Puppy Fat (11 page)

‘Thanks for trying,' said Tracy.

‘That's OK,' said Keith.

They toyed listlessly with their bacon, egg, sausage, onion and baked bean sandwiches.

‘Do you think they'll get married?' asked Tracy.

‘Dunno,' said Keith numbly.

He didn't even want to think about it.

Aunty Bev as a stepmother.

Bursting into his room checking he wasn't eating the tinned apricots.

Not that I'd have any appetite with her in the family, he thought gloomily.

‘Perhaps,' said Tracy, ‘falling in love will make her more relaxed about things.'

Keith looked at Tracy.

He could see she was just trying to cheer them both up, but it felt good all the same.

‘Perhaps,' he said quietly.

Then the kitchen door flew open and Aunty Bev stood there looking at them both.

‘G'day,' she said. ‘Thought I'd find you in here.'

Tracy looked away.

Dazzle growled.

Keith gaped.

Underneath the tight fabric of Aunty Bev's pink tracksuit her stomach bulged out even further than Dad's.

No, he thought, it's not possible. She and Dad can't be having a baby already, not when she's only been in the country nine days.

‘It's a cushion,' said Tracy wearily. ‘It's to remind me that if I eat too much I'll get fat.'

‘Good girl,' smiled Aunty Bev. ‘You're getting the message.' She turned to Keith. ‘And I hope you are too, young man. Short people have to be extra careful about their weight.'

Once they were alone again, Keith gave Tracy's arm a sympathetic squeeze.

‘Oh well,' he said, ‘at least you've got Nepal to look forward to.'

Tracy shook her head.

‘I'm not going,' she said quietly. ‘Not even the highest mountains in the world are worth another week of this. Anyway, Aunty Bev reckons she's gunna stay on here with your dad for a bit and I've got to fly home by myself.'

Keith watched miserably as Tracy dabbed her tears with her sandwich.

He had a vision of his life in London with Aunty Bev ruining most meals by nagging and Dad ruining the rest by wearing yoghurt to the table.

He had a vision of Tracy's life in Australia, self-confidence shattered, hiding away by herself, pining for Nepal and watching telly and eating chocolate fingers and probably dying a lonely death tragically young.

It's all my fault, he thought.

Everything.

Then he knew what he had to do.

While he rummaged through Aunty Bev's suitcase he sent her a message.

Sorry to be going through your things but Tracy needs someone to go with her to Nepal and then perk her up back in Australia and as you're staying here now I'm going to use your ticket.

That's if I can find it, he thought.

He put the bras and tracksuits back into the suitcase and knelt down and opened the zip-up bag.

Shoes and a camera but no plane ticket.

There was only the make-up bag to go.

Keith sent an urgent message to the ticket.

Please be in there.

I need you.

The bedroom door creaked and slowly started to open.

Keith froze.

Aunty Bev and Tracy couldn't be back from the newsagent already. It was a good ten minutes each way and that didn't include actually buying Tracy's diet book.

The door swung open and Dazzle trotted in.

He put his paws on Keith's chest and licked his face.

Keith started breathing again and gave Dazzle a hug.

‘Don't worry,' he said, ‘you're coming with me and Tracy.'

He opened the make-up bag.

A jolt of excitement ran through him.

Lying on top of the bottles and jars was a plastic travel wallet.

He picked it up, hands shaking.

Inside was a passport and some Australian money and some duty free vouchers.

And a plane ticket.

Keith pulled the ticket out of the wallet.

His shoulders slumped.

Aunty Bev's name was in computer print.

That's it, thought Keith, sick with disappointment. Forget it.

You can change handwriting, but not computer print.

He was about to put the ticket back when he noticed something had fallen out of the wallet.

A photo.

A faded, tattered photo of a girl about Tracy's age in a swimming costume with plump arms and stocky legs and a round body and a chubby face.

Aunty Bev's face.

‘It's definitely her,' said Tracy. ‘See that badge on her swimmers? That's the school she went to.'

Keith waited for his heart to stop thumping.

He realised it wasn't going to so he carried on anyway.

‘You're dead sure?' he said.

‘I'd bet my dad's crutches on it,' said Tracy. ‘That dunny she's standing in front of was my grandma's.'

They crouched in the phone box and stared at the photo for a long time.

Keith's mind was racing and he could tell from Tracy's frown that hers probably was too.

After a while he slid the photo inside his jacket.

‘I'm going to put it back before Mum gets home from work,' he said.

‘Why?' asked Tracy. ‘Why don't we go to the cafe and give Aunty Bev a squiz and remind her she used to be a normal kid so she'll leave me alone?'

‘Cause if she's carrying this round with her,' said Keith, ‘she doesn't need to be reminded.'

Tracy's face fell.

‘Don't worry,' said Keith. ‘I've got a better idea.'

Keith stood outside Mum's bathroom door and made sure he had a firm grip on his sketch pad and his nerves.

He could hear water splashing and the Beach Boys singing.

He sent an urgent message to the batteries in Mum's radio.

Just five more minutes, please. Last time if you'd conked out I'd have been sent to my room. This time I could go to jail.

Then he slowly turned the door handle and eased the door open a fraction.

He held his breath and hoped Aunty Bev couldn't hear the blood pounding in his ears.

She didn't seem to be able to.

She was lying back in the bath, eyes closed, waving a sponge in time to the music.

Just stay like that for five minutes, begged Keith. Please.

He peered through the steam and started sketching.

Suddenly Aunty Bev started screaming.

Keith slammed the door and ran out of the flat and down the street to the police station and explained frantically to the sergeant that he hadn't been sketching her rude bits, just her face.

That's what he did in his mind.

Before his body could follow along, he realised Aunty Bev was just singing.

He breathed a sigh of relief as quietly as he could and carried on sketching.

‘Try and hold the torch steadier,' whispered Keith.

‘Sorry,' said Tracy. ‘It's this ladder, it's not designed for two people.'

Keith sighed to himself.

Bet the great painters of history didn't have to do their best work in pitch darkness up Mitch Wilson's dad's gardening ladder with only a wobbly torch to see by.

Bet when Michelangelo made alterations to the mural in the Sistine Chapel he had scaffolding and floodlights.

Well, big candles anyway.

Plus he probably had more than the leftover Pond Green and Contemporary Beige from Dad's flat to work with.

‘How's the torch now?' asked Tracy.

‘Perfect, thanks,' said Keith, mixing up some more grey and brushing it onto the wall.

Then again, he thought, Michelangelo probably didn't have his best mate to help him.

Keith leant back and looked at the expanse of mural in front of him.

That was Mum and Dad painted over.

Now to start on Aunty Bev.

‘I still think this suit's too tight,' said Dad, pulling at the legs as he stepped off the kerb.

‘No it's not,' said Aunty Bev. ‘It'll be fine once you've sculpted your body profile. Plus that fabric'll stretch with wear. Take bigger steps.'

Dad took bigger steps as they crossed the road, but Keith could see he wasn't happy.

Keith wasn't happy either.

He sent Dad an urgent message.

Don't worry about the new suit now, please, it'll distract Aunty Bev from the mural.

Keith glanced at Tracy and could see from her tense face that she was worried about the same thing.

Dad pulled at the sleeves of the suit.

‘The mural's just round this corner,' said Keith.

‘This is very exciting,' said Aunty Bev. ‘Why didn't you tell me about it before?'

‘Keith's a bit nervous about his paintings,' said Tracy. ‘He's worried that people won't understand them.'

Keith and Tracy exchanged a glance and Keith saw that her fingers were crossed as tightly as his.

He held his breath as they turned the corner.

‘Jeez,' said Aunty Bev, staring up at the mural. ‘Look at the size of it.'

For a horrible moment Keith thought she meant the body of the attractive and stylish Contemporary Beige woman with the Pond Green swimsuit and the plump arms and the stocky legs and the round body and the chubby face which, Keith was relieved to see, even in daylight was a pretty good likeness of Aunty Bev.

But she didn't.

‘The colours on the houses are fabulous,' said Aunty Bev.

‘What happened to the weightlifters?' said Dad with a puzzled frown.

‘I changed it,' said Keith quietly.

Please, he begged Aunty Bev silently, please do us all a favour and recognise your real self and feel OK about it.

Aunty Bev stared at herself on the wall.

Keith's heart thumped with excitement.

Aunty Bev turned to Tracy.

‘That's exactly what I've been trying to tell you,' she said, pointing up at the woman. ‘Puppy fat can stay with you and ruin your life.'

Then she turned to Dad.

‘On second thoughts,' she said, ‘I think that suit is too tight.'

Keith's feet hurt.

Not surprising, he thought gloomily, I must have walked hundreds of miles.

He walked a bit more, then it hit him that if his feet hurt, Dazzle's probably did too.

He picked Dazzle up and tucked the panting dog inside his jacket.

‘Sorry,' he said.

Dazzle licked his chin.

Under the next street light Keith looked at his watch but it had stopped.

Dad and Aunty Bev were probably home from their visit to the doctor to see if Dad could get liposuction on the Government and were probably wondering where he was.

Tracy had probably slept off her headache and was probably wondering where he was too.

Keith realised he didn't know where he was.

He peered around but the dark houses all looked the same.

Serves me right if I'm lost forever, thought Keith gloomily. A person who ruins his dad's life and his best friend's life and can't even fix things up with a two hundred square foot mural deserves to be lost.

Dazzle started to wail softly.

Keith patted his head.

‘Don't be upset,' he said, ‘we're not really lost. We're somewhere in South London.'

Dazzle kept on wailing.

He knows, thought Keith, he knows we won't be able to stay in South London with Aunty Bev here.

And suddenly Keith wanted to wail himself.

He wanted to snuggle inside Mum's jacket, or Dad's, and tell them how scared and unhappy he was.

He looked around for a street sign to help him get home but all he could see was a gatepost.

A gatepost with a jagged slash of new wood on it.

Mr Mellish's gatepost.

Dazzle's wails got louder and Keith suddenly knew why.

‘He's gone,' he said softly to the trembling dog. ‘There's nothing you can do.'

Keith felt wetness on his hand.

You poor little thing, he thought, you're crying.

Then Keith realised the tears weren't Dazzle's, they were his.

Please be home, Mum, thought Keith as he softly closed the door.

As his eyes got used to the darkness he saw that Mum's bed on the settee was empty.

Then he heard it.

The quiet sobbing coming from the bathroom.

Oh no, he thought, I knew it was too good to be true.

I knew it was too much to hope that Mum and Donald could find happiness together what with them both being parking inspectors and under so much stress.

And now they've split up.

Poor Mum.

Keith knocked softly on the bathroom door, then pushed it open.

He could just make out a figure sitting on the edge of the bath in a dressing gown, shaking with sobs.

‘Don't sit here in the dark; he said softly, and put the light on.

Aunty Bev blinked at him with red-rimmed eyes.

Keith blinked back.

He saw she was holding the tattered photo of herself as a kid in one hand and a half-empty packet of chocolate fingers in the other.

‘Sorry,' said Keith.

‘That's OK,' said Aunty Bev. ‘I'm just feeling a bit weepy.'

She looked at the photo, then at the chocolate fingers.

‘Can I tell you something just between us?' she said.

‘Yes,' said Keith, hoping desperately she wasn't going to lecture him about how eating chocolate fingers would give him puppy fat.

‘It's not going to work with me and your dad,' she said sadly. ‘He thinks I nag him too much.'

‘Oh,' said Keith.

Aunty Bev put a chocolate finger into her mouth.

‘I haven't had a chocolate finger for nineteen years,' she said.

‘That must have been awful,' said Keith.

Aunty Bev wiped her nose on the back of her hand. ‘It's not a lot of fun,' she said, ‘staying thin and beautiful.'

Keith wondered if he should let her know she looked nicer with red eyes and a brown mouth.

‘Do you know what I've always wanted to do for my holidays?' said Aunty Bev.