‘Let’s get started,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a big job ahead of us.’
You’re not kidding, thought Keith.
He hadn’t checked under the shop for snakes yet.
While Mum started cleaning up the shop and Dad got on the phone to Cairns to order oil and potatoes and matzo flour, Keith checked under the shop for snakes.
The shop was built on wooden stumps, which meant he could walk around under it if he crouched low enough. It also meant he had room to swing the old machete he found hanging on one of the stumps.
He had to do that twice.
The first time was when he put his foot on a thirty foot diamond-bellied black snake which he chopped into eight pieces before he saw the metal nozzle which connected it to the garden tap.
The second time was when he backed into a crocodile.
He felt its rough skin scrape the back of his legs.
Heart pounding, he slowly raised the machete, spun round, slipped, and sat down on the crocodile.
The crocodile had arm rests.
What a stupid place to leave an old vinyl settee, thought Keith. He sat back and waited for his heart to calm down.
He could hear Mum and Dad banging around above him with mops and brooms.
At least, he thought, they’re too busy to be planning any picnics in the rainforest or paddles at the beach.
He’d still hide their swimming costumes and the picnic plates, just in case.
The people of Orchid Cove were everything Keith had hoped they would be.
Cheerful.
Ron in the general store was cheerful. Clarrie the chemist was cheerful. Doug at the petrol station was so cheerful you could hear him whistling even when he was taking wheel nuts off with a power tool.
Complete strangers were cheerful. They nodded to each other on the street and said ‘G’day’ and complimented each other on their new hats and cars and, in Keith’s case, the new zinc cream on his nose. They said blue was a good choice of colour.
Only twice did Keith come across people in Orchid Cove who were not what he had hoped they would be.
The first time was early one morning, before Mum and Dad were awake, while Keith was making his daily circuit of the shower block, bashing the long grass with a stick to scare away snakes. (The caravan park owner had taken his machete away.)
Suddenly, from one of the other caravans, Keith heard two people shouting at each other.
‘I’m sick of this and I’m sick of you, you lazy, dirty pig,’ shouted a woman’s voice.
‘Yeah well, if I’m a pig,’ shouted a man’s voice, ‘it’s because this place is a pigsty.’
Keith went over and banged on the caravan door. It was opened by a man with a bare chest and a red face.
‘Do you mind,’ said Keith. ‘There are plenty of big cities for that sort of thing. People have come here to be cheered up.’
The man scowled at him and slammed the door.
Later that day Keith spent some of Uncle Derek’s going away money on a bunch of flowers and a bar of chocolate, which he left on the red-faced man’s caravan step. It was what Mum and Dad gave each other when they’d been fighting and it seemed to work for them.
The second incident was in the hardware store when Keith was waiting to buy some tile adhesive for Dad.
The old man in front of Keith asked for twelve nails and a young assistant with pimples and a thin moustache rolled his eyes and made a sarcastic comment about building a new house.
Keith stepped forward.
‘If you do anything like that again,’ he said to the assistant, ‘I’ll report you to the Far North Queensland Tourist Office.’
The assistant stared at him, open-mouthed.
‘Next time you feel grumpy,’ said Keith, ‘go out the back and read this.’
He pulled a comic from his back pocket and gave it to the startled assistant.
It was the only comic he’d brought from England, and he knew he was going to miss it, but it was for a good cause.
11
‘Opening Today’ said the banner across the front of the shop.
Keith looked up at the banner proudly. Sixteen sheets of wrapping paper and two rolls of sticky tape and it was holding together perfectly.
He closed his eyes and made a wish.
I wish, he thought, that we get loads of customers and they all buy at least two bits of fish and none of them say anything about relatives who went for a paddle and never came back.
Then he went through the coloured plastic strips and stood behind the counter with Mum and Dad.
He could tell they were nervous too.
Mum was going over the potatoes he’d peeled earlier, checking each one for eyes and bits of missed skin before she cut it into chips.
Keith watched her remove an eye that was so tiny an ant wouldn’t have seen it without glasses.
Be fair, he thought, what do you expect for 4.13 cents a potato at the current rate of exchange?
Dad was battering fish more slowly and carefully than Keith had ever seen him do it.
Normally Dad floured and battered with short flicks of the wrist that made Keith wonder why Dad didn’t get a table tennis table and have a crack at the world championships. This morning though, as Dad dragged each piece of fish carefully through the batter, he looked like he was playing the violin.
Keith caught himself having another quick glance at the fish. The vision flashed into his head again. The vision of their customers taking a bite of fish, screwing up their faces and dropping dead in the middle of reaching for the vinegar.
Stop it, he told himself. You’re being silly. A fish co-op would not deliver stonefish or pufferfish for public consumption.
Then the plastic strips rattled and a man came into the shop.
Their first customer.
Keith gave him a big We-Don’t-Know-You-Yet-But-We-Hope-You’ll-Be-A-Regular-Customer smile.
Then Keith realised he did know him.
He felt the smile trickle off his face.
It was Mr Gambaso from the milk bar at the other end of the street.
And he was holding something behind his back.
Suddenly Keith had another vision. An argument with insults and shouting and hurtful comments about stealing customers and who was here first. Then Mr Gambaso brandishing the bread knife he was holding behind his back and running amok.
Keith prayed that Mr Gambaso wouldn’t say who he was. That he’d just look around and leave quietly.
‘Good morning,’ said Mr Gambaso. ‘I’m Joe Gambaso from the milk bar.’
That’s it, thought Keith, we’re goners.
‘Morning,’ said Dad, ‘Vin Shipley. What can we do for you?’
‘Just dropped in to wish you luck on your first day,’ said Mr Gambaso. From behind his back he produced a soggy brown paper bag. ‘I brought you a hamburger.’
He put it on the counter. They all looked at it.
‘You er . . . you don’t do hamburgers here, do you?’ asked Mr Gambaso.
‘No, we don’t,’ said Dad.
Mr Gambaso visibly relaxed.
‘It’s very kind of you,’ said Mum. ‘Vin, go on.’ She pointed to the fryer.
Dad served up a fish and chips for Mr Gambaso.
‘You er . . . you don’t do fish and chips down at your place, Joe?’ said Dad as he handed them over.
‘No,’ said Mr Gambaso.
Dad smiled and soon they were all munching away and chatting about cooking oils.
Phew, thought Keith as he watched them, that was a close one.
Their first real customer came in fifteen minutes later.
It was Doug from the petrol station.
‘Morning tea,’ he said with a big grin.
For a moment Keith thought Doug wanted a cup of tea and some biscuits. He could tell from their faces that Mum and Dad did too.
‘If I don’t have a decent feed for morning tea I’m cactus by lunch,’ said Doug with an even bigger grin. ‘
Two bits of fish and a dollar’s worth of chips thanks.’
When the order was cooked Dad tipped it into the paper and put it on the counter like he always did so the customer could do their own salt and vinegar.
Doug grabbed the bottle of tomato sauce that Mr Gambaso had warned them they should have on the counter and shook big puddles of it all over his fish and chips.
Keith stared.
‘Vinegar?’ asked Dad weakly.
‘No ta,’ said Doug, ‘I’m on a diet.’
Their next customer was the woman who worked in the chemist’s. She introduced herself as Raylene and while her fish was in she told them about Mrs Newman in the post office’s daughter’s baby that could hum the theme to ‘James Bond’.
Outside the shop Raylene stopped and ate a couple of mouthfuls and stuck her head back in through the plastic strips.
‘Jeez,’ she said, ‘you Poms sure know how to make fish and chips.’
After that it seemed to Keith that most of Orchid Cove came in at some stage during the day. Even the hardware store assistant with the pimples and the thin moustache. He bought four lots of fish and chips, one with double salt, and gave Keith a motorbike magazine.
That evening Keith climbed slowly up the stepladder and took the ‘Opening Today’ banner down.
His legs were aching but inside he felt like doing several cartwheels and a couple of handstands.
Fifty-three customers, eighty-one pieces of fish and not one mention of a snake or a sea wasp.
‘G’day Keith.’
Keith spun round.
In the dusk Tracy’s skin looked browner than it had on the beach. Against all that brown her grin looked like a toothpaste advert, only crooked. At her feet was a small dog.
‘This is Buster,’ said Tracy. ‘You didn’t say you had a fish and chip shop.’
‘It only opened today,’ mumbled Keith. He couldn’t take his eyes off the dog, which only had three legs and half an ear.
It looked like something had tried to eat it and then spat it out. A crocodile? A jellyfish? A really big spider?
‘You should have told me,’ Tracy was saying. ‘Mum would have got some for our tea.’
Keith mumbled that they were about to close up anyway. He glanced in the window. Mum and Dad were watching them, smiling.
Tracy was hunting through her pockets.
Don’t go in and buy anything, please, thought Keith. If you go in they’ll ask you about the dog.
‘Skint,’ said Tracy. ‘Oh well.’
‘Bye,’ said Keith.
He started to go into the shop.
‘Keith,’ she said.
He stopped. Go home, he thought, please go home.
‘The other morning, when I was telling you about Uncle Wal’s cousin’s brother who got bitten by the snake in the phonebox, I didn’t mean to make you feel crook. Sorry.’
Crook?
Whatever it meant, he wasn’t going to admit to it.
‘You didn’t,’ he said.
‘Oh, good,’ she said. ‘It’s just that when I said that bit about him being sick through his nose, I thought you went sorta pale. Dad’s always saying I should leave that bit out, but I get carried away.’
‘I was fine,’ said Keith, feeling pale all over again.
He glanced in through the window and felt even paler.
Mum and Dad were coming out of the shop.
‘Keith,’ said Dad, ‘Mum and me have been having a chat. It’s been all work and no play since we got here so we’ve decided to go for a picnic on Saturday. Beach, rainforest, wherever you like.’
‘And we were wondering,’ said Mum, smiling at Tracy, ‘if your friend would like to come too?’
‘Yeah,’ said Tracy, grinning, ‘I’d like that.’
12
‘You burnt it down?’
Keith sighed.
He’d done that bit about five minutes ago. Some people’s powers of concentration were pathetic.
Tracy was staring at him, the scab she’d been picking on her knee totally forgotten. Buster, curled up next to her in the old hammock, was staring at him too.
‘I left the fryer on,’ said Keith, ‘and that burnt it down.’
‘Jeez,’ said Tracy, ‘your parents must have been ropable.’
Keith sighed again. He’d already explained how Mum and Dad had been upset and depressed, and angry if that’s what ropable meant.
‘That’s the whole point,’ he said. ‘They’re happy now and they’ll stay happy all the while they think this place is paradise.’
Tracy had gone back to picking her scab.
Great, thought Keith, here am I pouring out my innermost secrets to an almost complete stranger and she’s not even listening.
Tracy’s mum came out onto the verandah, the weathered old boards creaking under her brown feet. She was holding two cans of drink.
‘Guess what Mum,’ said Tracy. ‘Keith burnt their fish and chip shop in England down.’
Keith sighed.
‘I’m sure he didn’t mean to,’ said Tracy’s mum, smiling at Keith. ‘Lemonade or Fanta?’
Keith took the lemonade, thanked Tracy’s mum and wished it was her who was coming on the picnic.
Tracy’s mum went back inside.
When the wire screen door had stopped banging, Keith tried to continue.
‘That’s why I don’t want them to know about the jellyfish and crocodiles and snakes and stuff. That’s why we’ve got to find somewhere for the picnic that doesn’t have any of those things.’
He looked up to see if Tracy understood now.
She wasn’t even looking at him. She was watching a dusty car pull up next to the house. A man with hair as fair as hers got out of the car with a fishing rod in sections and a bucket.
‘G’day Dad,’ said Tracy. ‘This is Keith. He burnt their fish and chip shop in England down.’
‘So,’ said Tracy’s dad, ‘you’re the Poms Trace has been telling us about. G’day.’
He held out his hand and Keith shook it.
Something didn’t feel right. Keith realised he was only shaking three fingers and a thumb. There was a finger missing.
Perhaps, thought Keith, Tracy’s dad and Buster had a fight and Buster bit off Tracy’s dad’s finger and Tracy’s dad bit off Buster’s leg and half his ear.
It didn’t seem likely.
He tried not to stare at the missing finger.
‘If your dad likes fishing,’ Tracy’s dad was saying, ‘send him round. They’re biting real well at the moment.’
He showed them the bucket. Inside were three big pink fish.
‘Or snorkelling,’ he went on. ‘Reef’s a knockout if you haven’t seen it. Better than telly.’
He ruffled Keith’s hair and went inside.
Keith looked at Tracy.
‘Do you understand about the picnic now?’ he asked.
‘He scratched it on some coral when he was seventeen,’ said Tracy. ‘It got infected and he had to have it chopped off.’
Keith took a deep breath.
‘We’ve got to find somewhere for a picnic,’ he said, ‘with no crocodiles, no jellyfish, no snakes and no coral.’
The day of the picnic was very hot.
‘So where’s this surprise destination?’ said Dad, locking up the door of the caravan. ‘I bet it’s the rainforest.’
‘Stop it,’ said Mum, wedging his new straw hat onto his head, ‘it’s a surprise. We’ll find out when we get there.’
Keith grabbed one handle of Mum’s shopping bag and waited for Dad to grab the other.
He wished the day was over and he was in bed.
No such luck.
Dad grabbed the other handle and they started walking towards the road, sandwiches rustling in greaseproof paper and bottles clinking.
‘Have you always lived here Tracy?’ asked Mum.
‘I was born here,’ said Tracy. ‘Well, not exactly here. We used to live inland a bit, near Crocodile Falls
.’
Keith felt the blood drain from most of his body.
‘Why’s it called Crocodile Falls?’ asked Dad.
This is it, thought Keith, in two seconds we’ll be running back to the caravan.
‘Cause the rocks at the bottom are so jagged,’ said Tracy.
Thank God, thought Keith.
‘Like teeth,’ said Tracy.
Enough, thought Keith, don’t go on.
He looked up and saw Tracy giving him a little grin.
They were almost at the beach.
‘If we’re going to the beach,’ said Dad, ‘I’ll have to go back. I’ve forgotten my swimming trunks.’
‘We’re not going to the beach,’ said Keith hastily. ‘Tracy’s got somewhere better.’
‘It’s along here,’ said Tracy.
They walked along the road, past the shop, and kept on going.
‘Hope it’s not much further,’ said Mum. ‘It’s getting a bit hot.’
‘Nearly there,’ said Tracy.
Keith had one more go at wishing the day was over and he was in bed.
Still no good.
Tracy led them into the grounds of the Orchid Cove State School. They walked across the dusty playground and past the white wooden school building.
Behind the school was a playing field, mown into an oval and scorched yellow by the sun. In one corner was a metal climbing frame. Tracy stopped next to it.
‘Here we are,’ she said. ‘Don’t climb on it, you’ll burn your hands.’
‘Isn’t it a great spot?’ said Keith. He unfolded the tarpaulin Tracy’s dad had lent them and heaved it over the top of the climbing frame.
‘See,’ he said, ‘shade twenty-four hours a day.’
He and Tracy crawled inside and started unpacking the picnic things.
Keith risked a glance up at Mum and Dad.
Dad was staring as if he’d never seen a climbing frame with a tarpaulin over it before.
Mum was looking a bit doubtful too. Then suddenly she grinned. And chuckled. And put her arm round Dad.
‘They said it’d be a surprise,’ she laughed. ‘I’m surprised, are you surprised?’
Dad broke into a grin too. ‘I’m very surprised,’ he said.
Keith felt his heart start to slow down. He wondered if all this stress was going to catch up with him later in life.
A Morris Gleitzman Collection Page 6
