Zoe May - As Luck Would Have It

‘It’s incredibly restorative,’ Rowena insists, and I realise she’s still talking about cross-stitching. ‘It’s like meditation. Your mind relaxes but your body becomes centred too as you stitch. It’s almost better than traditional meditation because your mind and body are in harmony. You should try it sometime.’ Rowena eyes me hopefully. ‘Once you get into it you can use your creations as gifts or just decorations. I decorate my whole flat with them.’ Rowena picks up her phone and shows me an array of cross-stich creations in frames on the walls of her book-lined flat. If there isn’t a slightly dusty-looking bookcase against the wall, there’s an array of cross-stich designs in shabby chic frames. There are traditional floral pieces, which are quite charming, if a little twee. There are a few slightly bizarre but surprisingly life-like portraits of her cat, who she tells me is called Mittens. There’s even a feminist design of a uterus and ovaries with the slogan ‘Grow a pair’. It’s pretty cool.

‘Oh wow!’ I say, both shocked and impressed as I take in the fine needlework on the cervix.

‘You should come over sometime and I’ll show you how it’s done,’ Rowena suggests enthusiastically. As sweet as she is, cross-stich is hardly my thing.

I have a sudden vision of myself in a few years’ time, still living at home with my mum, cross-stitching portraits of Mr Bear for Hera or cross-stitching a penis with an angry slogan about toxic masculinity or something, while drinking tea at Rowena’s place night after night, having forgotten what it feels like to be touched by a man. I suppress a shudder.

‘I’m quite busy with work and with Hera. It’s hard for me to get out much.’ I glance towards Hera’s carrier. She’s still fast asleep, sputtering slightly as she dreams. I feel a fresh wave of maternal love for her and not just because she’s the loveliest baby ever, but also because she’s a brilliant excuse to get out of doing stuff I don’t want to do.

Rowena looks a little disappointed. ‘Well, maybe I could come to yours. I could bring my kit.’

‘Err …’ I utter. I can’t seem to come up with an excuse and just as I’m beginning to think there’s no way I’m going to get out of this, Mick’s voice suddenly booms from the stage.

‘Ladies and gentlemen!’

Everyone goes quiet and looks towards the stage. Mick’s wearing the same outfit he had on last time I was at this fundraiser back when I was 12 – an eye-catching red three-piece suit teamed with a white shirt and a black bow tie.

‘It’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for!’ he says, grinning broadly. ‘The raffle!’

A few cheers erupt across the hall.

‘Oh my God!’ I grin, gripping Rowena’s arm in excitement.

I look over at Will to see him looking back at me, steely-eyed. He smiles smugly as he holds up his crossed fingers. I smirk and wave my crossed fingers back at him.

‘This year, we have a host of brilliant prizes,’ Mick enthuses, gesturing at a table piled high with goodies. ‘From a bottle of Fortnum’s vintage port, Amazon gift cards, a year’s subscription to Good Housekeeping and many others, to the star prize – a five-star romantic getaway for two in Marrakech!’

We all cheer.

‘Big thanks to my lovely niece Hannah for pulling out all the stops to get the travel agency she works for to gift us this marvellous prize,’ Mick continues, explaining how Hannah couldn’t make it to the event because of her ‘busy London life.’ Ha. Unlike me and Will who now spend our Friday nights in village halls. I look over at him and catch his eye, we exchange a wry smile.

‘I’m delighted to reveal that we’ve raised a total of £4,428 tonight for Cancer Research, making tonight our most successful fundraiser ever! A big round of applause to everyone! To everyone who’s bought a ticket in the raffle and gifted prizes; to everyone who donated items for the auction and all the generous bidders; and to everyone who’s taken the time to help with everything from the buffet to the bunting – it means the world to me that you all get behind this event year in year out. I know if Maggie could see us all, she’d be so incredibly proud,’ Mick says, his eyes glistening with tears. ‘Give yourselves a round of applause!’ he adds, smiling warmly.

We all start clapping enthusiastically. Everyone, including myself, has teared up a little. It’s so touching just how sweet and loyal Mick is that after twenty years, he’s still holding fundraisers for his true love. It really does bring a tear to your eye and I can’t help feeling bad that I hadn’t been particularly interested in coming along tonight. I glance over at Will and even he’s looking misty-eyed as he claps enthusiastically, a tender smile on his face.

Rita suddenly gets up on stage and takes the mic from Mick. He seems a little taken aback.

‘I’d just like to say that even though everyone has done a marvellous job to make this event happen I think we should all acknowledge Mick’s efforts. Without him, this event would never be the success it is. Your dedication is an inspiration to us all, Mick. Maggie would be so touched and so, so proud,’ Rita says, her voice cracking with emotion. She starts clapping and we all join in, with even more gusto this time.

She and Mick hug and he takes the mic. Rita heads back to her seat.

‘Thanks everyone. I’m so very touched,’ Mick says as the applause dies down. ‘And without further ado, I’ll now be announcing the prizes of the raffle.’

Mick picks up a tin from the table of prizes and gives it a shake. ‘Right, who wants to help me pick winners?’ Mick asks, looking encouragingly towards a few kids sitting with their parents at a nearby table.

A little boy in a Transformers T-shirt sticks his hand up. ‘Me! Me! Me!’ he cries out.

‘Come up on stage, Edward!’ Mick says. Edward’s mum ushers him towards the stage and helps him up.

‘Right, Edward, you can pick our winners,’ Mick says, pulling off the lid of the tin. Edward smiles up at him delightedly.

‘Okay, so our first prize we’ll be announcing is a fifteen-pound Waterstones voucher and the winner is …’ Mick presents the tin to Edward, who reaches for a ticket.

He pulls one out victoriously.

‘Thanks Edward,’ Mick says. ‘What number is that?’ Mick holds the microphone down to Edward.

‘Number 231,’ Edward announces shyly.

‘Oh, that’s me! That’s me!’ A red-haired lady I recognise as the receptionist from the local GP surgery calls out, waving her ticket in the air. She comes up on stage and Mick hands her the voucher. She seems delighted. I know it’s only a raffle and I should just relax and have fun, but I can feel myself becoming totally gripped with excitement. I really want to win too!

Mick and Edward reveal the rest of the raffle winners. Will’s mum Sharon wins a dinner for two at an Italian restaurant in town and I can’t help feeling sorry for her as her admirers all seem to light up, clearly hoping to be her plus one. I suspect she’ll probably end up taking Will. Rowena wins the bottle of port. By the time the final few prizes are revealed, Edward’s beginning to look exhausted, like the novelty of choosing winners is starting to wear off. He goes back to sit with his mum. Edna, an elderly lady from the local church, comes up on stage to pluck the final winning tickets from the tin.

The table of prizes is growing increasingly empty and the tension in the room is mounting as we get closer and closer to the star prize reveal. I know it’s only a charity raffle, but I can’t help caring so much. A holiday to Marrakech is not something that people in my village take lightly. I know this prize and whoever wins will be the talk of the town for months. My mum was right. This is an important event on the village calendar. I can’t believe I even considered missing it.