‘See,’ I said to Mum.

‘Ssh!’

FAMOUS BUILDING. Two words, three and five letters.

The Taj Mahal. Below 70. Definite feeble-mindedness.

The homemaker said: R.

It passed to Pop. He spun, and this time scored $1200. Mum squeezed my arm and, for a moment, he seemed to come good. ‘P please, John.’

Ernt!

Red, yellow, blue. Until the Hervey Bay homemaker got lucky. $360 T. $470 M. $390 L.

Burgo risked it. Just as Pop was about to spin he said, ‘Get this one, Doug, you might be in for a nice new Sunny.’

But, of course: LOSE A TURN.

Mum leaned on my shoulder. ‘Shit.’

I watched as Pop waited, alone under the lights, wiping sweat from his face: a man stripped of clothes, and magic, left for people to poke sticks at. He swayed, and when the teacher told Burgo what he’d like to do with his money, Pop said, ‘Doesn’t always turn out like it should.’

Burgo didn’t seem happy. ‘Too right, Doug.’ But it was the worst sort of matey too right.

‘Just cos something looks bad,’ he continued.

‘That’s how the wheel spins,’ Burgo said.

‘But he didn’t, you know, Burgo. He didn’t take no grog. His mate did, but he didn’t. So they should stop looking for him.’

Burgo listened to his earpiece.

‘It’s not fair. If people’d just give him a go.’

Mum was sitting forward, biting a thumb nail. ‘They should stop it.’

‘I think I’ve had enough,’ Pop said, and he turned and walked from the set.

Mum ran down to the studio floor, tripped on a cable, but took Pop by the arm and led him backstage. I was left watching.

The funny thing is, they spun again, like nothing had happened. And it was then I realised how the machine really worked.

Driving home, I said to Pop, ‘Purely random. That old cow got lucky.’

‘I told you I didn’t want to go.’

‘It was fun,’ Mum said. ‘Didn’t you have fun?’

‘Did it look like I was having fun?’ He just watched the road. ‘It stopped being fun when I got up there.’

‘How’s that?’ Mum asked.

‘When I saw how it was all put together, and realised it was fake. A loada shit made for idiots.’ He turned to Mum. ‘We should stop them screening it.’

‘You signed a form.’

‘Did I?’

Although she’d faked his signature.

‘Anyway, they won’t screen it like that, will they?’

None of us knew, or cared, I guessed. I said, ‘At least they got Happy Days at five-thirty.’

He agreed. ‘Yes, that’s a good show.’

Mum never seemed happy. Clothes, quick, for the wash. Didn’t eat yer lunch again, Clem. At your age, I’d expect you could make your bed. Dad, turn it down! A noise-generating device placed in our lounge room. Stress, like a Van de Graaff on full, whirring away as we slept, recharging, until the morning: If yer not gettin’ up don’t expect me to drive you to school or write a note.