Gnomes at the Bottom of the garden

It is my younger brother Brian’s eighteenth birthday. He is very excited. He is dying to celebrate in the pub and hopes Sylvia will be there. He was in the same year at school as her, and for years, he has had a mighty crush on her. The Cocky Toucan is just down the road. After a 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 were 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 fingernail.

At that point, a big fellow bowls 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, trotted off to the other bar, and got more drinks.

We are eating bits of pizza, 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 mysterious scratches. 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 Cocky Toucan,’ 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. The car 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 mailbox. Brian notices it, lifts the lid and Brrrrooh! Nearly fills it.

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

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

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