“You’re not taking that seriously?” Danny laughs. “Becky, gambling is fun.”

“You don’t understand! I’m the type of personality to get hooked! My whole life might spiral away in a toxic mix of addiction and dependence! You’ll try to help me, but you won’t be able to!”

I’ve seen true-life movies about drug addiction. I know how it goes. One minute you’re saying, I’ll just have one puff, and the next minute you’re in court with unwashed hair, fighting for custody of your children.

“Relax.” Danny gestures for the bill. “Let’s go and hit the tables. If you start to look anything like an addict, I’ll drag you away. Promise.”

“Even if I swear and spit at you and say I don’t care about my friends and family anymore?” I say fearfully.

“Especially then. C’mon, let’s go see if we can lose all Luke’s money. Joke!” he adds at my expression. “Joke.”

—

It only takes a few minutes to reach the casino, and as we enter, I take a deep breath. So this is it. Las Vegas proper. The beating heart of the city. I look around, almost dazzled by the neon and patterned carpet and shiny outfits. Everyone seems to be gleaming in some way or other, even if it’s just their diamond-encrusted watch glinting in the lights.

“Did you get any chips yet?” asks Danny, and I reach for my complimentary chips. Luke gave me his too, so I’ve got loads.

“I’ve got fifty dollars’ worth,” I say, totting them up.

“Fifty?” Danny stares at me. “You can barely get a bet on a table for that. You need three hundred, at least.”

“I’m not spending three hundred!” I say in horror. God, gambling’s expensive. I mean, you could get a really nice skirt for three hundred dollars.

“Well, I bought five hundred’s worth earlier,” says Danny, his eyes gleaming. “So I want to get going.”

“Five hundred?” I gape at him.

“I’ll make ten times that much, you wait and see. I’m feeling lucky tonight.” He blows on his hands. “Lucky fingers.” His glee is infectious, and as we turn to survey the room, chips in our hands, I can’t help feeling thrilled. And terrified. Both.

I’ve never been anywhere like this. Even the air is infected with gambling. You can practically sense it in people’s breath as you walk past the tables, a kind of heightened, tense feeling, like when you’re in the queue outside a sample sale. All around I can hear roars and exclamations from tables as customers win or lose, mixed with the clicking of chips and the clinking of cocktail glasses on trays held by skimpily dressed waitresses. And all the time, the continual background bleeping of the machines.

“What shall we play?” I demand. “Roulette?”

“Blackjack,” says Danny firmly, and ushers me toward a big table.

It all looks so grown-up and serious and real. As we slide into a pair of empty seats at the table, no one even looks up to say hello. It’s a bit like sitting at a bar, except the bar is covered in fabric, and instead of handing out drinks, the croupier is dealing out cards. There are two elderly men at the table and a girl in a tuxedo and a sparkly trilby, who looks very bad-tempered.