Rachel had been blessed with a windfall, but some things mattered more than wealth . . .
BY PATSY COLLINS
The sun was as blue, the sand as golden, the gently lapping waves just as inviting as Rachel remembered.
But nothing was quite the same.
A small family walked past.
“Mummy, please can we have ice creams?” the little girl asked.
Rachel was reminded of her niece, Sharon. Her hair had been tied up in pigtails just like that.
Sharon had children of her own now. Rachel had never seen them.
“Not today, sweetie,” the child’s mother said.
“But it’s really hot!
It was, but she’d probably have wanted ice cream whatever the weather.
“Sorry love, I don’t have any money.”
The mother got everyone into swimwear, and they went into the water together. They shrieked, played and laughed, jumping waves and splashing.
It looked such fun that Rachel longed to join in. Money didn’t matter to them right then, and it hadn’t mattered much to Rachel when she’d brought little Sharon on the bus to this very beach, decades ago. How she missed her.
When she’d been poor, Rachel had been grateful for what she had. Friends who made time for her despite having families to fill their days. Pleasant neighbours who sometimes stopped to chat or offered a lift to the supermarket.
Then, a few months back, Rachel won the lottery. Someone took her picture for the paper and asked if the win would change her life.
She’d declared, “Oh, yes. Everything will be wonderful now!”
At first it had been. She’d treated herself and everyone she knew to nice things and fun outings. They’d been surprised, delighted and grateful. She had luxury and cheerful company whenever she wanted it.
But gradually, things changed. Maybe people didn’t expect her to immediately provide the money for the things they wanted, but they stopped being surprised when she did. Then people she didn’t really know started to approach her when she went out. Sometimes they knocked on her door. Many sent letters.
Some seemed in genuine need or were raising funds for good causes, but it seemed Rachel didn’t matter to anyone – only her money.
Recently, she’d received a letter from Sharon. In nearly thirty years she’d not sent so much as a Christmas card, but when Sharon heard Rachel had money, she’d got in touch. She tried to excuse that by saying she’d not known Rachel’s address until she saw the piece in the pap
