue eyes are a little inflamed from the night before. Eye drops will fix that. I will check in again for another shower before I leave later this evening, he said as he turned away from the mirror, throwing on a pair of tracksuit pants and a tee before heading back to the kitchen for a full breakfast.

‘You are in high spirits’ tonight, Debbie said to him as she joined Jack, who was regaling some of her guests with a fishing story. The small gathering was in full swing laughter filled the small cosy sitting room with its overstuffed sofa’s and bright scatter cushions, the windows wide open letting in the cool night air overlooking the lake and the twinkling lights on the distant shore, whilst Jack did not know any of the guests, he felt that they were his kind of people, and he had been able to relax and enjoy the moment, he had an undercurrent of excitement and was slowly getting over his good fortune, he wished he could share it wth someone, but thought better of it. There was no one he would like to share it with more than Debbbie, but that could come later.