Mavis Levack, PI

by Marele Day

  ‘Why not?’

  He shook his head from side to side. ‘Can’t explain it. They were all in there—Jack, George propped up on his stool, those blokes in suits that go there. And the ones in singlets and shorts. I gave George a wave but he didn’t respond. It was like a bloody wax museum. All very lifelike but not an iota of movement. I couldn’t even get to the door, as if an impenetrable force-field surrounded the place.’

  Mrs Levack could feel the hairs on the back of her neck starting to stand on end. She took another swig of beer. ‘Did you see Claudia?’ Mrs Levack asked.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘But she could have been upstairs. That’s my theory—she’s trapped in there and can’t get out.’ He leant intimately into Mrs Levack’s personal space. ‘Trapped in the Twilight Zone, like all of them.’

  Shivers ran up and down Mrs Levack’s spine. Her nerve ends were positively shimmering. She took another swig of beer.

  Frank didn’t seem any the worse for wear, looked like he could manage another six-pack without even pausing for breath, but Mrs Levack doubted that she could keep up with him. Besides, it was time to take the next step. The Twilight Zone. A frisson of fear and excitement snaked its way through her body. What strange places investigating led you to. She took another gulp of beer. For courage.

  ‘Where is this place of which you speak?’ she asked with a great deal of gravitas.

  ‘Come,’ he said, getting up off the park bench. ‘I will show the way.’

  As they began their journey out of the park, it seemed that Frank’s limp had been miraculously cured and it was Mrs Levack who was having trouble walking straight.

  They crossed the road and Frank led Mrs Levack down Darling Street. They passed lots of nice clothes shops, some with sales, but she held herself back. Everything seemed so ordinary, the people in the streets going about their business, going into Woolies to do their shopping, to the deli or the fruit shop. All blissfully unaware that the Twilight Zone was just around the corner. They seemed to take no notice of Frank and Mrs Levack, as if they were invisible.

  ‘We take a turn here,’ Frank indicated when they came to a quiet side street. Down they went, past cars parked bumper to bumper. ‘And again here,’ said Frank as he directed her into another street. On they went, taking one street then another, twisting and turning so much that Mrs Levack had no idea where she was. She was glad she had her Nikes on. So much walking!

  ‘There,’ he said finally. Mrs Levack’s eyes followed his pointing finger to a pub at the end of the street. It was like looking down the barrel of a gun. Mrs Levack blinked, and wished she’d remembered to drink water between the beers but it was too late for that.

  ‘I have led you to the place and now I must go,’ he said solemnly. ‘You must enter on your own. Thanks for the beers.’ And he dissolved into thin air.

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  Mrs Levack took a deep breath and gingerly began the last leg of her journey, treading carefully to avoid the dog doings. She saw no actual dogs and, oddly, no people. Apart from a fat furry cat sleeping on a front door mat there was no sign of life at all. She felt as if she had been walking for ages. She looked at her watch—11.45. She was sure it had been 11.45 when she’d met Frank. Maybe she’d made a mistake, maybe it had only been 10.45 when she’d looked the first time—it had been just a passing glance. She stood in the middle of the footpath counting to sixty, but the hands of her watch didn’t move. Maybe the batteries had worn down. Yes, that was it, she decided. She wondered if she should ring Eddy. Perhaps not.

  It was hard going, like walking through invisible mud, but eventually she found herself across the road from the pub. There were people inside, she could see that much, but no-one moved. Figures were set in various poses—a man in a suit with his glass of wine half-raised; a leery gent feeling a young woman’s bottom, her hand raised to slap his face; a group of chaps nursing schooners at the bar, their faces in rictus, the aftermath of a joke. The air in there looked very smoky.

  Mrs Levack wanted to have a closer look, to see if she could spot Claudia, but the minute she made a step towards the pub she encountered the force-field of which Frank had spoken. She tried again, taking a run at it, but butted up against some invisible airbag.

  Mrs Levack looked at her watch again. Still 11.45, though she had no idea what it was in real time. She was sure Eddy would be back from the library and wondering where she was. There was definitely something very strange happening and Mrs Levack was about to find out what it was. She’d had enough mucking around, enough of being thwarted by something she couldn’t see. It was time to take action.

  Just as well she had a couple of beers left in her shopping bag. Not quite as good as a brick, but they’d provide enough weight. She swung the bag around a couple of times, took aim, then let go. Mrs Levack heard the pleasing tinkle of smashing glass. Unlike smashing the window on the Daimler, she didn’t care who heard this one, in fact she’d be quite pleased for someone to come along. Anyone. But no-one did. She heard a whoosh as a brown cloud of miasmic air escaped from the hole in the window.

  She had released the pressure, the spell, and was able to cross the road and enter the pub with no resistance. ‘Hello?’ she called to no avail.

  She pushed her way towards the bar, past immobile figures. ‘A schooner of new,’ she requested. The barman had a dishcloth under his hand, as if to wipe up a puddle of beer. He didn’t move. ‘A schooner of new,’ she shouted over the bar.

  ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ came a voice.

  Mrs Levack turned round. In a dark corner, almost part of the furniture, sat a gent who looked not unlike Frank, except that he was older and greyer. She marched over to him. He reeked of beer, it was practically oozing out of his pores. ‘What’s going on here?’ she asked.

  ‘Is something going on?’ he slurred.

  ‘Are you blind? It’s like Madame Tussaud’s in here.’

  He didn’t look around to see what she was referring to, just stared into his memories, his past, to whatever it was that had brought him to this corner in the first place and to which he was fixed. ‘Some days are quieter than others,’ he commented.

  ‘How come you’re not in the same state as everyone else?’

  ‘I am different to everyone else,’ he said profoundly. ‘These eyes have seen things others have not,’ he said, still staring straight ahead. ‘We are all islands in a sea of nothingness.’

  Mrs Levack rolled her eyes. Spare me the philosophy. ‘Have those eyes seen Claudia Valentine?’

  ‘Who?’

  Oh no, thought Mrs Levack. It was the wrong pub. Frank had given her a bum steer. ‘Claudia Valentine, private investigator. Tall girl, red hair. Apparently she lives here.’

  ‘Ah yes. These eyes have seen the private eye. Nice girl, she buys me beers. You wouldn’t feel inclined to do the same, would you?’

  Mrs Levack looked around, taking in the scene, including the barman who was still standing there with the dishcloth. ‘Help yourself,’ she said. ‘I don’t think anyone is going to object. Do you know where the private eye is?’

  ‘A shot of whisky would probably jolt my memory,’ he suggested.

  The second time today. What was it with men nowadays, thought Mrs Levack. Did they all expect women to get the drinks? Nevertheless she weaved her way over to the bar, squeezed behind the barman and poured a whisky. On second thoughts, she made that two.

  ‘Ah,’ said the chap when she returned with them. ‘Nothing like the first drink of the day.’

  Mrs Levack threw back her shot, smacking her lips afterwards. It wasn’t her first drink of the day and she doubted it was his. It was still 11.45 by her watch. She wondered what time it was in the world outside the pub—3 pm? Was it still Wednesday? Was it next year already? She tried not to think about such things, it was enough to shortcircuit the brain. Something strange was definitely going on, Mrs Levack didn’t feel herself. Shortcircuit the brain was not a term she would normally use.
/>
  ‘Is it jolted yet?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Where is Claudia Valentine—the private eye? You said a whisky would jolt your memory.’

  ‘Haven’t seen her for a while,’ he said. ‘My guess is that she is away on a case or she’s upstairs.’

  ‘How do I get upstairs?’

  ‘There’s a separate entrance. Next door.’

  Mrs Levack gave him a quick thankyou, then found the door. As luck would have it, she had no trouble opening it and finding her way up a well-worn spiral staircase. At the top, a strip of blue and gold carpet ran the length of the corridor, off which were guest rooms. Mrs Levack trawled along the corridor, knocking on a couple of doors, trying unsuccessfully to peer through the keyhole of others.

  At the end of the corridor she came across a door marked private. Private. Private eye. Mrs Levack had a hunch this was it. She knocked, gingerly at first, then more loudly. No-one came. But that didn’t necessarily mean there was no-one home. If Claudia Valentine was in the same comatose state as the crowd downstairs, she probably couldn’t make it to the door. Breaking and entering had paid off twice for Mrs Levack. It would work the third time as well.

  She kicked at the door but it wouldn’t budge. Blast those solidly built cedar doors. Eddy was always going on about how shoddy workmanship was nowadays, but Mrs Levack would have appreciated some of it right at this moment. She looked around for a suitable tool. An old hatstand stood silently in a dusty corner, shrouded in cobwebs. At least a hatstand was what Mrs Levack took it to be, though it bore a remarkable resemblance to a large crucifix. It had a round base so Mrs Levack was able to roll it over, the cobwebs wisping into space, floating on the air like ghostly tendrils.

  She had a few practice shots then, using it like a lance, charged at the door. It opened effortlessly. Mrs Levack wasn’t sure whether it was the hatstand or a mysterious force that had caused it to open. There was a small whoosh as another cloud of miasma escaped.

  Mrs Levack stood on the threshold, staring at the figure in bed, white sheet up to her neck, red hair spread out upon the pillow like a sleeping storm, the whole reminding Mrs Levack of dead Ophelia in the river. But Mrs Levack could see the gentle rise and fall of the sheet. The woman in bed was at least breathing.

  ‘Claudia Valentine?’ Mrs Levack asked carefully. No answer. She took a step into the room and called again, a bit louder this time.

  ‘Who wants to know?’ A voice came sliding out from the direction of the bed. Mrs Levack didn’t even see the lips move.

  ‘It’s Mavis Levack.’ Mrs Levack thought she saw a small frown appear but no sign of recognition. ‘I was of assistance on one of your investigations,’ Mrs Levack prompted. She flicked through the scrapbook of her mind till she came across the newspaper clipping: ‘The life and times of Harry Lavender.’

  ‘Crimes.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘It’s “crimes”, not “times”. Come in. Close the door behind you.’

  Mrs Levack did what was requested of her. ‘Shall I pull back the curtains, dear? It’s very dark and pokey in here.’

  ‘No,’ said Claudia Valentine, for it was indeed she who was lying in the bed.

  Closed doors, drawn curtains in the middle of the day, everyone in a comatose state. Mrs Levack wondered whether Claudia and the crowd downstairs were all vampires. She checked to see that the crucifix-hatstand was nearby, should she need any protection. She peered at Claudia, looking for specially pointed teeth, but the mouth remained as closed as the eyes.

  ‘Forgive me for not getting up,’ said Claudia. This time Mrs Levack saw the lips move, barely discernible, like a ventriloquist’s mouth. ‘I don’t get out of bed for anything less than 200 pages.’

  Pages? What was she talking about? ‘Are you all right?’ asked Mrs Levack.

  ‘Perfectly.’

  Now it was Mrs Levack’s turn to frown. It was a most unsatisfying answer.

  ‘It’s just that . . .’ she started, ‘I’d heard that you’d gone missing. I came looking for you.’ And now that she had found what she was looking for, there were more questions than ever. ‘Can I make you a cup of tea or something?’ Mrs Levack offered.

  ‘No, thank you.’

  Under the bed Mrs Levack spied a bottle. ‘A shot of whisky perhaps?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  Mrs Levack was getting nowhere fast, and running out of time, even though it was 11.45 by her watch, so in fact time was standing still. She was beginning to lose patience.

  ‘Is there any particular reason why you can’t look at me while I’m talking to you? Can’t we go and sit in the park? It’s a very nice day outside and it’s not healthy for a young woman like yourself to be cooped up in here.’

  ‘I’m on hold. Like I said, I don’t get out of bed for anything under 200 pages.’

  ‘I didn’t understand the first time and I still don’t get it. What’s page length got to do with anything?’

  ‘This is a short story, right?’

  ‘What are you talking about, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘This. Everything that’s happened. The newspaper report, the carefully planted clue in the Daimler, you coming to Balmain, your escapade in the park with Frank.’

  Claudia knew everything. ‘Sorry about the Daimler,’ Mrs Levack said in a small voice. ‘I can pay to have it fixed.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s not a real car. Which is just as well. Otherwise it’d cost an arm and a leg. Stupid car for a private investigator to have in the first place. It was never my idea.’

  ‘Not your idea?’

  ‘No, it was the author’s.’

  ‘The author’s?’

  ‘Our author’s, actually. The only reason we are in the same room, having this conversation, is that we have the same author.’

  ‘Same author?’

  A sigh escaped from Claudia’s lips. ‘Mrs Levack, it’s not your fault. I know you’re doing your best,’ she whispered sympathetically, ‘but the only way we can get a decent dialogue going beyond you merely repeating everything I say, is to spell things out for you.’ She paused before announcing: ‘You and I, Mrs Levack, are fictional.’

  ‘Fictional?’ The explanation obviously hadn’t taken, because Mrs Levack was still echoing.

  ‘We’re not real.’

  ‘Of course we’re real. We’re talking, I can see you breathing.’

  ‘Lifelike, but not real. It’s not that bad, there are pluses to being fictional. We don’t age as fast as real people. Only about two years a decade.’

  At Mrs Levack’s age, that indeed was a plus. ‘What else?’ she asked eagerly.

  ‘We can have exciting adventures, as long as they are plausible.’

  Mrs Levack had to admit that some of her adventures were quite exciting even though this current one was nudging the envelope as far as plausibility was concerned. Which brought her to the reason she’d come to Balmain in the first place. ‘Why did you and the others go missing?’

  ‘The authors had other things to do. Sometimes,’ Claudia added darkly, ‘authors get sick of their characters and kill them off.’ Heaven forbid, thought Mrs Levack. ‘Sherlock Holmes’s author killed him off then found himself in the embarrassing situation of having to bring him to life again. Reader pressure.’

  ‘Reader pressure?’ Mrs Levack had started doing it again.

  ‘I can feel myself fading, Mrs Levack,’ said Claudia, her voice indeed dwindling. ‘One last plus—there’s always the chance of immortality. Look at James Bond. It’s time for me to go back to sleep. Ah, perchance to dream.’

  Mrs Levack certainly had a lot to think about on the bus back to Bondi.

  ‘Eddy,’ she said that night after dinner, in as brave a voice as she could muster. ‘There’s something I want to tell you.’

  ‘What is it, dear?’

  ‘We’re fictional.’

  Eddy, who was doing the washing up, stopped midstream, pondering.

  ‘Never,
’ he said finally.

  ‘We are. I have it on good authority.’ She gave him an edited version of the day’s events.

  ‘But what about our forty years of marriage, what about Freda and Bill, the bowls club?’

  ‘Fictional, fictional, fictional.’

  Eddy took off the apron and sat down. ‘You mean, like replicants, in Blade Runner? All those memories, all our friends, they’re implants?’

  ‘Apparently.’

  Eddy spent a moment lost in thought. ‘Actually, Mavis,’ he cleared his throat. ‘That accounts for this funny feeling I get sometimes, especially when you are off somewhere. I can’t really explain it except to say I feel rather thin. I don’t mean thin in the body.’ He patted his ample stomach and chuckled before returning to a more serious note: ‘It’s more a feeling of being two-dimensional.’

  Though Mrs Levack never felt like that herself, she consoled him by saying, ‘I bet even real people feel two-dimensional at times. And they don’t have authors or editors who can fix things up. Look on the bright side,’ she said, and went through the pluses.

  ‘What about a cup of tea?’ she said when she’d finished. ‘You’ll feel as good as new.’

  ‘Real tea?’

  ‘No, dear, we’ve run out. It’ll have to be teabags.’

  Credits

  ‘The One That Didn’t Get Away’ was first published in Case Reopened, S. Coupe and J. Ogden (eds), Allen & Unwin, Sydney, 1993.

  ‘Mavis Levack’s One-Night Stand’ was first published in Murder at Home, S. Knight (ed.), Allen & Unwin, Sydney, 1993.

  ‘Mrs Levack and the Egyptian Goddess’ was first published in the Sun-Herald, 31 December 1995.

  ‘Marple Syrup’ was first published in Love Lies Bleeding, J. Rowe (ed.), Allen & Unwin, Sydney, 1994.

  ‘Unpleasantness at the Big Boys Club’ was first published in A Corpse at the Opera House, S. Knight (ed.), Allen & Unwin, Sydney, 1992.

  ‘A Helping Hand’ was first published in Moonlight Becomes You, J. Bedford (ed.), Allen & Unwin, Sydney, 1995.

  ‘I Can’t Take Any More’ was first published in the Australian Women’s Weekly, August 1998.