Lucky shook his head, shifted uncomfortably, rubbed the stubble along his jaw—all signs that he didn’t want to talk about a subject any further. Other people knew these signals. Lucky’s marriage to Valia was the most important and harmonious relationship of his life. What did that say about his other relationships? He remained attached to her, yet he was ashamed of this fact. Some people, even when you no longer saw them, even when you’d given up on reconciliation, even after years apart, you continued to share your life with them, and what they represented to you. They reminded you of your own potential. He couldn’t speak to Achilles about this abundance of regret. Achilles was the last person.

‘We can’t talk about Valia,’ said Lucky. ‘Talk about anything else.’

‘You stole my franchise dream,’ said Achilles.

3.

Lucky gave Asproyerakas the spare room and kept him busy with little jobs. He courierised the old man. Achilles took soda fountain replacement parts to the Waverton restaurant. Moved a jukebox from Newtown to Kogarah. Hauled drinks to Queanbeyan. Then, as planned, Lucky hired a tow truck and sent his former father-in-law out west. First, to deliver an electric potato-peeling machine to the Lucky’s outlet in Peak Hill, a town two hundred and fifty-four miles west of Sydney. From there, Achilles would drive north-west and pick up a used Holden EJ in the town of Cobar, towing the car back to Sydney. The franchisee in Cobar had offered the 1962 Holden in lieu of eleven monthly payments now in arrears. Lucky felt indifferent about EJs—he didn’t like the congested sound of the engine, he didn’t need a second car—but evicting a franchisee might result in making a family homeless, since the contract included the business premises plus adjoining house. He’d take the car, issue a second warning, and sell the Holden to a city dealership.

Achilles, leaving Sydney’s city limits by 4 am, made good time to the Peak Hill franchise, run by the Rizos family, and he helped install the peeler in a shed outside. He loved watching the machine. It murmured, hummed, thudded and then ejected the peeled potatoes with a leathery squeak. These lucky bastards, Mr and Mrs Rizos, they had proper jobs, not this driving around like a servant to an ex-son. Cleaning the spectacles he wore for driving, Achilles said he would acquire one of these peelers himself if Lucky ever gave him a franchise. He told Mr Rizos that after the Achillion Cafe burned down he used the insurance money to build a tobacco shop. That was a big mistake. Inside three years the shop went out of business. I must keep going, said Achilles.