Puppy Fat by Morris Gleitzman Read Free Book Online

Mum’s posture would almost certainly improve a bit and male motorists were bound to notice while she was writing out their parking tickets.
    â€˜Keith,’ called Mum, ‘here a sec.’
    Keith sighed and went into the bathroom.
    Mum was brushing her hair in the mirror. Keith watched her sadly. On telly when women did that it made their hair thicker and bouncier. When Mum brushed hers it made it flatter.
    â€˜When Tracy and Bev wake up,’ said Mum, ‘make sure they have everything they want. The chocolate fingers are in the medicine cupboard.’
    Keith looked at her.
    She opened the bathroom cabinet and pointed to the top shelf.
    Keith stood on tiptoe and could just see the chocolate finger box.
    Fair enough, he thought, they are a type of medicine.
    â€˜I put them up there so you wouldn’t scoff them all,’ said Mum.
    Keith decided not to argue.
    If he reminded her that she was the one with the chocolate finger problem it would probably make her hair even flatter.
    â€˜Don’t forget to clean your teeth,’ he said to her, and hurried to the bedroom.
    Tracy was stretched out on his bed asleep, still in her jeans and T-shirt.
    Beside her on the pillow was the half-eaten sausage and onion sandwich.
    He shook her gently.
    She mumbled and turned over, still asleep.
    â€˜Tracy,’ said Keith, ‘it’s urgent. I need you to tell Mum about your dad’s cousin Phil.’
    Tracy opened her eyes and stared at him blearily.
    â€˜Uh?’ she mumbled.
    â€˜You know,’ continued Keith, ‘about how he got trampled in that rodeo and had to have thirteen metal pins surgically implanted in his body which gave him good posture for the first time in his life plus greatly improved TV reception.’
    Tracy rolled over.
    â€˜Not now,’ she moaned into the pillow. ‘I need more sleep. Aunty Bev didn’t stop yakking the whole flight.’
    Keith watched as her body went limp and her breathing became heavier.
    Poor thing, he thought.
    Normally she’d swim through wet cement to finish a sausage and onion sandwich and here she was, too tired to even pick out the fried onion.
    â€˜It’ll only take a couple of minutes,’ he said, ‘then you can go back to sleep.’
    She didn’t stir.
    Keith was debating whether to give her another shake when Mum appeared in the doorway.
    â€˜I’m going now love,’ she said. ‘Bye.’
    â€˜Mum, wait,’ said Keith.
    â€˜What is it love?’ she said.
    Tracy started snoring.
    â€˜Doesn’t matter,’ said Keith.
    Mum went.
    Keith sighed, picked up the sandwich and took a bite.
    Oh well, he thought, one more day won’t kill her.
    He opened his wardrobe and pulled out a blanket. While he was spreading it over Tracy he noticed something.
    She was wearing the jeans she’d ripped crawling under a cane harvester to rescue a frightened blue-tongue lizard.
    He saw how short they were on her now.
    That day in the cane field they’d fitted her perfectly. She’d tucked them into her socks so snakes wouldn’t crawl up her legs.
    Now, only four months later, they stopped halfway down her ankles.
    Keith stared.
    Blimey, he thought. Swollen spinal fluid couldn’t make that much difference. Either she’s grown or those jeans have shrunk.
    He glanced down at his own jeans and saw he was wearing the pair he’d ripped that day.
    Just like old times.
    Except his were still a perfect fit.
    Which come to think of it was a bit strange.
    He tried to think how his jeans could have got stretched. A power surge at the laundromat? Mum hanging them to dry over the bath with marbles in the pockets?
    Then another possibility hit him.
    Keith stared into Mum’s bathroom mirror.
    As usual all he could see was the top two-thirds of his face.
    As usual the bottom of the mirror chopped him off under his nose like a badly-framed photograph.
    Just like it had the first time