Puppy Fat

by Morris Gleitzman

  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.
r />   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.

  ‘Go to Nepal?’ said Keith.

  ‘Spend two weeks with a normal tummy like your dad and comfy hair like your mum,’ said Aunty Bev.

  ‘Why don’t you?’ said Keith.

  16

  Keith stumbled downstairs to the cafe rubbing his eyes, Dazzle panting at his heels.

  That, he thought, was the best sleep I’ve had in months.

  Then he stopped.

  Something was wrong.

  Why couldn’t he smell frying?

  It was after midday and Tracy and Aunty Bev would be arriving for Sunday lunch any sec and Dad should have been well into cooking the fish and chips.

  Then he saw Dad sitting at one of the tables in his Simpsons T-shirt and baggy old trousers, shoulders slumped, staring into a cuppa.

  ‘You alright Dad?’ he said.

  ‘Fine,’ said Dad, looking up and trying to smile.

  ‘Dad,’ said Keith quietly, ‘is it Aunty Bev?’

  Dad stared into his cuppa.

  ‘Son,’ he said after a bit, ‘can I tell you something just between us?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Keith.

  ‘It’s not going to work out between me and Bev,’ said Dad softly. ‘She wants someone thin and good-looking.’

  Keith sat down at the table, heart pounding, and started sorting out in his mind all the things he had to tell Dad.

  How Aunty Bev had discovered her real self.

  How she wouldn’t be nagging anyone any more.

  How Dad and her could fall in love and have a long and happy life together in comfy clothes.

  Keith opened his mouth but before he could start Aunty Bev’s voice rang out from the doorway.

  ‘G’day Vin, g’day Keith.’

  Keith kept his eyes on Dad’s face, waiting for Dad’s reaction when he saw what Bev was wearing. One of Mum’s baggy old tracksuits probably and a pair of her sensible shoes and flat hair and no make-up.

  Keith waited.

  ‘Hello Bev, hello Tracy,’ said Dad, face still serious.

  Keith waited some more.

  Oh no, he thought, Dad’s eyes really have gone this time.

  Keith turned round.

  His stomach sagged.

  Aunty Bev was wearing her tight pink tracksuit and her shiny red shoes and her hair was bouncing gently around her perfectly made-up face.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Dad, standing up, ‘I’m a bit behind with lunch.’

  ‘No worries,’ said Aunty Bev. ‘Won’t hurt Tracy to wait a bit. We won’t be eating much in Nepal so she might as well get used to it now.’

  Keith looked sadly at Tracy.

  Poor thing, he thought.

  Tracy turned to Aunty Bev.

  ‘You can wait if you want,’ she said, ‘but I’m starving.’

  ‘Eh?’ said Aunty Bev.

  Keith stared.

  ‘Come on,’ said Tracy, ‘let’s all get stuck in and help.’

  Keith didn’t get a chance to speak to Tracy in private until they were at the sink together peeling the potatoes.

  ‘Good one,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Tracy.

  ‘How did you do it?’ he said.

  ‘It was easy,’ replied Tracy. ‘I just have to remember she’s not really nagging me, she’s nagging herself.’

  Keith looked at her happily.

  Good old Tracy, he thought. Wish I was as quick as her at catching the drift.

  He took a deep breath.

  Now for the tricky bit.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  Tracy finished scraping the eye out of a potato and gave him a long look.

  She didn’t say anything.

  Keith took another deep breath.

  ‘Sorry I’ve spent most of your trip being a wally,’ he said.

  Tracy grinned. ‘You mean a prawn.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said.

  ‘You weren’t,’ she said. ‘Though I did think I’d lost a best mate there for a bit.’

  Everyone at the airport looked like they’d just got off a long flight, even the people who hadn’t started theirs yet.

  Except Aunty Bev.

  Keith decided to give Tracy her present now so Aunty Bev could get used to it and not throw a tizz on the plane and perhaps pierce the fuselage with her high heels.

  ‘Here,’ he said to Tracy, ‘this is for you.’

  ‘Ripper,’ said Tracy, opening the bag and taking out the four egg, bacon, sausage, onion and Vegemite rolls. ‘These’ll keep me going all the way to Nepal. Thanks.’

  Keith saw Aunty Bev’s lips tighten.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Tracy said to her, ‘I’ll walk around the plane while I’m eating them.’

  Before Aunty Bev could say anything, their flight was announced.

  Aunty Bev and Dad shook hands, then kissed each other on the cheek.

  Keith and Tracy hugged each other, and Dazzle licked Tracy on the face.

  ‘I’m going to miss you,’ said Keith.

  ‘I’m gunna miss you too,’ said Tracy. ‘How many plates was it you have to wash up to pay for a ticket to Australia?’

  ‘Eighteen thousand,’ said Keith.

  ‘Think positive,’ said Tracy.

  Keith grinned.

  While Dad and Tracy were saying goodbye, Aunty Bev gave Keith a quick hug, then glanced around to make sure nobody could hear her.

  ‘You’re a good painter,’ she said quietly, ‘keep at it.’

  As Tracy and Aunty Bev walked through the departure gate, Keith sent Tracy an urgent message.

  Stay in touch.

  Bugger it, he thought, the problem with silent messages is you never know if they’ve got through.

  ‘Stay in touch,’ he called.

  Tracy stopped and turned and grinned at him.

  ‘No worries,’ she said. ‘Best mates always do.’

  17

  ‘Nice,’ said Mr Dodd, looking up at the wall. ‘Very nice.’

  ‘Hope it sells some paint,’ said Keith, wiping his hands on a rag.

  ‘Can’t miss,’ said Mr Dodd, ‘not with lettering that big.’

  ‘Hmmmmm,’ said a voice behind Keith.

  Keith turned
.

  It was Mr Browning.

  ‘“Dodds Hardware For All Your Paint Needs”,’ read Mr Browning. ‘“Expert Advice. Rock Bottom Prices.” Very effective. I particularly like the contrast between the blue background and the ochre lettering.’

  ‘It’s Suntan Gold actually,’ said Mr Dodd.

  ‘Pity about the mural though,’ said Mr Browning, ‘it was very good.’

  ‘I liked the second version best,’ said Mr Dodd. ‘That well-built woman in the Pond Green swimsuit.’

  ‘They were both fine examples of non-realist art,’ said Mr Browning.

  ‘You’re right there, thought Keith, smiling to himself. They were a bit unrealistic.

  After Mr Browning had gone, Mr Dodd invited Keith into the shop for a drink and a cake.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Keith, ‘but I’m a bit pressed for time. I’ve got to organise an art exhibition.’

  After Keith declared the art exhibition open, he handed round tea and chocolate fingers.

  It didn’t take long because there were only two people at the viewing.

  ‘Nice tea: said Dad.

  ‘Yummy chocolate fingers: said Mum.

  Then they talked with the artist about his work.

  Keith explained that the two paintings used to be one, but he’d cut it in half so they could each have their own bit.

  ‘Yours is called Nude Dad With Frying Pan,’ he told Dad. ‘Don’t touch the bald patch, it’s still a bit wet.’

  ‘It’s brilliantly life-like: said Dad. ‘You’ve got my saggy tummy and wobbly bottom down to a T.’

  ‘Art should be truthful: said Keith.

  He told Mum the title of hers.

  ‘Venus Soaking Her Corns: she grinned. ‘I like it, though it should really be called Venus Soaking Her Corns And Droopy Shoulders.’

  Keith explained about the shower curtain, and offered to paint it back in, but Mum said what was good enough for Rembrandt’s models was good enough for her.

  Then it was time for Dad to go to the cafe and Mum to go and meet Donald at the pictures.

  They each took their painting, and thanked him so much that by the time they’d finished he felt about six pineapple boxes tall.

  They both put their arms round him and gave him a hug.

  Funny, thought Keith, they both seem a bit shorter than the last time we did this.

  Perhaps they’re shrinking with old age.

  Then another possibility hit him.

  He ran into Mum’s bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, guts tingling with happiness.