They Thought I Was Dead: Sandy’s Story

87 March 2012

When I woke, I felt quite groggy. I was in an incredibly comfortable bed. In a large, beautiful room, all black lacquered wood and cream soft furnishings. Minimalistic.

I was more on the bed than in it. Thankfully, I had my clothes on, and after an initial panic, I remembered speaking to Maria to ask her to stay over with Bruno. Jeez, I shouldn’t have drunk so much. My brain started presenting me with a mosaic of events of the previous night, all in bite-sized chunks, as well as presenting me with the sensation that a road-drill was working its way through one ear and out the other.

The casino.

Had I dreamed it?

What the hell time was it? The curtains were closed but light was flooding into the room. I heard a knock on the door. Moments later it opened and I smelled the aroma of coffee. Stoker, barefoot, in jeans and a T-shirt, carried in a tray on which were a mug and a croissant. He put it down on a table by the window. Then, holding something between his forefinger and thumb that fluttered, came over towards me with a wry smile.

It was a piece of paper.

‘Good morning, sleepyhead!’ he said. ‘Nice lie-in?’

‘Yeah, I think I needed the sleep! I can’t take the booze, it seems.’

‘It’s cool,’ he said. ‘Everything’s cool!’

He held up the piece of paper, delicately, in front of my eyes, holding it at each end with his forefingers and thumbs.

It was blurry. I couldn’t read it.

Sensing this, he held it closer. ‘You did pretty good last night, crazy lady!’

‘Uh?’

‘Can you read what it says?’

Then, for an instant, time stopped.

Everything stopped. I could read it now.

It was a Deutsche Bank cheque from the casino made out to Sandra Lohmann.

I had to read it several times to be sure. In between each reading I looked up at Stoker’s face and saw his reassuring nod.

It was real.

Unbelievable.

I was a millionaire!

Just one problem. Sandra Lohmann was a family name I had reclaimed for myself. And I didn’t have a bank account.