A letter to … my cousin, who is a gambling addict

'You were vague about why you were so confident about the greyhound that you put £500 on. The dog didn’t run.' Photograph: Neil Setchfield/Alamy

The letter you always wanted to write

It started when you won big. Until then, it had only ever been the occasional flutter. You are vague about exactly how big your win was – but it was enough for a trip to Spain. And enough to spark the glamour-soaked dreams of Las Vegas. Of rolling through Vegas in a Ferrari F60 America with a supermodel by your side and more cash than you could ever spend.

You covered your troubles so well. But then at the start, you didn’t think there were troubles to cover. You marvelled at how easy it was to live two very different lives side by side. Whenever we saw each other, you seemed just like any other student relishing their newfound freedom. I noticed that you spent more time on your computer than before, but then a lot of students do.

You never made it to Vegas. You stole your first phone to pay your debts. You stole another five phones to pay your debts. You stole enough to get into trouble, and the debt was bigger than ever.

I don’t know why you told only me. We have always been close but you had many people closer to you. Perhaps that was what made me right; I was close but not too close. And after all, you only told me after it was over.

You said that you had been off it for months before Lucky Jim. You were vague about why you were so confident about the greyhound that you put £500 on. The dog didn’t run. Had it run, you told me, it would definitely have won.

You swore to yourself that this was the end, while you plunged back in hard. You believed that money lost easily could be won back easily. Won back and more.

It got harder to keep up the front. We arranged to meet and you wouldn’t show up. The apologetic texts became familiar. Your exam results were disappointing. You started to look a little gaunt, but you gave nothing away. Why would anyone suspect anything was wrong with a young man who was so evidently energetic and focused? You let no one know where the focus lay.

You told your housemate you were very short on cash, but didn’t say why. He gave you a fiver to get yourself lunch. You went straight to the bookies and went hungry.

“I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine.” You repeat this over and over again.

Now it has been more than a year since you last placed a bet. You know exactly how many days and you are proud of every one. But there is still fear in your voice. Just one slip, you say, and you will be gone, everything lost and back to the start.

Somehow your parents never found out about your addiction. I told you to ask them for help, but you did not want them to know. You don’t want to tell the story ever again. You know that you will never forget it, but you intend to try.

You tell me that you bought the Big Issue yesterday. Later that afternoon, you saw the vendor playing the slot machines. You regret not stopping to speak to him. But then you didn’t really know what to say.

Anonymous

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