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He said nothing and she continued speaking while she ironed.
‘It wasn’t until it was too late that I realised money wasn’t necessarily the currency. One time he had to go and labour for a builder for two days straight because he’d lost a bet. Another time he turned up with a Jack Russell puppy he’d won from a local breeder.’
She sighed heavily. ‘And then one day a firm of solicitors turned up to tell me that we no longer owned the house I’d lived in for seventeen years. He’d gambled it away on the results of a local football match.’
‘Was that legal?’ Penn asked.
‘Yes, it was all official. He’d signed transfer papers. He was never one to go back on a deal. And that’s when he disappeared. I was given a month to vacate. I spent the first two weeks using up what I had left in the bank seeking legal advice. The agreement was binding. We had nothing, Officer,’ she said as the pain filled her eyes. ‘My fifteen-year-old daughter and I were left homeless and penniless and I never saw Barry again.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, wishing now he hadn’t forced her to relive it. There was nothing he could offer to help.
It was as though his kind words and gentle tone put a pin in her.
She sighed heavily and sat down. ‘I know that I must seem unfeeling to you but his gambling has been a part of my life for so long.’
‘Did he ever get therapy?’ Penn asked.
‘I certainly did,’ she said. ‘He tried once. Well, one session actually. I carried on going and learned a lot. I found out that there were three types of gambler: professional, social and problem. I knew immediately he was a problem gambler when the therapist explained that they try to pass themselves off as either of the other two types. Barry was actually a compulsive gambler. It’s called ludomania. I mean, every gambler is willing to risk something of value in the hope of getting something of even greater value. Except I learned that it’s not quite that simple.’
‘How so?’ Penn asked.
‘Gambling can stimulate the brain’s reward system, like drugs and alcohol, so you’re continuously chasing bets, using savings and creating debt. The therapist told me the signs, and Barry showed every one. He was always preoccupied with gambling and how to get more money. He needed to up the stakes, the value, to get the same thrill. He was restless or irritable if he was asked to cut back. He was always chasing his losses and trying to get his money back, but it was the thrill of the bet itself he needed. For that high, he lied to his family. He risked losing every important relationship.’
‘How did he get hooked?’ Penn asked.
‘Horses. In the good old days he’d go to the betting shop a couple of times a week, but you don’t even need to leave the house any more. It’s everywhere. You can bet on anything from reality gameshows to who will finally find life on Mars.’
‘I can’t even imagine what that must have been like to live with,’ Penn offered.
‘I was constantly trying to get him to stop. He would soft soap me with success stories like the guy from Kent who sold all his possessions, bet over seventy thousand on one roll of the roulette wheel and won. I argued that he would never know when to walk away. I read of one guy who collected his welfare cheque in Vegas and gambled it to win a million dollars. He didn’t know when to stop and lost it all in the same day. It wasn’t about the money. It was his compulsion to bet that lost us our home.’
‘That must have been very difficult for you both.’
She sat upright. ‘We’re both fit and healthy and for that I’m grateful. But please understand that I am not a good enough person to forgive him yet, even in death.’
‘I understand,’ he said, standing. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any pain, and I’ll see myself out.’
The woman thanked him and he could swear he heard a quiet sob as he closed the door behind him.
‘No don’t shut—Never mind,’ said a voice from the other side of the hedge.
A white-and-tan Jack Russell appeared before a teenage girl holding on to the lead. It was clear who had been in charge of the walk.
‘And who are you?’ she asked, walking down the path towards him. Now home, the dog appeared to have calmed down.
‘Is this about my dad?’ she asked before he had a chance to speak.
‘I’ve just had a conversation with your mum,’ he said, feeling the news would better come from her.
‘I’m nearly eighteen and she won’t tell me anything. We both have to act as though he doesn’t exist.’
‘I’m sorry but your mum should be the one to—’
‘To what? Oh no…Tell me…He’s dead, isn’t he?’
Penn nodded as her eyes filled with tears.
‘I knew it. I knew I’d never see him again.’
