Free Love...Under Different Skies by Nick Spalding Page A

Jamie, that’s still the same monster truck.”
    “Jamie, if you don’t shut up about the monster truck, I’m going to shove your head up the exhaust pipe.”
    Then a miracle happens.
    “What about this one?” he suggests.
    I turn with the words no, Jamie ready to tumble forth from my lips—and bring myself up short.
    The car is called a Magna and is a large, standard-looking white four-door. It shines cheerfully in the hot Queensland sun. It has no flames down the side, does not feature tyres bigger than Poppy, looks roomy inside, and—according to the notice on the windscreen—has only done a hundred thousand kilometres. It’s also inside the relatively modest budget the Worongabba Chocolate Company has allowed for the car’s purchase. It’s still a monstrously large contraption, but it’s by far and away the most sensible car Jamie has found thus far.
    My husband suddenly looks crestfallen. “It’s a Mitsubishi,” he says dejectedly. “Grant said not to buy a Mitsubishi.”
    “Grant also wears hemp clothes and enjoys Rummikub, Jamie. Let’s get the manager over here and have a chat.”
    “Ah, the Mitso? That’s a nice motor. Only came in yesterday,” says Bushy the manager. Used car salesmen in the UK usually dress to impress. About the only people Bushy is likely to impress are surfers, students, and the homeless. “I’ll grab the keys, and you can fire her up.”
    Jamie leaps into the car. “Look Laura, it’s got an MP3 connection in the stereo!”
    Oh fantastic.
    That’s that, then. It won’t matter if the car belches out black smoke and drives like a shopping cart, Jamie has spotted a piece of technology that makes him squeal like a little girl. If we don’t buy this car now, I’ll never hear the end of it.
    For her part, Poppy has flopped onto the backseat, glad to be off her feet and out of the sun. The satisfied way in which she’s crashed out on the soft, springy seat suggests she’s happy with the choice her father has made as well. I sigh and await the return of Bushy with my new car keys.
    “Here you go,” he says and hands them to Jamie through the window.
    With an expectant smile on his face, Jamie inserts the key and turns it. What sounds like an entire pride of lions humping a grizzly bear breaks the relative peace and quiet of the parking lot. Jamie laughs. It’s such an honest and heartfelt show of genuine happiness that I find myself joining in despite myself.
    “Why the hell is it so loud?” I holler at Bushy as Jamie guns the accelerator again.
    “Sports exhaust!” he replies at the top of his voice.
    “On a car like this?”
    “Welcome to Australia!” Bushy says and waggles his eyebrows with a chuckle.
    “Can we—”
    Brruuummmm .
    “Sorry, can we—”
    Bbbrrrrruuuuummmmmm .
    “Can we—”
    Bbbbbrrrrruuuuuuuuummmmmmmmmmm .
    “Jamie! Stop doing that!”
    “Ow! Don’t pinch me like that, Laura!”
    “Can we please take the car for a test drive?” I eventually get to ask Bushy.
    “No worries. Take her for a spin.” He gives Jamie a look. “I wouldn’t put your foot down that much, mate. The cops will be all over your arse if you’re not careful.”
    The test drive goes well. Jamie even relinquishes control of the steering wheel long enough for me to have a go. This is nice, as it’ll be me who will actually be driving the bloody thing most of the time. This is the first time I’ve driven in Australia and I’m a little nervous. It becomes quickly apparent that their road layouts are strikingly similar to the ones back home though, and I’m happily driving round the streets of Wynnum in no time, trying hard not to rev the engine too loudly. Mind you, it’s not like I’m going to wake anybody up. Everyone around here has been awake since the crack of dawn and is on their third popsicle of the day.
    By the time I pull back into the parking lot, Brett has returned and is standing with Bushy near the office building. By the animated way he’s