Puppy Fat Read Free

bald patch.
    â€˜What’s the right-hand side called,’ asked Mr Browning, shifting his gaze to Mum in the bath.
    â€˜Venus Soaking Her Corns,’ said Keith. ‘Mum’s name is actually Marge, but the great painters of history usually called their lady nudes Venus. Or Mona.’
    â€˜Hmmmm,’ said Mr Browning. ‘I like the way you’ve got the light falling across her shoulders like a cloak to remind us she’s an historical figure.’
    Keith nodded again and decided not to mention that it was actually a shower curtain he’d put in to hide Mum’s bad posture.
    â€˜And having her playing Monopoly in the bath,’ said Mr Browning. ‘Very imaginative. She’s a real estate agent, is she?’
    Keith shook his head. ‘Parking inspector,’ he said.
    Mr Browning continued to look closely at Mum.
    â€˜Is that a phone number’ he asked, ‘in soap suds, floating on the top of the water?’
    Keith nodded and felt his heart speed up.
    It was working.
    Mr Browning was becoming fascinated by Mum’s finer qualities.
    â€˜She’s good at Scrabble, too,’ said Keith. ‘And cards.’
    Then he remembered Mr Browning was married.
    With triplets.
    â€˜But she hasn’t got very good feet,’ Keith said hurriedly.
    Mr Browning smiled and glanced around the hall.
    â€˜You’d better lower your voice,’ he said, ‘in case she hears you.’
    â€˜She’s not here,’ said Keith. ‘She’s doing a late shift.’
    â€˜Well, your dad then,’ said Mr Browning. ‘Don’t want him hearing you bad-mouthing, your mum feet.
    â€˜Mum and Dad are separated,’ said Keith. ‘And Dad’s doing dinners at the cafe till nine.’
    Mr Browning looked at the painting again, and then at Keith.
    He seemed lost for words, which Keith hadn’t ever seen before with Mr Browning.
    He didn’t even say ‘Hmmmm.’
    â€˜Well done, Keith,’ he said finally. ‘It’s a good effort. Keep it up. I hope you won’t stop painting just because term’s finished.’
    Then he turned and went to look at another picture.
    Keith pretended to go and look at another picture too.
    Best not hang around mine, he thought. People get nervous copying down phone numbers from paintings when the artist’s standing there watching them.
    He glanced around the hall.
    They couldn’t all be mums and dads.
    There must be some single people.
    Keith tried to work out which ones were unattached, separated, divorced, widowed, abandoned, or had partners in jail for life.
    It wasn’t easy.
    Then, with a jolt, he realised some people were looking at his painting.
    Two women by themselves and a man by himself.
    Keith liked the look of all of them, and he knew Mum and Dad would too.
    He strained to hear what they were saying.
    â€˜Dodgy legs; said one of the women, pointing to Dad.
    They both sniggered.
    â€˜Hers aren’t much better; said the man, pointing to Mum.
    The three of them walked away laughing.
    Tragic, thought Keith. Fancy thinking the most important thing about a person is whether the veins in their legs stick out a bit.
    He looked around again.
    The hall was even more crowded now.
    People were arriving all the time.
    Keith relaxed.
    He could tell that lots of them were sensitive mature single people who knew that leg veins weren’t really very important at all.
    Keith lay in bed and stared into the darkness and tried to stop seeing leg veins.
    He couldn’t.
    â€˜Dodgy legs,’ said the school hall voices in his head.
    And ‘Yuk, look at that tummy.’
    And ‘I’ve seen better looking skin on a potato.’
    And ‘Who’s that in the bath, the Hunchback Of Notre Dame?’
    And ‘Fire! Fire!’
    Keith smiled grimly in the darkness.
    That would have shut them up.
    If he’d ripped his painting off the wall and grabbed Mr