The Legend of Kevin the Plumber

by Scot Gardner

  Saturday morning. I pecked Mum’s cheek then propped in the chair next to where she was working. We talked about the weather. I told her about my adventures — sandbagging and puddle ferry and Kevin’s helicopter ride — and she couldn’t believe it.

  Mum said they’d slept in the salon. Bought a sleeping bag each and double airbed from the camping shop. Quite comfy.

  ‘Bit of an adventure, hey, Shaz?’ Mum said.

  ‘It was cool.’

  ‘Have you seen Vanessa?’ I asked.

  Mum laughed a kind of Santa ‘Ho ho ho!’.

  Sharon told her to shut up. ‘They stayed at the youth hostel last night with about a hundred other people from Mullet Head. They walked past about an hour ago. They said they were going to try to get home.’

  ‘They’re using the surf lifesavers’ Seacats to ferry people across the bay,’ I said.

  ‘The army are setting something up,’ Mum said. ‘Some sort of bridge or cable. I heard it on the radio. They should have the phones fixed today, too.’

  ‘I’ll give them a call,’ Sharon said, and darted behind Mum’s desk.

  There was a recorded voice on the phone saying that connections to Mullet Head and parts of Blinley had been damaged and that the service would be restored as soon as possible.

  ‘If you see Ness,’ I told Sharon, ‘let her know that her dad’s fine. He’s in room 227.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Home again.’

  ‘Trixie! Is she all right?’

  ‘She’s fine.’

  ‘Remember to feed her.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Mum said they’d head home after lunch. I bought a hamburger at the milk bar. A decent one with slabs of beetroot, a fried egg and lettuce and sauce and that. I had a mini heart attack when I ripped open my wallet and there was hundreds of dollars inside. I was so used to not having money that a wallet full of cash was a trip. And it went straight to my head. The chick in the bottle shop didn’t ask for ID. She looked younger than me. I bought ninety-six dollars’ worth of bourbon and coke and four cigars (one each for my mates and one for me) and a Jack Daniels stubby holder. Loaded with bottles and bags, I made my way to the jetty. A quick trip on the orange surf club Seacat and I was back at the Mullet Head jetty.

  The work van hadn’t moved but it looked like the front door of Kevin’s house was open. I saw a shadow move behind the mesh of the security door. I stashed my bags near their letterbox and rapped on the security door. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Yes?’ came a woman’s voice.

  ‘Um, I’m Gary. Gary Sleep. I work with Kevin.’

  I could see her outline approach the door but I couldn’t see her face. She had her hands on her hips.

  ‘Oh. The Gary,’ she said. ‘We meet at last. Kevin’s not home. Neither’s Vanessa for that matter.’

  ‘I know. I, um . . . He’s in Christmas Bay hospital.’

  She stood there for so long that I almost repeated myself. She opened the screen door. ‘Is he all right? What happened?’

  ‘Yes. They think he’ll be fine. I think . . . I think he had a bit of trouble going to the toilet, that’s all.’

  ‘Jesus,’ she said.

  She was a smallish woman who looked like a grown-up version of her daughter. Same eyes, same straight blondish hair, but her face had been creased — like Kevin’s — through frowning.

  ‘I knew something was wrong. I could smell it in the house,’ she said, and stepped inside. I held the door. She grabbed her keys and her wallet.

  ‘His bloody prostate. Jesus.’

  She thanked me for holding the door. Her hand shook as she locked it.

  ‘Jesus. Vanessa,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t worry about her,’ I said. ‘I’ll find her and bring her over.’

  She straightened. ‘You? I don’t think so. I don’t want you anywhere near my daughter. Thank you.’

  She looked at the van and jogged down the driveway. She spotted my bags beside the letterbox. She pulled the top open on one then the other.

  ‘Are these yours?’ she said.

  I nodded.

  She laughed a single disbelieving ‘hoh’ and shook her head. ‘Go home, Gary.’

  She was around the corner by the time I’d collected my bags. I should have walked straight past, I thought. They would have called her when the phones were fixed. Sometimes, for Gary Sleep at least, it’s better not to try to help. Well, fuck you. Fuck youse all.

  Eighteen

  I had to lay the bottles of Coke down so they’d fit in Ash’s little fridge. I told her what had happened during the flood and she called me a legend. Not bagging me like Gel would have, but in a nice way. I told her about Mrs Daly saying she didn’t want me anywhere near her daughter and she laughed.

  ‘Doesn’t want you near her? If she was my daughter, I’d be trying to hook you guys up. She’ll shit her pants if she finds out who her daughter’s going out with now.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Gel.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  She shook her head. ‘We’re all camping at the youth hostel last night, right? Vanessa’s mucking around with Gel and a heap of other guys in the poolroom. Her mum comes looking for her at . . . I dunno . . . eleven o’clock or something. I mean, I was pretty hammered but I’d swear she was in the corner with Gel playing a bit of tonsil hockey. This afternoon, I called by the van to help them load some of their shit into the trailer and she was there. She had friggin make-up on and she wouldn’t stop giggling. Gary? Gaz? Where are you going?’

  ‘I’ll be back,’ I said, and ran for the caravan park.

  The sun was setting. Most of the puddles in the town had vanished. A loaded trailer was in the parking bay at Aggie and Gel’s caravan.

  The van was thumping. I rapped on the door and let myself in. Aggie nodded hello and made some room for me on the bench seat. He was flicking through a skating mag. He slapped it closed and turned down the music.

  ‘Where were you last night?’

  ‘At home,’ I said. ‘Sounds like it was all happening at the youth hostel.’

  Aggie nodded from the shoulders. ‘Went off.’

  ‘I thought you guys were moving back home again?’

  ‘It was supposed to be this weekend. We’ve packed all our shit but we can’t get the trailer over the river, hey.’

  ‘Have you seen Vanessa?’

  He looked at me for the longest time, then jabbed both pointer fingers at the door to his mum’s bedroom. I dived off the seat and banged on the door. It opened.

  ‘Vanessa?’

  There was a flurry of activity and Vanessa was standing beside the bed in her jeans and bra, her crumpled top held over her chest. Gel lay back on the bare mattress in his boxers, hands behind his head, smiling like a retard.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Nah. It’s fine,’ Vanessa said. ‘We were just talking and that.’

  She was wearing my ring. The silver skull ring Ash had given me was laughing at me from her knuckle.

  ‘Your dad’s in hospital. Your mum’s already over there.’

  ‘Oh my god. What happened?’

  I shrugged. ‘He’s going to be okay.’

  She dragged her top over her head and I could see dark stubble in her armpit. She thumped through the van and slammed the door behind her.

  Gel just lay there, still smiling.

  ‘You’re a sick bastard,’ I said.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, and sat up.

  ‘She’s thirteen.’

  He shrugged. ‘Didn’t stop you, mate. Old enough to bleed, old enough to butcher, eh?’

  I shook my head. ‘It didn’t happen.’

  ‘Yeah, but you wanted it to.’

  ‘So? I wanted to root your mum at one stage, too. It didn’t happen.’

  ‘And you call me a sick bastard.’

  ‘Yeah, because you would have.’

  He huffed a laugh but the smile had fallen from his lips.


  ‘Just leave her alone,’ I said.

  ‘Or what?’

  I didn’t think. I dived at his throat and pinned him to the bed. He kicked at the air and grabbed at my fingers. His eyes bulged and he squawked.

  ‘Get off!’

  ‘Leave her alone or I’ll rip your fucken head off.’

  I shoved and his throat clicked. I let him go.

  Aggie was standing in the doorway. His eyes were wide and frightened like Kevin’s had been that morning. ‘Thanks, Gary,’ he said, as I pushed past. He slapped me on the back and I jumped. ‘Somebody had to do it.’

  ‘Drinks at Ash’s place tonight if you’re up for it.’

  ‘Nice. Might see you there later.’

  Ash and I were fairly well oiled by the time Aggie arrived. I looked over his shoulder as I let him in to the bungalow.

  ‘Nah. He’s at home having a bit of a sook,’ Aggie said. ‘Reckons you nearly killed him. Reckons he’s going to lay charges.’

  ‘Whatever,’ I said, and we laughed. I pictured Gel’s red face as I held his neck and I remembered the ring. It certainly looked like my skull ring on Vanessa’s hand. Gel would have given it to her. Fucked if I knew how he’d got hold of it in the first place. I didn’t want to know. He would have nicked it and given it to Vanessa. Anything for a bit of action.

  There was something different about that night. We had a couple of cones — the last of Ash’s stash — and got all happy and shitfaced. Chugged on the cigars I’d bought and I don’t mind saying that for the money, they were shit. Aggie drank hard to catch up and we didn’t stop talking. We talked some crap, as you do, but the words kept flowing and at one o’clock we were sitting cross-legged on the floor of the bungalow with Ash’s Tibetan monk music on real low and Aggie says to me, ‘So, what’s she like?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your perfect woman?’

  I let the question settle in my foggy head. It was something I’d never asked myself, but I thought I knew the answer. ‘She has to have two arms and two legs. No . . . hang on. That’s not really an issue. She has to have . . . you know . . . the bit where babies come from.’

  ‘A cabbage patch?’ Ash said.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘The F word.’

  Aggie and Ash looked at each other, then at me.

  ‘Fingers?’ Aggie asked.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Fallopian tubes?’ Ash said.

  ‘No. Yes. Well, them too.’

  ‘Which F word were you thinking about, in particular?’

  ‘You know . . .’

  ‘No. That’s why we’re asking,’ Aggie said.

  ‘Fagina,’ I whispered.

  They both squealed and lurched onto their backs. Ash’s head hit the mattress on her bed and bounced before she slumped to the floor, paralysed by laughter.

  ‘What?’

  They just kept laughing and I kept asking what and they didn’t tell me and I didn’t get the joke. Eventually, Ash sat up again with a moan.

  ‘What else?’ she said.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Your perfect woman,’ Aggie sighed.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, but I did. Sort of. I knew more than I did before my birthday. I knew, as tempting as it may seem, it wasn’t a thirteen-year-old who had the hots for me (and everybody else). I knew it wasn’t a different woman every day, though that had its appeal as a fantasy.

  ‘Come on,’ Aggie said. ‘You must know something. What, do you like big tits or Asians or she-males or what?’

  And my well-charged brain just started firing. My mouth let the words out. ‘I don’t really mind what she looks like. I know that sounds like I’m desperate but I’m not. I want to be with someone who’s my mate. Someone who I can rave with and get pissed with. Someone who I can trust and who doesn’t mind a bit of . . . you know . . . humpy bumpy every now and again. I want someone who laughs a lot and doesn’t spend all day in front of the fucken mirror.’

  Ash nodded. Aggie shook his head. ‘I never picked you as a poofter, Gaz.’

  Ash honked a laugh.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘Your perfect woman is a bloke,’ he said.

  ‘Bullshit. I’m not —’

  ‘And if that’s as close as you’ll get to asking me straight, I accept. I will marry you, Gaz. Come here, you stud,’ he said, pushed me onto my back and kissed me full-on on the lips.

  I shoved him off and spat and wiped my mouth and eewed at the feel of his stubble rubbing against my face. They were laughing then. Aggie wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rubbed it on my leg.

  ‘What about you then?’ I asked him. ‘What’s your perfect bloke . . . I mean woman like?’

  ‘Me? I like big tits. Two good mouthfuls on the front and two good handfuls of arse.’

  ‘Do you mind a bit of fluff in the bum crack?’

  ‘Whaaat?’

  ‘You just described Homer, one of the guys I work with. Only his man-boobs are bigger than a mouthful and he wears a bit of fluff in his arse crack.’

  ‘Or Ruby,’ Ash said. ‘The big bloke who works for the council.’

  Aggie shivered. ‘Sick.’

  Aggie and I looked at Ash.

  ‘No. Not me. I’m going to be a nun. I don’t look at blokes. I’m a lesbian and I’m going to be a nun.’

  ‘Ooh, stop it,’ Aggie said. ‘You’re making me bar up.’

  She looked at the ceiling and hummed. ‘I’m really not that fussy. He has to have a good personality.’

  Aggie scoffed. ‘What the fuck has personality got to do with anything? Oh. You mean he has to have a ten-inch personality. Or bigger.’

  Even through the fog of grog and weed I could feel Ash looking at me. And even through the fog I could see her smile. You’ve got nice lips, I thought. I bowed my head. One day I’d have the balls to tell her that and see what happened.

  Aggie burped the first three notes of ‘Brand New Death’. Ash changed the CD and we wrote ourselves off. Big night.

  Nineteen

  I woke up in my own bed at three on Sunday afternoon. My head felt like I’d just had surgery so I went back to sleep. At quarter to five I woke up again with a bog knocking at my back door and a terminal case of the munchies. Had to get up. The house was empty, except for Trixie who scratched at the toilet door while I slumped on the bowl. I showered, spat my seed at the glass then washed the walls with a soapy hand. I made and ate nine toasted cheese sandwiches and watched the local news.

  They had a bit of aerial footage of the bay and Mullet Head. The reporter said most services had been restored but the army’s bridge idea didn’t work. Some dude dressed in camo said they were waiting on gear to be delivered from Puckapunyal. The river had gone down heaps. They were using bulldozers to dig a new road around the old bridge. Two days before we’d be able to drive in and out again, they reckoned. I wondered if I’d be going to work in the morning. I tried the phone. It hummed like a real one and I found ‘Daly K & M 37 Aquarius Bvd Mlt Hd’ in the phone book. I could feel my pulse in my ears as the phone rang.

  ‘Hello?’ It was Mrs Daly.

  What was her name? Maude? Mary?

  ‘Hello, Mrs Daly. It’s um . . . Gary Sleep here.’

  ‘Oh. Hello, Gary.’

  ‘I was just ringing up to see how Kevin was and that. Is he home yet?’

  Her voice changed tone, grew quieter. ‘No. He’s not back yet. They’re keeping him in overnight again. He’s had some tests and they’ll get the results from them tomorrow.’

  ‘Do they know what happened?’

  ‘Oh, yes. It’s his prostate. Kevin’s had problems with it for years and never got anything done. It’s his own bloody fault. Wish he cared about his own internal plumbing as much as he cared about everybody else’s.’

  I huffed a laugh into the mouthpiece and the phone fell silent.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘And I’m sorry.’

  ‘No worries there, I —’

  ‘I m
ean it, Gary. Sorry I spoke harshly to you yesterday. I didn’t realise . . . Thanks for sending Vanessa over and thanks for phoning the ambulance for Kevin. You probably saved his life.’

  ‘No worries.’

  ‘Seriously. The ambos said another hour and his bladder would have burst.’

  ‘Yeah? No worries.’

  ‘Can you say anything other than “No worries”?’

  ‘Ha! Yes, sorry. I . . . I don’t know what to do about work tomorrow. Whether I should try to make my way over to Christmas Bay in the morning or what.’

  ‘Phil would be the one to talk to about that. Have you got his number? It’s silent. I think Kevin’s got it in his phone here . . . ’

  She gave me the number and thanked me again. I said no worries two more times without even thinking about it. She laughed and said goodbye.

  Phil answered the phone with a mouthful of something.

  ‘Oh, g’day, Gary. How are you holding up there, mate? Did you get flooded out?’

  I told him what Kevin and I did on Friday, the saga of Kevin going to hospital in the air ambulance and asked him what I should do.

  ‘Your rostered day off tomorrow, mate. Don’t have to worry about it until Tuesday. We can’t get the van back here until after the cowboys finish fixing the bridge. Kevin might be back on deck by Tuesday. If not, I’ll arrange for Homer or someone to come and pick you up. I’ll give you a call tomorrow night and let you know. You might as well go and get pissed tonight, ay? Ha! Just make sure you’re fit and ready for Tuesday.’

  He said he was going to take Kevin some flowers in hospital. Or a blow-up doll. I told him the room number and that I’d see him on Tuesday.

  He doesn’t care, I thought. I’d seen the shit-scared look in Kevin’s eyes. He was really sick and Phil was making a joke of it.

  I counted my cash on the bed. $297.60. Where had it all gone? I would get paid again on the Wednesday after next and I’d finish up on that Friday and go. I found my dad’s phone number on a ratty folded piece of paper in the change pocket of my wallet.

  I’d looked at it a hundred times since he’d given it to me but I’d never called him. Never had reason to. Until now.

  I called but there was no answer.