The Night My Landlord Became a Fan

[emeraldvoluminous]

I’ve never been anyone’s favourite person. Not in school. Not at work. Definitely not in my family. I’m the middle child – the one everyone forgets until something breaks or someone needs a lift to the airport. So when my landlord, Mr. Hendricks, told me I was his “favourite tenant,” I almost choked on my own tongue.

It happened on a Friday. I was late with the rent. Again. Not because I’m irresponsible. Because I’m a florist, and February is the cruelest month for people who sell flowers. Valentine’s Day is chaos, sure. But after that? Nothing. Just grey skies and dead tulips and a bank account that looks like a parking ticket.

I knocked on his door at 7 PM. He opened it wearing a cardigan and holding a mug that said “World’s Okayest Landlord.” He’s sixty-two. Retired. Divorced. Spends most of his time watching old westerns and complaining about the neighbours’ cat.

“It’s late,” he said.

“I know. I’m sorry. The rent –”

“Is late.”

“I have part of it.”

He sighed. Stepped aside. Let me in. His flat smelled like tea and menthol and something vaguely spicy. I sat on his couch while he stood by the window, looking at the street like it owed him money.

“How much can you pay?” he asked.

“Three hundred. I owe six-fifty.”

He nodded. Didn’t say anything for a long time. Then he pointed at my phone. “What’s that?”

I looked down. My screen was still open to a website I’d been looking at earlier. Purple and gold. A banner with dancing chips. vavada casino online – I’d clicked an ad during my lunch break. Just looking. Just curious. Just desperate enough to consider things I’d normally ignore.

“It’s nothing,” I said.

“It’s a casino.”

“I wasn’t playing. I was just –”

“I play.”

I stared at him. Mr. Hendricks. Cardigan. Okayest Landlord. Plays online casino.

“What?” he said. “You think old people don’t get bored?”

He sat down next to me. Took my phone. Scrolled through the site like he’d done it a thousand times. “This one’s decent,” he said. “Fair bonuses. Fast withdrawals. I’ve used it.”

“You gamble?”

“I entertain myself. There’s a difference.”

He handed me back the phone. “Here’s the deal. You pay me three hundred tonight. You owe me three-fifty. I’ll give you until next Friday for the rest. But you have to let me watch.”

“Watch what?”

“You play. I’ve never seen anyone else do it. Humour an old man.”

I should have said no. I should have walked out, paid my three hundred, and figured out the rest later. But Mr. Hendricks was looking at me with something that wasn’t pity. Curiosity, maybe. Or loneliness. The same thing I saw in the mirror every morning.

I opened the site. vavada casino online – the homepage loaded fast. I registered with my real name. Real email. No point hiding from a man who already knew my credit score was a disaster.

I deposited twenty pounds. The last twenty I had after paying him the three hundred. The bonus gave me twenty free spins and a hundred percent match.

“Small bets,” Mr. Hendricks said. “Don’t chase.”

“You sound like you’ve done this before.”

“I told you. Boredom is a powerful teacher.”

I played the free spins on a game called “Fire Joker.” Simple. Three reels. A joker with a creepy smile. The spins were quiet. A few small wins. My balance hit fifteen pounds.

Then I played the deposit match. I found a slot called “Book of Ra.” Egyptian theme. An explorer with a torch. The kind of game that’s been around forever because it works.

I bet fifty pence per spin. Slow. Careful. Mr. Hendricks watched in silence. The only sound was the game’s music and the radiator clicking on and off.

Twenty spins. Nothing special. My balance hovered around twenty pounds.

Spin twenty-three: three scatter symbols. The book opened. A bonus round with ten free spins. The special expanding symbol was the explorer. He expanded on spin three. £12. On spin five. £18. On spin seven. A full screen. The game froze for a second. Then my balance jumped to £140.

“There,” Mr. Hendricks said. “That’s how it’s done.”

I kept playing. Not because I wanted to. Because he was enjoying it. Because for the first time in months, someone was watching me like I mattered.

I switched to a different game. “Starburst.” Simple. Colourful. The kind of slot that pays small but pays often. I bet one pound per spin.

Spin ten: a cluster of wilds. My balance hit £170.
Spin fifteen: another cluster. £210.
Spin twenty: three stars in a row. The wilds expanded. The screen flashed. My balance hit £340.

I withdrew three hundred. Left forty in the account. The money arrived two days later. I paid Mr. Hendricks the three-fifty I owed. He nodded. Didn’t smile. But his eyes crinkled at the corners.

“You’re still my favourite tenant,” he said.

“Because I paid?”

“Because you listened.”

I didn’t tell him that I’d also learned something. That gambling isn’t about the money. It’s about the company. The shared silence. The old man in a cardigan who just wanted someone to sit next to him for an hour.

I still play sometimes. Small amounts. Ten pounds here. Twenty there. I always lose eventually. That’s how it works. But every time I open the vavada casino online login page, I think about that Friday night. The tea. The radiator. The way Mr. Hendricks said “there” when the explorer expanded across the screen.

My rent is paid now. On time. Every month. Not because I’m winning. Because I picked up extra shifts at the shop. Because I stopped hiding from my problems and started facing them.

But the wins? The small ones? Those are for me. And for the old man upstairs who taught me that sometimes, the best gamble is letting someone watch.

He still plays too. I hear the music through the floor sometimes. We don’t talk about it. We don’t need to.

Some things are better when they’re shared. Even the stupid things. Especially the stupid things.

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