Keith looked at his watch. Forty-seven minutes left and he’d almost finished.
Not bad going, he thought, considering it’s the first time I’ve ever painted a car.
He crouched down to do a bit he’d missed at the bottom of a wheel arch, and noticed that one of the back tyres was a bit flat.
Stands to reason, he thought. Sitting out here in front of the house for weeks without being driven.
While he did around the numberplate he tried to remember the last Sunday they’d gone for a drive. Was it the time they went down to Mission Beach and Dad dropped his ice cream and they all had a good laugh and then Mum got a migraine? Or was it the day they went to the crocodile farm and Mum insisted on having lunch in the cafe there and Dad spent two hours in the public dunny with the trots?
Keith couldn’t remember.
Anyway, he thought as he finished off the exhaust pipe, it was before Mum took up Sunday bushwalking and Dad took up Sunday crosswords. Which hadn’t fooled Keith for a moment. He knew exactly why Mum and Dad didn’t want to go out for Sunday drives anymore.
They were embarrassed.
Embarrassed to be seen driving around in an off-white 1979 Toyota Corolla with rust spots when Gary Murdoch’s dad had a bright red 1990 Mercedes with speed stripes and chrome wheels.
Well you won’t have to be embarrassed anymore, thought Keith.
He put a second coat on the dent Mum had made in the passenger door the day she flung it open and hit a steel girder.
Keith shuddered as he remembered that day.
They’d been parked in the drive-in bottle department. Mum and Dad had been arguing about which beer to buy.
The trouble with tropical paradises, thought Keith as he put a third coat on the dent, is that there are too many brands of beer.
‘Jeez.’
Keith turned at the sound of the familiar voice.
Tracy stood there looking at the car.
‘It’s a bit bright but,’ she said.
That’s a good one, thought Keith, coming from a girl with a luminous orange and purple skateboard. And pink patches on her face where the brown was peeling off.
‘It’s a wedding anniversary present for my mum and dad,’ he said.
‘Hope you got them sunglasses as well,’ said Tracy.
A twinge of panic hit Keith under the ribs. Perhaps it was a bit bright. The Tropical Mango Gloss he’d painted the shop in England with had been a bit bright and they hadn’t liked that at first.
Relax, he told himself, this is different. Mum and Dad were misery guts then. Now they’re cheerful adventurous globetrotters who are just feeling the heat a bit. Don’t be a worry wart.
The panic went as he remembered how Dad had stared enviously the first time Mr Murdoch had driven past in his bright red Mercedes.
‘Do they know about it?’ asked Tracy.
‘It’s a surprise,’ he said.
‘It’ll be a surprise alright,’ said Tracy, ‘when they find they’ve got the only green car with yellow stripes in the whole of Far North Queensland.’
‘It’s not green and yellow,’ said Keith, ‘it’s Tropical Parrot and Hot Sunflower. And they’re speed stripes.’
‘Gary Murdoch’s dad’ll chuck his guts with envy when he sees that,’ said Tracy, grinning at him.
Keith grinned back. Good old Tracy. You could trust a mate to say the right thing.
‘What made you choose green and yellow?’ asked Tracy.
‘I wanted it to be Mum and Dad’s favourite colours,’ said Keith, ‘so I checked out their wardrobe. Mum’s got three separate things that are green-and-yellow stripes, and Dad’s got a yellow shirt and green socks.’
‘Jeez, you’re a clever bugger,’ said Tracy.
Keith glowed. When some kids said that they were sending you up, but when Tracy said it you knew she meant it.
‘Is this why you nicked off after school without hanging around for softball?’ she asked.
‘Sorry,’ said Keith. ‘I was on a tight deadline. I only had the idea in art. Had to make sure I got it finished before Mum and Dad got home from the shop.’
‘They don’t get home for another forty minutes,’ said Tracy.
‘Thirty-nine,’ said Keith, ‘thirty-eight if they walk fast.’
‘Jeez, you’re a worry wart,’ said Tracy, grinning at him again.
He asked her whether she thought he should do the bumper bars to disguise the dent where Dad had backed into a concrete post in the Cairns car park the day Mum had bought her green-and-yellow striped swimmers.
Tracy said she reckoned he should leave them in case his mum bought some more expensive clothes and his dad backed into something else, which would only chip the paint.
Keith agreed.
‘Gotta go now,’ said Tracy, ‘gotta help clean out the chooks. See you down the beach later?’
‘Maybe,’ said Keith.
He didn’t want to be more definite because there was always the chance that when Mum and Dad saw the paint job they’d want Keith to leap straight into the car with them and drive up to Port Douglas and have a pizza in the outdoor restaurant under the fairy lights where they’d all clink their glasses together, or their metal containers if they were having milkshakes, and toast their happiness together for ever and ever.
One minute to go.
Keith did a final check. Camera. Anniversary card. Ribbon.
He hoped Mum and Dad wouldn’t mind about the ribbon. He hadn’t been able to find one long enough to go round a car. The clothes line looked OK anyway, even if the bow was a bit floppy.
The anniversary card looked great, standing on the bonnet. Now it was painted you couldn’t see it was made from bits of Chiko Roll boxes. The Hot Sunflower Happy Wedding Anniversary stood out really well against the Tropical Parrot.
He checked round the car for drips.
Hardly any.
It had really paid off, using quick-drying plastic paint. Much better than the gloss stuff he’d used on the shop in England, which had taken a week to dry just cause there’d been a bit of rain.
Keith glanced at his watch.
Six minutes past six.
Where were they?
Perhaps they were still at the shop arguing and they hadn’t noticed the time.
Keith tried to force that awful thought out of his mind.
He still hadn’t managed to when Mum and Dad came round the corner.
Keith took a deep breath.
‘Happy wedding anniversary,’ he shouted, squinting into the camera.
He wanted to get their faces the moment they broke into huge glowing grins.
Through the viewfinder he could see them moving towards him, eyes wide and mouths open.
Come on, thought Keith, let’s have the delighted smiles.
‘Happy wedding anniversary,’ he shouted again.
Mum and Dad were very close now, eyes still wide and mouths still open.
Come on, thought Keith, smile or you’ll be out of focus.
He pressed the button anyway, just as Mum started to cry.
After Dad had taken Mum into the house, Keith stared at the car for a long while, trying to think.
Why hadn’t they said anything about the paint job?
Because they hadn’t needed to, probably. Tears from Mum and a mouth drooping almost to the ground from Dad had said it all.
They didn’t like it.
Keith felt his eyes getting hot.
Pull yourself together, he thought. Be positive. Why don’t they like it?
The colours?
The unpainted bumper bars?
The fact that I only put one ‘n’ in ‘anniversary’?
No problem, he said to himself.
If they’re worried about my spelling I’ll do extra homework.
If they’re upset about the bumper bars I’ll paint them.
If they don’t like Tropical Parrot and Hot Sunflower I’ll have the whole car another colour by tomorrow night. Off-white if they want.
Suddenly he felt much better.
Trust Mum and Dad to make a big drama out of such a simple problem, whichever one it was.
Keith went into the house, working out how many kids he’d have to borrow a dollar from to buy two litres of off-white paint.
Mum and Dad were in their bedroom, talking.
Keith didn’t mean to listen, but their voices came clearly through the thin wall.
‘We can’t carry on like this,’ said Mum’s voice tearfully.
‘What about Keith?’ said Dad’s voice.
Keith was shocked. Dad’s voice sounded like he’d been crying too.
‘Plenty of kids’ parents split up,’ said Mum’s shaking voice, ‘it’s not the end of the world.’
Keith stood in the narrow, hot hallway and the blood pounded in his ears so loudly that he thought for a few seconds another cyclone had hit.
Then he ran out of the house.