Keith found Aunty Bev at Dad’s place, curled up on the settee reading a glossy magazine with a woman on the front even thinner than she was.
He cleared his throat until she looked up.
‘I think what you’re doing to Tracy is wrong,’ he said, ‘and I think you should stop.’
Aunty Bev looked at him for what seemed like months.
Keith’s stomach felt like it was being jabbed from the inside by a whole lot of chocolate fingers.
A muscle in his left buttock was quivering.
He wondered if his stomach was sagging and his bottom was wobbling.
Don’t care if they are, he thought.
Then Aunty Bev smiled.
‘You’re a good mate to Tracy,’ she said. ‘Tracy’s lucky to have you. But you don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Yes I do,’ said Keith softly.
Aunty Bev closed her magazine.
‘Keith,’ she said, ‘I’m a beautician. I’m trained to know what’s best for people.’
‘Only on the outside,’ said Keith.
Keith noticed that even though Aunty Bev’s head was completely still, her plastic parrot earrings were trembling.
This is it, he thought. This is where she either agrees with me or attacks me with a vacuum cleaner.
Aunty Bev suddenly stood up.
Keith flinched, then remembered Dad’s Hoover was broken.
‘You probably think Tracy’s just got a bit of puppy fat, right?’ said Aunty Bev. ‘You probably think all kids put on a bit of weight at your age and it’s perfectly OK.’
Keith nodded.
He was in the middle of wondering whether he should remind her it was called growing when she suddenly scowled.
‘Puppy fat,’ she said, ‘is not OK.’
She put her face close to Keith’s.
Keith swallowed.
He noticed that one of her eyelashes was crooked.
Hope it’s false, he thought.
‘Do you know why puppy fat is not OK?’ she asked.
Keith shook his head.
‘Because,’ she said, ‘puppy fat doesn’t always go away. Puppy fat can stay with you for the rest of your life.’
Keith thought about this.
‘So what?’ he asked.
‘So what?’ shouted Aunty Bev. ‘So what?’
Keith’s left buttock felt like it was going to run out the door on its own.
The chocolate fingers grabbed his guts and twisted.
But he found himself thinking of all the happy people he knew who weren’t thin. Mr Gambaso in the Orchid Cove milkbar and the bloke who’d sold him the sugar cane and Ronnie Barker and the woman in the twenty-seven million quid painting.
‘Yes,’ shouted Keith. ‘So what?’
‘Keith!’ boomed Dad’s angry voice from the kitchen. ‘Don’t you ever talk to Bev like that again!’
Keith sighed.
He braced himself for the combined sight of Dad’s angry red face and his spiky short haircut.
He heard Dad striding out of the kitchen and turned and started to explain that he hadn’t meant to be rude but you have to be firm when you’re arguing with a fanatic.
He didn’t finish.
Dad’s face wasn’t red, it was shiny white.
His whole face was covered with white slime.
Stuck to the slime, beneath each eye, was a slice of cucumber.
Keith stared.
Then he saw that Dad was holding a large pot of yoghurt.
Dad went over to Aunty Bev and put a protective arm round her shoulders.
‘Did you hear what I said, Keith?’ boomed Dad.
Keith managed to nod.
‘Leave the cucumber over your eyes, Vin,’ said Aunty Bev, slipping her arm round Dad’s waist, ‘or it won’t absorb the muck from your eye sockets. It’s OK, me and Keith were just having a bit of a debate, weren’t we love?’
Keith tried to nod again but his neck had stopped working.
All he could do was stare in horror as Dad and Aunty Bev stood there with their arms round each other and Aunty Bev didn’t even mind the yoghurt getting on her tracksuit.
‘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.