Even the glimmer of goldfish in the foyer tank seems to promise something but, as always, she turns away on reflex at the sight. Certainly there are fools in this place, and at first glance Carol could be one of them. But no: she understands probability theory, the fickleness of dice and the dangers of misplaced hope. Decades ago, before dropping out of school to cut strangers’ hair for a living, she got an A-minus in maths for three years running. Back then, she was still painting: watercolour dreamscapes, tropical fish vibrating against the walls of sunken wrecks. People admired them cautiously but never had room on their walls to make a purchase. Booked her for a haircut instead. Now she avoids aquariums — the bright shapes give her an almost homesick pang. But the maths is still useful. Every Friday night the women of Madison Springs tuck their free coupons into their purses, head for the bus stop just outside their gated suburb and board a coach bound for the Double Six, one of the smaller casinos down on the city’s waterfront.
