Gnomes at the Bottom of the Garden

Gnomes at the bottom of the garden

It is Brian’s eighteenth birthday. He is very excited, my younger brother. He is dying to go out to the pub to celebrate. He hopes Sylvia will be there. He was at the same year at school as her and has a mighty crush on her. The Cocky Toucan is only just down the road. After lovely dinner, but a bit rich, put on by my mother, we leave the house. Mother sees us off. Her eyes seem bright at the prospect of being alone with dad in an empty house for the night. She knows we will be home late.

We get to the Cocky Toucan and mill around having a few drinks.

‘There’s Sylvie,’ Brian yelps, and crosses over to her.

‘Hi Sylvie,’ Brian says expectantly.

‘Oh, hi Bob,’ she replies.

‘No it’s Brian,’ he says. ‘You look brilliant.’

‘It’s nothing,’ she says, ‘just old jeans and a T shirt.’

Sylvia has blonde hair and a magnificent figure but I always think of her as a strapper. I don’t know why, it’s something to do with horse training, but it seems to suit her. She is pretty but she talks a bit rough and has a barking laugh. If she was a cake she would be a meringue.

‘I play in the seconds for Box Hill now,’ chirps Brian hoping to impress her. ‘Forward flank.’

‘Ooow,’ she says biting a finger nail.

At that point a big fellow comes up and puts his arm around her. ‘You want another mixer?’ he asks her.

She puts her empty bottle on the table. ‘So much,’ she says. And off they go together.

There are two bars. Brian, deflated, trots off to the other bar and gets more drinks.

We are eating snacks and bits of pizza and drinking, and getting over Brian’s rebuff when Andy Collins bursts through the crowd. ‘Where’s that $200 you owe me?’ he yells at Brian.

‘What?’

‘For scratching my car. You agreed to $200 to fix it.’ Brian looks dumb.

‘You get me $200 or your old bomb will get some mysterious scratches on it. Hear me?’

Collins melts off into the crowd.

Brian, deflated, gets more drinks. It’s getting late. After some time, he staggers up and puts his arm around my shoulder. ‘Let’s get out of the Toucan’s Cock,’ he slurs, ‘and go home.’

Outside a car is just arriving, its headlights on Brian. I think it is the illumination, but suddenly, brrrrooh! Brian throws up towards the headlights. He misses the car. It speedily reverses.

I lead him off towards the house. Mrs Perrywhistle’s little cat comes up to us. It is friendly and likes to purr around our legs. ‘Brrrooh!’ Brian throws up all over it. It stands there frozen to the spot. Brian looks down at it surprised. ‘I don’t remember eating that,’ he says.

We keep on walking, nearly home. Our neighbour, Mrs Wilkins has a bright yellow mail box. Brian notices it, lifts the lid and Brrrrooh! nearly fills it.

We are back at our garden. Brian collapses down onto moma’s favourite bed of gerbera’s.

‘I can’t wait,’ I say leaving him there. ‘I have to go in,’

The street is empty, the neighbours all in bed. Our house is silent. The only sound comes from the groans at the bottom of the garden.