A sunny Sunday. Husband and I called on Bella, would she like to spend the day with us, out on a walk? No she would not.
We stayed in her house for ten minutes, she followed us outside. ‘It’s a beautiful day, come with us,’ I said.
‘I can’t, I’m waiting for someone.’
‘She looked at me, and her eyes danced with lies.
‘It’s not that arse hole, is it?’ Referring to The Big I Am.
Silence, told me what I wanted to know.
‘Bella!’ I said.
‘Come on, let’s get going,’ Husband said.
On this gorgeous day, our daughter sat on her step and waited, for this awful man to call on her. We all knew he would be late, we all knew he was in the bookies.
He gambled everyday, including Sundays.
When he lost money he would be vile, when he won money he would shove a handful of notes in my daughter’s waiting palm.
I do not think his gambling addiction was purely about the money, he was not short of cash. But the buzz, the game, the high of living on the edge, this is what he would crave. this is what he would chase.
And no doubt any easy way to launder money.
He gambled everything.
As Husband, the grandson of an illegal bookmaker–way back when–said, ‘There’s only one winner: the bookmaker.’
Mr Big I Am loved to place a bet.
He gambled my daughter’s heart. He gambled her sanity.