It was just on dusk when the Levacks arrived at Camelot Caravan Park, Mermaid Spit. It was a busy time of year for caravan parks and most had their No Vacancy sign lit up. Mavis and Eddy were on their way back from their holiday in Queensland. They’d had a good time, apart from the sandflies, they’d caught a lot of fish, drunk a lot of Bundaberg rum, but it was nice to be back in New South Wales again. A day or two at Mermaid Spit, then back to Bondi. It was always good to go away, to experience the heady thrill of not knowing where the breeze might blow you, but there was nothing like sleeping in your own bed.
‘Lucky last,’ said the caravan park manager, a cheery grey-headed chap with Kevin embroidered on his shirt pocket. ‘We’ve only got one campsite left.’ He pointed out where it was—up the road and under the trees. ‘S’pose you’ll be doing a bit of fishing, mate?’ said Kevin.
‘Yes, we will,’ piped up Mrs Levack. ‘First thing in the morning.’ To tell the truth, she was getting a little bit sick of fishing day in, day out, and was running out of creative ways of cooking the piscine creatures, but she thought it only fair to subtly let Kevin know that it was a tiny bit sexist to assume the husband would be doing the fishing and not the wife.
They found their campsite, put up the tent, then went to bed, lulled to sleep by the soft moaning of the surf and the couple in the tent next door.
In the morning the smell of frying fish hovered over the caravan park like the mushroom cloud of an atomic explosion.
‘Well,’ said Eddy, yawning and stretching his arms. ‘We’d better go and catch our breakfast too. Nothing like freshly caught fish first thing in the morning.’
Doesn’t anyone around here eat meat? thought Mrs Levack.
They had a quick cup of tea, gathered their fishing gear together, put on their Nikes, and started walking towards the kiosk. What a lovely location. They hadn’t really been able to get a good look at their surroundings last night but now they had time to take it all in. They were only metres away from the ocean and the breakwater. There were magpies perched high up in the trees and seagulls moving in on the barbecue areas where the fish were being fried. Mrs Levack noticed also that Camelot had a couple of excellent amenities blocks with all the facilities—showers, toilets and laundry. There were even clothes lines.
‘Oh, isn’t that lovely,’ exclaimed Mrs Levack. ‘What a neat little garden. Fancy being able to grow all those things in pots.’ They had strolled out of the camping area into the mobile home section of the caravan park. ‘Look, Eddy,’ she said tugging his sleeve, ‘garden gnomes. Aren’t they sweet?’ Mrs Levack was quite fond of garden gnomes but didn’t have any of her own, living in an upstairs flat with no garden or even a balcony. Gnomes were outdoor creatures, it wasn’t fair to have them cooped up inside.
Mavis and Eddy continued down the aisle of mobile homes, saying hello here and there in a neighbourly fashion and occasionally stepping aside for a motorised wheelchair. Funny them being called mobile homes, because with the little aluminium garages for the car, verandahs with shadecloths and outdoor furniture, birds in cages, driftwood, potted plants, and even garden beds, it looked very much like they were staying put.
Mavis and Eddy nodded hello to a couple sitting on their patio doing the crossword. Further along the way two old codgers wearing shorts and thongs said, ‘Nice day for it,’ and Mavis and Eddy agreed. Near the main amenities block a woman, also wearing shorts and thongs, was hanging out her washing. She gave them a nod hello, unable to speak because of the pegs in her mouth. Everyone was so friendly, Mavis and Eddy practically felt part of the community.
‘More gnomes!’ cried Mrs Levack with delight. There were three around a birdbath, others peeping out from behind shrubs. Big ones, little ones, ones with hats and pointy ears, ones with beards and rosy-red cheeks. And one . . . Could it be? Mrs Levack bent down for a closer look. Yes, it was.
‘Eddy,’ Mrs Levack called to her husband, who was examining a nearby sign which said ‘Trespasser today, Rottweiler shit tomorrow’, a strange sign to find in Camelot, where no dogs were allowed. ‘I say, Eddy,’ said Mrs Levack. ‘I’ve found Norman.’
Norman. Eddy scrolled through the names of all his mates at bowls, of everyone he and Mavis had ever met in their lives. No Norman. ‘Just jog my memory, dear, I’m having a lapse.’
‘Look,’ she said, pointing into the garden.
What on earth was she on about?
‘Norman the gnome.’ Eddy still had a blank look on his face. ‘Freda’s gnome,’ his wife prompted. That rang a distant bell. There had been a gnome in Freda and Bill’s front garden, right next to the letter box. And it had disappeared. Freda had gone up and down the street asking about it, while Bill and Eddy made jokes about the infamous gnome kidnapper striking again. ‘Next thing I’ll be getting a ransom note,’ Bill had said, tapping the letter box.
‘I don’t recall that gnome having a beard.’
‘He could have grown one, it’s been a year.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Mavis. How could a garden gnome grow a beard?’
‘He sent them a postcard. If he could send a postcard, he could grow a beard.’
Eddy rolled his eyes. ‘Was the postcard in the gnome’s handwriting?’
‘Why wouldn’t it be? Do you remember where it was sent from?’ Mrs Levack wished she’d looked more closely at the postmark.
‘I didn’t even see the postcard.’
‘It was a picture of a beach. Looked just like this one.’
‘There are beaches like this all along the coast.’ Eddy was keen to get on with the fishing. ‘Face the facts,’ he said, trying to move Mavis along. ‘Garden gnomes can’t write and they can’t grow a beard if they didn’t have one in the first place. Somebody was probably playing a joke.’
‘If it was a joke, then it’s gone quite far enough.’
‘Bill bought Freda a new gnome, what’s the problem?’
‘Freda was very attached to Norman. She said there’d never be another gnome like him.’
Mrs Levack tried to peer in through the windows of the mobile home. ‘Not very neighbourly,’ she muttered, commenting on the closed curtains.
Eddy wagged his finger at her. ‘I don’t want you annoying anyone over this gnome. There must be hundreds like it. They come out of a mould.’ But it would take more than common sense and a wagging finger to convince Mavis. ‘Look at it this way,’ said Eddy. ‘Norman has gone to a good home, he’s got a bunch of mates and he’s enjoying the great outdoors. Now, why don’t we do the same?’
Mrs Levack thought he was looking a little shabby, a little grey and forlorn all by himself behind the maidenhair while the others were round the birdbath, but she wisely kept her opinion to herself. ‘Yes, Eddy,’ she said, ‘you’re quite right.’ Nevertheless, before they moved on, she managed to give the gnome a surreptitious little wave. ‘Is it really you, Norman?’ she whispered. The gnome didn’t answer, but Mrs Levack was sure his eyes followed her up the path.
‘What can I do for you, mate?’ Kevin addressed Eddy as if he’d walked into the kiosk alone. Mrs Levack rolled her eyes but what was the point of saying anything? You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.
‘Bait, mate.’ Eddy was doing it again—putting on the voice, a mixture of jovial and gruff, that he used when he called a man he hardly knew ‘mate’.
Kevin handed him a packet of worms. ‘Got everything else you need, mate?’ enquired Kevin. ‘Don’t need any hooks or leads?’
‘No, mate, we’re right,’ Eddy assured him.
‘If you need a hand hauling the big one in, give us a shout,’ joked Kevin. Eddy laughed much louder and longer than Mrs Levack thought necessary.
‘Plenty of seagulls,’ said Eddy, looking into the bright blue sky. ‘That’s a good sign.’
There were some very professional-looking people with long rubber boots and long rods fishing off the beach itself, but Mavis and Eddy joined the majority who were fishing from the breakwater. They found a couple of reasonably flat rocks and proceeded to bait up. Eddy offered to do Mavis’s for her but she insisted on doing it herself.
‘There,’ she said when she’d completed the task. Eddy had to admit she had done quite a good job of it. The tip of the hook was deeply embedded in the worm and the whole thing made a perfect J. ‘Casting off,’ she announced. She stood up and swung, but nothing happened.
‘Give it here,’ Eddy offered.
‘I’m quite capable,’ said Mrs Levack.
‘Of course you are, dear. How about—and I’m only making a suggestion—how about releasing the catch?’
Mrs Levack released the catch, pretending not to have heard, had a few practice swings, then let the line go. A beautiful arc that would have made it into the water had the fisherman a little lower down the rocks not chosen that very moment to shift his weight from one buttock to the other, thus putting himself directly in Mrs Levack’s line of fire. The worm hit him on the shoulder.
He must have thought it was a giant mosquito because he swiped at it, inadvertently pulling on the line as he tried to flick the blighter away.
‘Timber!’ cried Mrs Levack as she lurched forward, providentially breaking her fall softly against the fisherman’s back. But one person’s luck is another’s misfortune. The fisherman’s hat took up the trajectory and completed the journey into the water. It caused quite a splash.
So much excitement and all before breakfast.
‘Just act like nothing has happened,’ said Eddy out of the side of his mouth. ‘We don’t want them to think we’re tourists.’
Eventually the chap retrieved his soggy hat and climbed back up the rocks muttering, ‘That was one hell of a mosquito. Must be the genetically modified variety.’
Though Mrs Levack was heartily sick of fish it was she who had caught the two whiting they cooked up for breakfast, so she was feeling pretty chipper as she made her way to the amenities block with the bowl of washing up. So chipper, in fact, that she started singing a little song, using the washing-up brush as a microphone.
‘You ought to go in the karaoke competition,’ said a woman who had just arrived at the communal trough. Mrs Levack laughed modestly.
‘No, seriously,’ said the woman who, after a bit of conversation, introduced herself as Bev. ‘You could win the meat tray.’
Meat. After two weeks of fish, a meat tray sounded like ambrosia. At the bowls club back home they sometimes raffled a meat tray. But to win it on talent and not by luck! What a wonderful prize to take back home.
‘I might go and have a look,’ said Mrs Levack. ‘When’s it on?’
‘Tonight. At the bowls club.’
The bowls club! What a good omen. In her mind’s eye she could see that meat tray. It had Mavis Levack written on it in big bold letters.
Eddy wasn’t all that keen on Mavis doing karaoke but he did like the idea of the meat tray and a visit to the local bowls club, and eventually Mrs Levack persuaded him that two out of three wasn’t bad.
‘You’ll be able to entertain yourself for a while, will you, Eddy?’ she said. ‘I need to go and buy a dress.’
On her way to the shops Mrs Levack passed by the mobile homes. The gnome resembled Norman but she couldn’t be absolutely sure. Eddy was probably right—they all looked very similar.
She found the op shop as if she had a built-in radar system. It was not bad for a small country town and she chose three dresses to take into the change room. She had a little trouble locking the door. The bolt was very stiff but eventually she managed it. She took off all her clothes and tried on the green dress but it was too big. Next she tried the black dress but it was too small. Third she tried the gorgeous red-sequined number with shoe-string straps. Mrs Levack turned this way and that, admiring herself in the mirror. She was well past the age where she could get away with anything sleeveless but what the hell, the darling dress made her feel ten years younger. It was a little long, however. She didn’t want to trip on it, what a disaster that would be on stage. Perhaps she could buy a pair of red high heels to match.
Mrs Levack unzipped the dress and draped it over the partition between her cubicle and the one next door. She put the other two dresses back on their hangers and started to put her clothes back on. She was still bare-breasted when she saw the red sequins disappear into the next cubicle.
‘Excuse me,’ she called. ‘That’s mine.’ She heard some rustling, but no-one answered. ‘I say, excuse me,’ she said, much louder this time. She tried to peer over the top of the partition but it was too high. She fiddled with the bolt again. The damned thing was really stuck, so she started banging on the door.
Eventually someone came. ‘Are you all right?’ a voice enquired.
‘The bolt’s stuck.’
‘People don’t usually lock the doors,’ she was informed. ‘I’ll lean against it. Try it again.’
This time Mrs Levack was able to get the blessed door open. ‘That dress,’ she said, ‘with the red sequins. What happened to it?’
‘It’s just been sold,’ the op shop woman told Mrs Levack.
‘But it was mine.’ Mrs Levack was absolutely indignant.
‘Well,’ pointed out the op shop lady, ‘it’s not really yours till you pay for it.’
Mrs Levack could feel a headache coming on. She was making far too much of this. Slow down. ‘Is there a beauty parlour here?’ she asked.
‘Over the road, at the end of the arcade.’
Mrs Levack started to head in that direction.
‘Don’t you think you’d better finish getting dressed first?’ suggested the op shop lady.
‘So relaxing,’ Mrs Levack sighed as Wendy’s warm hands massaged orchid oil into her skin. She could feel the wrinkles positively sliding off her face.
‘A special occasion?’ the beautician asked.
‘The karaoke competition,’ Mrs Levack explained.
‘That’s nice,’ said Wendy dreamily.
New Age dolphin music wafted through the speakers and from the next cubicle an occasional ouch and agh. The woman in there must have been having a bikini wax. Mrs Levack let the sounds wash over her like gentle waves. At least up till the moment she heard the name Norman mentioned.
‘I keep telling Dudley we ought to have him put to sleep. He’s stone deaf. He doesn’t seem to relate to anyone. It can’t be much of a life for him.’
‘Everything all right?’ asked Wendy as she felt her client’s facial muscles stiffen.
‘Who’s that next door?’ asked Mrs Levack in what she hoped was a nonchalant tone.
‘I don’t know.’
She didn’t know? Doesn’t everyone in a country town know everyone else?
‘I’m only working here during the holidays,’ explained Wendy. ‘Just relax and close your eyes while I apply the eyelash tint.’ She placed pads under her client’s eyes, then brushed on the tint. ‘OK,’ said Wendy, ‘I’ve set the timer. I’ll be back in five minutes. In the meantime, just relax and keep your eyes closed.’
Mrs Levack’s eyes were closed but her ears were well and truly open. However, she heard no more talk about Norman.
‘There we are, Mrs Costigan, smooth and hairless. See you next time.’
Come on, come on, Mrs Levack urged the timer. She wanted to at least get a look at the woman, for future reference, but if she waited much longer the woman would be dressed and out of the place. Mrs Levack swivelled herself off the massage table. Then she made her fatal mistake—she opened her eyes and blinked. ‘Ouch, agh!’ she exclaimed, as Mrs Costigan had only minutes earlier. The lash tint had got into her eyes and was stinging like hell.
‘There, there.’ Wendy gently wiped her client’s eyes with damp cotton pads. ‘There, there.’
Mrs Levack didn’t get to see the newly waxed woman but she did have a name. Costigan. She made her way back to the caravan park, down the aisle of mobile homes. Norman seemed to have slunk even further behind the maidenhair. How easy it would be for someone to dig a little hole and bury him. There were so many gnomes, no-one would be any the wiser. It was possible that there had been a mix-up. That the woman in the beauty parlour didn’t live here and that she’d been talking about an entirely different Norman. Mrs Levack thought it unlikely, but she had better give the woman the benefit of the doubt. The mobile home was still shut up. Some of the mobile homes had the occupants’ name on the front door but this one had only ‘Emoh Ruo’.
The letter box. Mrs Levack peered through the slot. A letter! If it was addressed to Costigan there could be no further doubt and Mrs Levack would have to take matters into her own hands.
Mrs Levack was about to retrieve the letter when she heard, ‘Can I help you?’ A man was eyeballing her, a bucket of fish in his hand and a bemused expression on his face.
‘Ah, no. I don’t think I need any help.’
‘Do you mind telling me what your hand is doing in my letter box?’
‘My hand in your letter box? Why, so it is.’ She shrugged her shoulders and smiled, denying all responsibility for the actions of her hand then, without further ado, hurried away. It was probably better to let the matter of Norman drop for the time being.
‘You’ve spruced up well,’ Mr Levack complimented his wife.
‘Thank you, dear.’ She’d had to go back to the op shop, tail between her legs, and buy the black dress. It was all right once she’d let out the seams, but Mrs Levack couldn’t help reflecting that she’d have spruced up even better in the red-sequined dress. But she still had her voice. All afternoon she’d been practising her scales and gargling with salt water. ‘Go easy on it, Mavis,’ Eddy had said. ‘You’ll turn into a fish with all those scales and salt water.’
The bowling club had attractive blue and gold carpet and maroon vinyl chairs. The dining room was full of people eating roast lamb, T-bones, or seafood baskets. Mavis and Eddy had eaten earlier—flathead that Eddy had got while Mavis had been out and about. She didn’t want to sing on a full stomach, you never knew what might happen.
They sat at the bar with a shot of whisky each while the karaoke was being set up in the big room. Mr and Mrs Levack were by far the best-dressed people there. In fact Mrs Levack wondered whether she was overdressed, but no, she was a performer, it was impossible to overdress.
Mrs Levack checked with one of the attendants to make sure her name was on the list of karaoke contenders. ‘Levack, Levack,’ the chap said, searching. ‘Ah yes, here it is.’
Everything was right with the world.
On her way back to the bar Mrs Levack stopped dead in her tracks. She couldn’t believe it. Her husband was deep in conversation with the man from Emoh Ruo, the one who’d caught Mrs Levack with her hand in the letter box. Eddy signalled her to join them, but Mrs Levack made a beeline for the Ladies’. What was Eddy doing talking to him?
She heard someone coming and hid in a cubicle, closing the door firmly behind her. The tap went on, then Mrs Levack heard gargling. The gargler took a few steps backwards to get a better view of herself in the mirror and it was then that Mrs Levack caught sight of the swish of red sequins. She hurriedly tried to get out of the cubicle for a better look but the lock was jammed. What was it with this town and its doors? She finally managed to open it but the red-sequined dress had eluded her once again.
‘Mavis?’ It was Eddy, waiting at the entrance to the Ladies’. ‘The karaoke is starting.’
Mrs Levack looked around for the red-sequined dress but the lights had dimmed. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, fellow bowlers,’ said the announcer, his bow tie bobbing up and down with his Adam’s apple. ‘As you know, Friday night is karaoke night and have we got a treat for you. But first, the star of the show, the meat tray.’ A young girl, dressed in practically nothing, held it up. ‘And what have we got here, Connie?’ asked the announcer.
‘Chops, a leg of lamb, the liver, kidneys, saddle, and for the health conscious, gluten-free sausages.’
‘Isn’t that worth winning? First up, we have a newcomer.’ He looked at his notes. ‘Mrs Mavis Levack.’ Everyone applauded loudly and there were even catcalls.
Mrs Levack couldn’t help but be swept up in it all.
She cleared her throat, breathed into the depths of her lungs, reminded herself to stay relaxed. ‘Now you’ve gone and left me,’ she sang throatily, launching into ‘Cry Me a River’, her favourite song. She swayed a little, you had to with that song, but she hoped Eddy would let it pass. She couldn’t see him, or anyone in the audience, the stage lights prevented that. She could have been alone in the bathroom back in the flat at Bondi.
When she finished, though she couldn’t see anything, she heard resounding applause. She was born for this moment, she loved it, the crowd, the smell of the greasepaint, she was born to perform. She got so carried away with herself that the announcer had to come and drag her off the stage. Women were saying, ‘well done’, and men were giving her their phone numbers as she made her way back to the table where Eddy was sitting.
He made a circle with his thumb and forefinger. ‘It’s in the bag,’ he winked. ‘I can almost smell those chops on the barbie.’
Mrs Levack felt so heady that she didn’t even register who the next contestant was or what he was singing. She was drinking whisky, even though Eddy had said, ‘Steady on.’
‘It’s all right, dear,’ Mrs Levack said. ‘I’ve done my number, now I can relax.’
‘What about if you have to make a speech?’
‘I’m sure I can manage a simple thank you for the meat tray,’ she said, taking another little swig.
The next couple of performers were mediocre to say the least and as the night wore on Mrs Levack grew more and more confident.
‘And now,’ said the announcer, ‘your favourite and mine, Maureen Costigan.’
The spotlight swung over to a table and lit up the man from Emoh Ruo and the woman in the red-sequined dress. The Costigans, the would-be murderers of Norman. Mrs Levack almost choked on her whisky.
She watched the fat bottom of Maureen Costigan wiggling its way through a jungle of applause and catcalls, watched as red high heels stepped onto the stage. Mrs Levack was beginning to get a very bad feeling about all this.
Maureen Costigan took the microphone, toyed with the cord in a professional manner. This obviously wasn’t her first performance. The music started, chords very familiar to Mrs Levack. ‘Now you’ve gone and left me . . .’ Mrs Levack could hardly believe it. The woman had stolen her dress, stolen her song and was about to have her friend’s gnome killed. She tried to block her ears to the lusty voice but it was impossible. She could still hear it after she’d started humming ‘Twinkle, twinkle little star’.
Finally it was over. The crowd went wild.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said the announcer, taking up the mike again. ‘We’ve consulted the applause meter, and for the first time in the history of Mermaid Spit Bowling Club’s karaoke competition, we have a tie.’
The audience gasped.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘so we are going to invite the two contestants in question back onto the stage for a second round. And they are . . .’ he paused for dramatic effect, ‘Janice and Maureen.’
Maureen Costigan sidled onto the stage again, and stood alone in the limelight. ‘Janice, where are you?’ said the announcer in a singsong voice. ‘The meat tray could be yours, Janice Levack. Come on up.’
‘Mavis,’ nudged Eddy, ‘I think he means you.’
How humiliating, the announcer had got her name wrong. It wasn’t a good omen. Still, thought Mrs Levack, bracing herself with another swig of whisky and a deep breath, she was not going to let that woman get away with it. Maureen Fat-Bottom Costigan was not going to have Norman put down, and she was not going to win the meat tray.
‘Actually, the name’s Mavis,’ Mrs Levack informed the announcer.
‘Mavis, Janice, whatever. He gave her a hand up onto the stage. There was a roar of applause, equal to that which had greeted Mrs Levack’s rival. ‘Now, girls,’ said the announcer, ‘what are we singing?’
‘Money, Money, Money,’ said Mrs Costigan, taking the very words out of Mrs Levack’s mouth. Was she doing this on purpose?
‘And you, Janice?’
‘Ghost Riders in the Sky,’ Mrs Levack found herself saying, although she could not think why.
Predictably, the audience went wild over ‘Money, Money, Money’.
Then it was Mrs Levack’s turn. ‘Roll ’em, roll ’em, roll ’em, keep those doggies . . .’ What rhymed with roll ’em? The words were not scrolling across Mrs Levack’s brain. It was terrible, she just kept repeating ‘roll ’em, roll ’em, roll ’em.’ In a vain attempt to win some applause she started doing actions, cracking the microphone cord as if it were a whip. It wasn’t a good idea, she must have pulled the plug out of the socket because for the finishing bars it just looked as though Mrs Levack were miming, a fatal error in karaoke. Eventually the music stopped. There was a moment of silence, then one polite clap. She suspected it was Eddy. It soon petered out.
‘Well,’ said the announcer, once the mike was back in action, ‘you came close, Janice. But there can be no doubt that the prize goes to Maureen Costigan.’ Again, wild applause while she graciously accepted the meat tray. She bowed so low you could practically see what she’d had for breakfast.
When she finally stood up, she offered her runner-up a couple of chops. Mrs Levack had never been so insulted in all her life. She smiled a polite refusal, then hissed out of the side of her mouth, ‘I know what you’re up to. You won’t get away with it, you know.’
‘Pardon?’ said Mrs Costigan.
‘What about Norman?’ Mrs Costigan seemed genuinely alarmed.
Mrs Levack kept as silent as the sphinx.
When she rejoined Eddy he said, ‘You’re a good sport, Mavis. No hard feelings, eh? There you are, chatting to Maureen as if you’ve been friends all your life. I’m proud of you. Let’s go over and have a drink with them. You’ll like Dudley. He’s the bloke I met this arvo. Actually, Mavis, he gave me those flathead we had for tea.’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘Are you clenching your teeth? Your face feels a little stiff.’
‘I’m fine, thank you. I think I’ve had enough drinks for one night.’ She started to wind her way through the crowd.
‘Hang on, Mavis, you don’t think I’d let you walk back on your own. All dolled up like that, you might get accosted.’
‘I don’t think so, Eddy. I haven’t been accosted for forty-two years, I don’t see why tonight should be any different.’
They walked through the tree-lined entrance to Camelot. ‘I think I’d like to go home tomorrow, Eddy, if it’s all right with you.’
‘Tomorrow? I thought we might do a bit more fishing.’
‘I’ve had enough bloody fish to last me a lifetime,’ snapped Mrs Levack.
Eddy gently clasped his wife’s hand. ‘Are you upset about not winning the meat tray? We can go to the butcher and make up our own.’
‘It’s not the meat tray. I just want to go home.’
‘Whatever you say, dear.’
As far as Mrs Levack was concerned, Mermaid Spit had been a disaster. There was only one thing that would redeem it for her and that was rescuing Norman from the clutches of the Costigans and returning him to his proper place beside the letter box at Bill and Freda’s.
Eddy was in his pyjamas, reading Fishing for Fun by the camplight. Best to do it sooner than later, thought Mrs Levack. She had a hunch the Costigans would stay at the bowls club celebrating the karaoke win. If she left it too long they might come home and catch her in the act.
‘Just going to the ablutions block, Eddy. Don’t wait up, I may be some time.’
‘What are you taking that big bag for?’
‘Personal hygiene.’
‘Fair enough.’
It was pleasant creeping along the path, the stars overhead, a mission afoot. The Costigans’ mobile home was in darkness, except for a porch light beaming on the Emoh Ruo plaque. A fat-bottomed ginger cat was curled up on the doormat, fast asleep, oblivious to the presence of Mrs Levack.
She felt around in the garden till she found the gnome. She touched a pointy bit which she at first judged to be the tip of his beard, then realised it was down too low to be his beard.
‘Sorry about that, Norman,’ she said, bringing her hand up and patting his hat. ‘I know you probably can’t hear me,’ she said, doing a bit of sign language as well, ‘but this is not a good place for you to be. Your life is in danger. I’m going to take you back to where you belong, to Freda and Bill’s. You remember them, don’t you? You sent a postcard.’ She paused for a moment, giving Norman the opportunity to reply but he didn’t take up the offer. Even so, Mrs Levack felt sure that he was warming to the idea. He certainly felt warm under her hand. ‘It’ll be a long journey through darkness, but there will be light at the end of the tunnel.’ Mrs Levack thought she heard someone coming. As quick as a flash she opened her bag and popped Norman in.
Back at the campsite Mrs Levack transferred Norman to the Esky they’d emptied in anticipation of the meat tray and put it in the boot of the car, leaving it open slightly for fresh air and in case Norman had to get up in the middle of the night. Eddy probably wouldn’t think it was a good idea leaving the boot unlocked, but from what Mrs Levack could gather, Mermaid Spit was a trustworthy town, except for those Costigans.
‘A good night’s work,’ sighed Mrs Levack as she got into bed. Losing the meat tray was small beer compared to not only finding Freda’s gnome, but also being able to take it back home to her. All in all she had enjoyed their holiday. She’d go back healthy and trim. Those omega fats in fish were very good for you.
‘Did you leave the boot open?’ said Eddy in the morning.
‘I was putting the Esky in,’ explained Mrs Levack. She glanced over at the boot. Had she left it open that wide?
They dismantled the tent and packed up. ‘Strewth,’ cursed Eddy when he moved the Esky aside to make way for the tent. ‘What have you got in there? Rocks?’
More or less, thought Mrs Levack.
The drive home was largely uneventful. They stopped for petrol at Taree, then went straight through to Bondi. It was late afternoon when they swung down into Campbell Parade.
‘Do you mind if we stop off at Freda and Bill’s first?’ said Mrs Levack. ‘I’ve got a little present for them.’
‘A little present?’
‘Just something I picked up at Mermaid Spit.’
‘That’s very thoughtful of you, dear.’
They pulled up outside Freda and Bill’s cottage. Norman’s replacement looked lonely all by himself. Goodness, was he going to get a surprise.
Freda and Bill were out the door as soon as they heard the car pull up.
‘Weren’t expecting you back till tomorrow,’ Bill greeted them.
‘Couldn’t wait to get back,’ said Eddy. ‘There’s no place like home.’
‘We all having a cleansing ale?’ asked Freda.
‘Freda,’ Mrs Levack said, following her friend into the kitchen, ‘we have cause for a little celebration.’
‘Oh?’ said Freda suggestively. ‘You and Eddy . . .?’
‘No, unfortunately,’ sighed Mrs Levack.
‘Same here,’ said Freda. ‘I tried the G-string and tassels but it didn’t make a blind bit of difference.’
Mrs Levack chose not to go further down that road, interesting journey though it may have been. Talking of journeys, it had been a long one for Norman. Mrs Levack went to the boot. God, the Esky was heavy. ‘Give us a hand with this, will you, Eddy?’ Sitting in the car all day had sapped her strength.
‘Here you go,’ she said when they carried the Esky over.
‘What is it?’ asked Freda excitedly.
‘Have a look inside.’
She lifted the lid. ‘Oh, aren’t they cute? Mavis, you shouldn’t have.’
They? Mrs Levack looked in the Esky. Norman was there but so were all the other gnomes from Emoh Ruo.
Mrs Levack experienced a senior’s moment, her mind completely blank. She had taken only Norman. How come the rest of them were here? Eddy was tapping his foot in a ‘please explain’ manner. ‘I don’t know, Eddy, honestly. I only took Norman, I’ve no idea how the others ended up in the Esky.’
‘You stole that gnome? Why didn’t you get Freda one of those souvenir teaspoons, or a tea towel?’
‘But it’s Norman,’ she emphasised, picking him up.
‘Norman?’ questioned Freda.
‘Honestly,’ said Mrs Levack exasperated. ‘Don’t you recognise him? Your gnome that disappeared last Christmas. Remember, you got a postcard.’
‘That’s not Norman,’ said Freda. ‘Norman had green eyes, this one’s are brown. And he’s got a beard. But all the same, it’s nice to have the gnomes. Like a litter of puppies, isn’t it?’
‘Not so nice for the couple she kidnapped them from,’ said Eddy. ‘Is it because she beat you to the meat tray? Is that why you kidnapped her gnomes?’
Mrs Levack felt like she was on trial. ‘Honestly, Eddy, I only took the one. They were going to have him put down, I couldn’t let that happen.’
‘Have a garden gnome put down? What will you think of next?’
‘No, really,’ Mrs Levack implored her husband. ‘I overheard her talking about it. She said he’d gone deaf and he didn’t have much of a life and she was going to have Norman put down.’
‘Norman is their cat. Who had a stroke and went deaf. Also incontinent, for your information. Dudley told me all about it.’
‘Why did they call their cat and their gnome by the same name? That’s very confusing.’
‘They didn’t call the gnome Norman, you did.’
Mrs Levack was stumped. When she thought about it, she could see that Eddy was right. ‘Whatever,’ she said. ‘Anyway, I swear I took only the one gnome.’
‘You mean the others came along for the ride?’
‘Must have.’
Eddy thought for a moment. ‘Well, I suppose we should send a postcard letting Dudley and Maureen know the gnomes are OK.’
‘Could we send it anonymously?’ asked Mavis.
Eddy rubbed his chin. ‘I suppose we could say it was from the gnomes.’
‘Hang on a minute,’ said Freda. She went and came back brandishing the postcard from Norman. ‘Here it is. “Having a lovely time, see you soon. Signed: the gnome”.’
‘Was it sent from Mermaid Spit?’
Freda peered at the postmark. ‘Could be. Hard to tell. I’ll go and get the magnifying glass.’
‘For crying out loud,’ said Bill, putting his beer firmly down on the patio table. ‘Can we give the bleeding gnomes a rest? I want to hear about the fishing.’