Worry Warts (11 page)

‘That is what you want, isn't it love?' asked Mum in a shaky voice.

Keith looked at them both and slowly shook his head.

Keith peered across Trafalgar Square into the late morning fog.

Everything was grey. Grey buildings. Grey shops. Grey cars.

Nelson's Column was grey, looming up into the grey London sky.

Keith grinned.

What a great day.

He pulled Tracy's letter from his pocket and read it for the nineteenth time since it had arrived at Dad's place that morning.

Dear Keith,

Ripper, eh? Only another ten days and I'll be there. It's great you've got two bedrooms now cause that means I won't have to pay camping-ground fees and I'll have more opal money left for checking out London.

My folks have said I might be able to stay for a seventh week! They're really rapt cause the new roof is on now and their bedroom doesn't leak any more.

I had a lend of a book on Peru. It still looks pretty interesting, but not as interesting as the London Underground. What happens if a train breaks down? Do they have dunnies down there? Mrs Newman reckons underground trains make your feet swell. Can't wait.

Say g'day to your folks from me. It must be exciting, having a Mum who's a parking inspector.

See you soon.

Love Tracy.

PS. Mr Gerlach put your cane toad painting on the front of the school magazine.

PPS. When you said you painted your Dad's new shop 14 colours, was that inside as well or just outside?

Keith put the letter back in his pocket and looked at his watch. It had been running a bit slow ever since he'd put it in the turps to get rid of the Mongolian Beige.

Eleven thirty-eight.

Or thereabouts.

Heaps of time.

He'd got four days to finish off painting his bedrooms before Tracy arrived. His room at Mum's place was just about finished except for the rainforest mural on the ceiling. And all he had to do to finish off his room at Dad's place was put a second coat of Tropical Parrot on the wardrobe and add the Hot Sunflower speed stripes.

Keith climbed the steps of the National Gallery and went inside.

He walked slowly through the rooms, lingering in front of his favourite paintings.

As usual he didn't spend long looking at the one called
Giovanni Amolfini And His Wife
because the man and woman reminded him of Mum and Dad before they cheered up.

Still, he thought, it's interesting that people married the wrong people even five hundred and sixty years ago.

He noticed that the walls in one of the Early Italian rooms had been repainted.

Satin Finish Eggshell Enamel.

Not bad.

Keith wandered on through the gallery smiling as he thought about bringing Tracy here.

After she'd checked out all the paintings, specially the Rembrandt
Self Portrait
which looked a bit like a cane toad, and he'd shown her the Flemish rooms, which desperately needed some Celery Green around the windows, he'd tell her his secret ambition.

That one day his work would be on these walls.

‘Inside the picture frames or around them,' she'd ask with a grin.

He'd grin back and give a shrug.

Didn't matter.

He was a painter, not a worry wart.