It was love at first sight at the Tesco checkout. “Magdalena,” her name badge said. As she scanned my ready meal for one, she looked at me with her huge doe-eyes like she was peering into my soul and cleansing it at the same time.

Every Friday night, I passed through her till. It became our little conversation piece.

“It’s Ready-Meal-Friday, yes?” she would say, flashing me a dimpled smile.

It wasn’t until the fourth week that I finally plucked up the courage to ask her out.

To my surprise, she said yes. She walked into my flat after her shift, all wide-eyed and waif-like. We ate two ready meals. That was a year ago today. The rest, as they say, is history.

And now, six little numbers threaten to ruin it all.

“Check my lottery numbers for me? It’s a Roller this week”, she said, on her way out this morning.

“Rollover,” I corrected.

It was only when a text message popped up on my computer just now, from Magdalena to her work-mate, Adam, that I remembered to check for the ticket. “I need a lottery win” she joked in the text, declining an invitation to drinks tonight with her work-mates.