Myrtle Parker arrived home from her errands and stared sadly at the jungle of weeds growing among the roses in the front garden. She was tired of living a widow’s life, having lost her beloved Reginald years ago. Except Reginald wasn’t dead, he was just asleep in the front sitting room.

It had happened one evening when Evelyn was on her way home from a Show Society meeting. She had left Reginald with his favourite dinner, curried sausages, and a list of jobs that needed doing before she got back. Myrtle arrived at the front door to find him up a ladder on the roof in the dark, clearing out the gutters. She hadn’t meant to startle the silly man, but startled he was and he slipped right off the edge. Myrtle discovered him lying on the driveway in an odd position. His injuries didn’t appear to be life threatening at the time – a broken leg and a gash on the forehead – but while he was in hospital something terribly strange happened.

Myrtle visited every day, telling him how much she needed him and bringing in an ever-growing list of chores that would need to be attended to as soon as he was out of hospital. According to one of the nurses, Reginald was reading the list one morning when his eyes began to get heavy. She asked him if he was all right and the poor man just said that he was tired – exhausted, really. He closed his eyes and had been asleep ever since. That was three years ago.

Test after test said that there was plenty of activity going on in his brain and his body seemed to have recovered from the injuries. No one could work it out. There was some nasty talk around the village that Myrtle had driven him to it – the poor man, never getting a minute’s rest. But of course that wasn’t true. Myrtle was a stickler for eight hours sleep a night, not a minute more, not a minute less.

The doctors said that he should make a full recovery but after six months they simply gave up, saying they couldn’t understand it. One of the physicians said that it was as if he didn’t want to wake up. Every now and then, usually on the days that Myrtle was too busy to visit him, a smile would settle on the man’s face.

Myrtle trekked back and forth to the hospital in Downsfordvale. The whole arrangement was highly problematic, particularly in the lead-up to showtime, when Myrtle was always busier than an ants’ nest before a summer storm.

The doctors wondered if Reginald might do better in his own surroundings. So Myrtle took him home and set him up in the sitting room as the bedrooms were far too small to accommodate the required equipment. She found this a terrible inconvenience when it came to entertaining. Afternoon tea parties were never the same again as the ladies were forced to spy each other over the top of the bedclothes. On a couple of occasions Myrtle thought that all the noise her friends made might wake him up, but if anything, their presence seemed to send him into an even deeper sleep.

Home care was expensive too but Reginald had been a sensible man and his life insurance policy covered the cost of a live-in nurse, although they were usually unreliable young things and Myrtle frequently found herself having to interview new staff.

So, despite the fact that Reginald lived and breathed, Myrtle considered herself as much a widow as any other in the village.

With the whole afternoon on her hands, she decided to give the sitting room some special attention. The new nurse, a stout woman called Raylene, had ducked out to the pharmacy. If the past couple of weeks were any indication, she’d be gone at least a couple of hours. The woman seemed to find any number of things to do that kept her away from the house.

Myrtle grabbed her apron from the pantry and went into the utility room to retrieve her antiquated upright vacuum cleaner. Perhaps the sounds and smells of good cleaning would rouse Reginald from his slumber. She’d even tried to polish his head one day in the hope that it might wake him. He had just sneezed and coughed a little, then settled back to his usual state of inertia.

Myrtle plugged the ancient beast into the wall socket and set forth hoovering every inch of the room, including the settee.

Over the din, she thought she heard a chime. Myrtle flicked off the switch and pushed the handle back to the vertical position. She wondered who might be calling on her – most of her friends only ever came when there was a committee meeting. The village folk were well aware of the difficulty of her having Reginald in the sitting room.

Myrtle opened the front door. There was no one there. She peered outside and down the path to the street but couldn’t see anyone. She decided that she must have been hearing things, closed the door and went back to her hoovering. Not a minute after the machine had whirred back to life, the bell went again.

‘Goodness me.’ Myrtle flicked the switch off again. ‘I’ll be right there,’ she called and didn’t dally getting to the hallway.

‘Hello?’ She reefed opened the front door. Her eyes darted around the yard. ‘Show yourself.’

Myrtle waited a moment and then slammed the door. She stomped back to the vacuum and began for the third time. But something told her that this game was not over. She snapped off the whirring appliance and hurried to the front door, just as the bell rang.

‘Gotcha!’ Myrtle flung open the door expecting to see some or other scruffy child thinking themselves very funny for playing tricks on an old woman. But that wasn’t what she observed at all.

‘Oh my goodness! Newton?’ she gulped. ‘Is it really you? Have you come home to Mother?’

Newton was silent. Sitting beside him was a folded piece of paper. Myrtle picked it up, opened it and read:

‘I’m sorry that I ran away last year but I wanted some adventures. Please don’t be mad at me. I’ve had the best time ever and I’ve seen loads of places and met interesting people but I thought it was time to come home again.’

Myrtle looked down at the concrete statue in front of her.

‘Oh Newton, I’m so glad that you’re back. I’ve missed you terribly.’ Tears pooled in the old woman’s eyes. ‘It hasn’t been the same without you. No one to talk to about Reginald, no one who understands what it’s like for me with him in there taking up all that space in the sitting room. I’m sorry that I left you outside. I won’t make that mistake ever again.’

Myrtle picked up the gnome and hugged it as if her very life depended on it. She peered into the garden to see if there was anyone lurking about.

‘I know it was you lot from the carnival. It’s a year almost to the day that my Newton went missing,’ she called into the open air. ‘I have a good mind to have you all locked up.’

She turned and walked back inside, wondering if the carnival people were already back in town and wishing that the show committee would heed her advice and hold the event without those ghastly rides and sideshows.

‘Reginald, Reginald, you’re never going to believe who’s come home.’ Myrtle Parker carried the gnome into the sitting room and put him down on the end of her husband’s bed. ‘Now, why don’t you come back to me too?’ she whispered at the man under the covers. ‘I’ve got some very nice jobs for you to do.’