The set-up: Cindy (millennial, Aussie, gig-economy fitness instructor) is divorcing Jack (millennial, Brit, gig-economy English teacher). So, when he wins the Lottery jackpot he has to decide - should he tell her...?
From the Reviews: Great cast of characters, both loveable and irritating; Characters were brilliant; an eclectic mix.
The Setting: Cricklewood, North London.
“Across the street, the lights from the corner shop flood the pavement, like a version of Van Gogh’s Café Terrace at Night from his Cricklewood period, complete with a battered newspaper stand and a couple of dollops of dog shit.”
Meet Jack: 30-something, gig-economy English teacher and amateur linguist, obsessed with the idiosyncrasies of the English language, and (despite being married) his inability to find the 'right' girl.
Jack, being a linguist, is particularly amused to hear that Boris Johnson’s arm-waving antics (while talking bollocks) have spawned a new verb: to testiculate.
He tries to subtract a thousand pounds from two point three million and concludes it’s not worth worrying about.
His brain’s not prepared for a degree-level linguistics question asked in pidgin English.
From the Reviews: Jack was hilarious; A loveable, hapless lead character. Immensely likeable; A loveable dork; You can’t help but root for Jack!
Meet Cindy: 30-something Aussie, gig-economy fitness instructor who’s in the process of divorcing Jack. How they ended up married, she's not sure, but it was something to do with a summer romance on a Thai beach - plus (maybe?) the copious quantities of Malibu and wacky baccy that they consumed... Yeah, that might explain it, even if neither of them can remember much about it.
She whips her fancy phone out and punches the screen with her thumbs, all the while muttering drongo, dipstick and dill. All the Australianisms for idiot seem to start with a D, Jack notices.
He suppresses his post-breakup distaste for Cindy’s HRTs (that’s high rising terminals – Jack’s a linguist, not a doctor).
Now it’s the goggle-eyes, the gaping mouth, the open-palmed pose she’s probably copied from some Sandra Bullock straight-to-meme.
‘Great,’ says Jack, ‘I’ll open the wine, let it breathe.’
‘It’s a white,’ Cindy says, acidly.
‘My favourite,’ Jack replies, oblivious. ‘Everyone for white?’
‘Only once it’s stopped breathing,’ Cindy mutters to herself.
The moment is lost, and they stand looking each other up and down, like they’re inspecting fridges in an electrical shop.
‘We thought you might be unwell,’ Ananya blurts, and Cindy immediately translates unwell into pregnant, as she sees Ananya eyeing her obviously empty icebox with a look of
disappointment.
They would never have asked Jack, would they? Haven’t seen Cindy for a while… No, of course they wouldn’t, desperate as they are not to offend or appear nosey. And Jack would never have said anything, course he wouldn’t, desperate as he is at small talk and idle gossip.
From the Reviews: Cindy makes a great villain; She and Rich fully deserve each other.
Meet Rich: Jack’s brother, gig-economy accountant. The only person Jack tells his secret to. Anything else about Rich? Oh yes, he's not really that trustworthy...
‘Promise me you’ll tell no one…’
‘OK.’
‘Swear it.’
‘What?’
‘Swear it. Swear it on Mum and Dad’s lives.’
‘But – they’re dead.’
‘You went to the corner shop, to collect two point three million quid?’
Jack watches as Rich’s face does incredulity squared.
Meet Milly: From a poor (northern) background, but privately educated. Panda driver – well, amateur - but a hellraiser on the dodgems...
My school was a social minefield, every day was a battle to avoid some form of humiliation, they were ten-a-penny: wearing the wrong colour socks cos my one pair wasn’t dry; letting slip an ey up in the playground; thinking that Kiri Te Kanawa was a cocktail...
She suddenly looks stunningly beautiful, in an un-made-up, rain streaked, tired-out-after-a-long-shift, shocked, frightened, defeated, no-claims bonusless, and thoroughly miserable, end-of-her-tether sort of way. It’s not a camera-shoot sort of beauty.
And then, he just brushed it off! What was it he said? Forget it? Nobody got hurt? What sort of a guy said that? Colin Firth? Hugh Grant, maybe? Jesus! Yeah, him as well.
But she’s stopped laughing. She looks like she’s going to start crying again. The colour fades from her cheeks, there are volumes of horror in her eyes, Shelley and Stoker nudging each other for a better view of the blood and gore.
She stops halfway to sitting down, her face transforming from a gentle, nervy, enquiring, ice-breaking mode to a stunned stare, like he’s just beheaded a squirrel with his bare hands.
‘I offered him a hundred, worried about my no-claims. I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t even look properly, couldn’t see through the tears and the rain.’
‘There was rain? Who is he? Spider-Man?’
Milly forces a there goes my last train smile. ‘Steady on. It was awful. I kinda collapsed like some – I don’t know, some Jane Austen female in a frilly frock and a bonnet.’
‘Now, that I’d like to see; Spider-Man meets Elizabeth Bennet, there’s a movie I’d queue up for.'
From the Reviews: I loved the references to Jane Austen's works; Milly has a heart of gold.
Meet María: Jack’s keenest ESL student and secret admirer. From Puerto Rico.
María sits and scribbles in her notebook, tongue edging out between her pristine teeth and blood-red lipstick, a look of intense concentration you’d hope to see on the face of your favourite brain surgeon.
María’s English isn’t great, what she lacks in grammar and knowledge of irregular (and some regular) verbs, she makes up for with kitten-like curiosity and the concentration of a sniper.
'Just pop it on the table,' once confused her for twenty minutes, although she was quick to learn. Soon she was popping out for some milk, popping down to see her friend, or popping around the corner. It was clear he was creating a monster – there she goes, popping all over the world.
‘I am in shower. I am washering my hairs,’ she begins, hands rinsing her long brown hair(s). Jack adjusts his position and bites his tongue. ‘I hear doorbell!’ The doorbell mime comes complete with hand to ear and raised eyebrows; Iker looks towards the door in bemusement.
Her new cardi is a snip. That means a real bargain. You can also say cheep - for half of the price, but she's not sure why you'd say cheep, or who to. She'll ask Jack...
There’s Jack’s lottery ticket. She’s looking forward to giving it to him, he’ll be so happy. He might even give her a kees on her cheeks. The thought sends a tremble through her...
From the Reviews: Characters were brilliant - even the "pupils" that Jack taught, a diverse and relatable set with lots of banter and comedy. Jack teaches ESL and some of the best parts of the book are his lessons with an eclectic mix of foreign students. Who couldn’t love Puerto Rican Maria who is a teacher’s dream with her desire to get everything right!
Meet Iker: Jack's least communicative student. From Spain.
‘And – how – are – you – today – Iker?’ Jack asks.
Iker leans forward at the sound of his name and blinks frantically, then does what he always does whenever Jack addresses him directly – he turns to María and whispers Qué dice? What’s he saying?
‘Qué tal? Cómo siempre,’ she whispers. How are you? As always.
‘Ah! I good,’ Iker replies, with a sigh of relief appropriate for a first-time Channel swimmer scrunching up the Calais beach.
Jack wonders the same thing at the start of every lesson: is it fair to take his money? He has, in the past, suggested to Iker that he take up something that he might find slightly easier than English – astrophysics, maybe? Or a trapeze gig at the Cirque du Soleil?
That's the team, you'll find them all, and a couple more, here:
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