Mavis Levack, P.I. Page 11

  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.

  ‘Norman.’

  ‘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.’r />
  ‘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.’

  A Helping Hand

  Mavis Levack took a deep breath, gave her neatly permed hair a little pat, then pushed open the gate of number twenty-eight.

  ‘Yoo hoo,’ she called when she got up to the front door. ‘Anybody home?’

  She rattled the screen door vigorously in case the gentleman was hard of hearing. You could never tell with these old ones, thought Mrs Levack, who was no spring chicken herself. She knew already that somebody was at home because she could hear the TV. It sounded like cartoons. She peered straight into the lounge room. It looked very messy.

  A clatter of beer cans, a plate being put on a table, then a voice: ‘Hold your horses!’

  From out of the big old lounge chair in front of the television rose a man. He hitched up his pyjamas, took a step, tripped on a crease in the mat and promptly sat down again. He got to his feet, muttering under his breath. Mrs Levack watched him approach. He moved rather slowly and was none too steady on his feet. She hadn’t come a minute too soon.

  ‘Yes?’ he said, opening the door. He was thin and wiry, his hair stuck out at odd angles, he needed a shave.

  Mrs Levack bounded in, holding her copious bag in front of her like a business card. ‘Have you had your shower yet?’

  ‘Who wants to know?’

  Mrs Levack realised that in her zealousness she was probably going too fast for him. ‘I’m sorry. I’m Mrs Levack,’ she introduced herself.

  ‘Slim,’ he said without offering his hand.

  ‘Yes, of course you are. I’m here to help you with your personal hygiene.’

  ‘My what?’

  ‘Personal hygiene,’ she repeated, trying to ignore the smell of beer. The man was inebriated. And at this hour of the morning! Well, they’d prepared her for the worst and she wasn’t going to let it put her off. Besides, she wasn’t exactly a stranger to inebriation herself.

  ‘I’m from the agency,’ she said, pronouncing each word loudly and distinctly, as if speaking to a child. ‘The Good Samaritan.’

  ‘Ah.’

  She’d finally struck a chord. She raised a finger in the air, signalling him to wait on a minute, then dived into her bag and pulled out three items. ‘Fresh razor, brush and lather,’ she said, holding each one up in turn.

  ‘What’s all that for?’

  ‘To shave you, silly.’

  Mrs Levack glanced around the room, located the entrance to the bathroom, then offered him her arm: ‘Shall we go?’

  He stared at her, taking stock of the situation. ‘Just don’t touch the moustache, OK?’

  The gentleman’s face was covered in a snowfield of white lather, the only features of the landscape being the moustache, the nose and his beady eyes watching her every move in the mirror as she chattered away.

  ‘I suppose it’s a learning curve for both of us, isn’t it? Quite a challenge, all these wrinkles and crevices. Bit like doing the ironing.’ Mrs Levack manoeuvred her way around the moustache. It was quite a handsome specimen, she thought. She drew back a bit. Quite an odd experience, really. Here she was in an intimate situation with a gentleman she barely knew. Still, she had volunteered to help those less fortunate than herself and she had to get over the irksome detail that not only was she in the bathroom of a man she’d met only five minutes before, but he was wearing his pyjamas.

  ‘Eddy used to have one of these,’ she said, chattering away. ‘When we were first married. Never really took to it myself, all bristly and everything. Do you know what it’s like kissing a man with a moustache? No, I suppose you wouldn’t. Oops!’ She’d snipped off a fraction of moustache.

  The man pushed her away violently and grabbed a towel. ‘What the flaming hell do you think you’re doing? Fifteen years I’ve had that, ever since the wife died.’

  When he had wiped off the lather the full extent of Mrs Levack’s snip was revealed. It was quite a bit more than the fraction Mrs Levack thought she’d taken off. In fact the fraction was more like a half.

  Mrs Levack was all of a flurry. Her first day as a care worker, she had to make a good impression. ‘I’m sorry, dear, really I am. Just let me trim the other side. We can’t have you going around looking like that.’

  She came towards him, holding the razor in a lethal fashion. The man got up out of the chair, flung the towel to the ground and warded off Mrs Levack’s attempts to plac
ate him.

  ‘Good grief, you’re a maniac!’

  ‘Well . . . I suppose we could skip the shave and get straight on to the shower.’

  He looked at her in disbelief. ‘Just get out of my bathroom, will you?’

  Mrs Levack felt awful. She’d been told it might be difficult, that if the mood took him he could be a cantankerous old bugger. He’d slammed the door rudely behind her but he seemed quite oblivious to her now. That was one good thing about getting old and forgetful. It was hard to hold a grudge when you couldn’t remember why. Through the closed door she could hear the shower going and an off-key voice singing ‘Moonlight becomes you/It goes with your hair . . .’ He was probably serenading his dead wife. It was a pretty little tune, one of Willie Nelson’s. Mavis remembered Eddy serenading her with it way back when Willie still had all his teeth.

  She cast around for something to do. She couldn’t go home and tell Eddy her first day as a care worker had been a disaster, to say nothing of the agency. Light housework was another part of her brief, and at least it didn’t involve close contact with moustaches. The room was terribly cluttered. It was like a junk shop. There were piles of newspapers in the corners, a dresser with a motley assortment of crockery, machine parts and tools. There was an old-fashioned hand drill, just like Eddy’s. The TV had a stuffed parrot sitting on it and in front was a wide low table covered in bits and pieces of wood and scraps of cloth. To one side was a knife and fork, a chipped blue cup with a milky puddle of tea in it, and a plate with a crust of toast and a clot of egg yolk that was going to be very hard to shift if Mrs Levack didn’t get to work on it soon. On the floor beside the lounge chair were a number of empty beer cans and an assortment of bottles.

  Mrs Levack could have that table cleared in a jiffy. And wouldn’t that make a nice impression when he came out of the shower? She didn’t want to do too much, she didn’t want to interfere, but she was there to help.

  She put the breakfast things on the bench and started rummaging in the cupboard under the sink till she found a cloth and a packet of garbage bags. It was nice to see he had a good supply of them. Care workers kept their eye on that sort of thing as well. If the person couldn’t get out and shop, the carers would shop for them. She pulled a bag out of the packet, grabbed the cloth and went back to the table.