Puppy Fat by Morris Gleitzman

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.
    â€˜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.

15
    â€˜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.
    â€˜You’re dead sure?’ he said.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜I’m going to put it back before Mum gets home from work,’ he said.
    â€˜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?’
    â€˜Cause if she’s carrying this round with her,’ said Keith, ‘she doesn’t need to be reminded.’
    Tracy’s face fell.
    â€˜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