For Once In His Life

Maybe I’d become a bit of an old cynic, but I guess it’s an occupational hazard for betting shop managers after seeing so many hopes and dreams shattered; few punters realizing the bookie always wins in the end. Of course, one hears of big payouts, or when unlikely outsiders defy the odds – in sport as anywhere else – but these freak events are just that: freaks.

The other reason for my somewhat jaded world view – apart from so much death and destruction on the daily news – was my dire love life. Or rather, the total absence of one. My ex-wife, having accused me of many things: being too tight with money, always at work, never really listening, and so on, but in the end, she found solace with a taller, richer, and more handsome guy – attributes I couldn’t compete with. So, can you blame me for winding up cynical?

Nevertheless, she was wrong about one point – I wasn’t mean. In fact, I was too soft. Like a bartender turning away drunks, I often refused stakes from people who obviously couldn’t afford it. Like alcohol, it’s often overlooked that though popular and even encouraged by society, gambling can become fatally addictive. And, though I’d never have suspected young Jake of being hooked, he probably would have spent all day with us if he could – though more for the company than anything else.

But the gee-gees were the least of his problems. At first glance the young man was even more of a loser than most of the deadbeats frequenting our shop. Paralysed from the waist down by a childhood road accident which also caused brain damage, yet his affable nature made him popular with customers and staff alike. Regular punters, for example, would rub his baldy head like a magic lamp before shoving their cash onto the counter saying, ‘Wish me luck mate’. And he always did, though never won anything himself.

Though I must admit it was Maybelle, his attractive disability care assistant and wheelchair pusher, I was mostly drawn to. Unfortunately, as a devout Christian she was dead against gambling – only allowing Jake the occasional flutter – and saw me as a bad influence. Or so I thought.

Of course, most gambling these days took place on-line where noisy animations made it all seem like innocent fun, and betting shops now retro reminders of what used to be a social activity. Just to reinforce that nostalgic illusion, I allowed customers to bring in snacks and drinks and even had a couple of screens showing regular daytime TV shows. One of these included a lottery offering millionaire homes as prizes, and one day it was an impossibly charming country cottage. For some unknown reason, Jake became obsessed with winning it and kept nagging Maybelle to enter for him as he didn’t own a mobile phone to text in the simple quiz answer.

About a week later, much to everyone’s amazement, Jake announced he had won, showing us the official letter as proof. For once in his life, so it seemed, lady luck had smiled on him. And, since the cottage was in Yorkshire and Maybelle didn’t drive, I offered a lift to visit the property. Picking them up at his home, on a notoriously run-down estate, I could see why anyone would want to escape such a dump.

Being a long and tiring journey, nearing our destination we stopped for lunch at an old pub named the Mole Skinners’ Arms and, on the wall above our table, noticed a strange old Victorian black and white print.

On enquiring, the landlord told us the cartoon depicted Professor William Buckland (1784-1856) discovering fossilized animal bones of hippos and other mammals at nearby Kirkdale Cave. Since such animals were extinct in these parts, he believed the bones were remains of animals having floated into the cave during Noah’s flood, though later realised the quantity of hyena remains indicated it had been their den and the other bones from prey dragged in there.

‘I guess Buckland was a Creationist,’ I said, rather smugly. ‘People were a lot more gullible then and needed to square ancient fossils with the Bible.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ asked Maybelle. ‘I suppose you believe everything in the world just happened for no rhyme or reason? A Godless evolution?’

‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact I do,’ I smiled. ‘Along with the majority of scientists.’

My comments sparked a lively debate which, I assumed, would knock any hopes I might have had with Maybelle right out the window. But perhaps not, though we seemed to disagree on nearly everything, both enjoyed the jousting.

I didn’t see Jake for a while, but a couple of months later, he and Maybelle turned up as before saying the rustic residence didn’t work out so well after all, and the house had been put on the market. He and his family missed familiar places and all their friends. It reminded me of the old homily: ‘Be careful what you wish for.’

Mind you, I wished to see Maybelle again and that had come true. So, who knows – maybe there is a God?

By Maurice Baker