Free Love...Under Different Skies by Nick Spalding

third test against the West Indies, while in other matters, the bastard cane toads have been sighted just outside Broome for the first time.
    Brett almost seems disappointed when I say we’re ready to leave. Once an Aussie gets stuck into a conversation about something they’re passionate about, pulling them out of it makes yanking barnacles off the bottom of a boat seem like child’s play.
    Grant and Ellie bid us farewell from the porch. I have to confess to a small shudder of pleasure as we get into Brett’s air-conditioned car and drive away from the decidedly non-air-conditioned house we’ve just endured a sticky night in. The air-con is set at maximum, thanks to the fact that it’s positively baking outside, even at eight o’clock.
    “Is it always this hot?” I ask Brett.
    “Nah. This is way up there, Laura. They’re saying we’ll hit forty degrees today.”
    Forty degrees? That’s a hundred in fahrenheit isn’t it? You can boil an egg in that can’t you?
    “What are they saying it’ll drop to tonight?” Jamie asks quickly. I know what he’s thinking.
    “Not much lower than ninety, mate,” Brett tells him.
    Another night with the mosquitoes and grunting koalas in the kind of temperature that can kill off pensioners? I sink down into the car seat, close my eyes, and try to concentrate on the glorious cold air pumping from the dashboard vent in front of me.
    We arrive at the car showroom. I say showroom, but it’s actually a parking lot the size of a football stadium with one small building at the back. The Australians definitely take their cue from their American cousins when it comes to selling used cars. A honking-great sign held up with thick scaffolding towers over the whole enterprise. B USHY ’ S M OTORS: T HE CHEAPEST HIGH-QUALITY CARS IN W YNNUM ! it screams at the world in bright pink letters on a black background. I have to look away before it sets off a tension headache.
    Row upon row of cars in varying states of repair are lined up in front of us as Brett pulls up to the kerb.
    “Loads to choose from here, Newmans,” he says and grins.
    I look out across the hundreds of cars, and then up at the scorching sun. This is likely to take all day.
    “Woo-hoo!” Jamie exclaims and pumps his fist. The sight of so many potential automotive purchases has called to the small boy deep within him, and he’s jiggling on his seat with excitement.
    Did I say all day? I possibly meant all month.
    “I’ll just go and get some petrol while you guys have a look about,” Brett says.
    “Okay,” I say in resignation and take in the look of barely contained glee on my husband’s face. There’s no getting around it, I’m just going to have to walk around a baking hot parking lot with two small children by my side for the next hour or so. At least I can shut Poppy up with sweets.
    Brett roars away, leaving us by the side of the road. My eyelids have already started to sweat.
    “Come on!” Jamie cries and beetles his way off between two large grey sedans like a man possessed.
    Poppy gives me a look from under her broad floppy hat. “Daddy’s silly,” she says.
    “You’re not wrong Pops,” I reply, watching him poke his head into the cabin of the nearest Day-Glo green ute. “Daddy’s very silly.”
    The following thirty minutes can be summed up simply by my responses to Jamie’s suggested purchases:
    “No, Jamie, it’s too large.”
    “No, Jamie, it’s got two seats. Where’s Poppy going to sit?”
    “No, Jamie, the wheels look like they should be on a tractor.”
    “No, Jamie, it has flames down the side. I’m not driving anything with flames down the side.”
    “No, Jamie, it has flames and skulls down the side…didn’t you hear what I said about the other one?”
    “Yes, Jamie, it does look very sporty, but it’s also done over five hundred thousand kilometres and will probably fall apart the minute I apply the brakes.”
    “No, Jamie, that’s a monster truck.”
    “No,