‘You lead quite an interesting life, Les,’ said Tania.
‘It has its moments,’ agreed Les.
Traffic was light. But because the weather had improved there were more people around than the day before and the council was working on the road.
‘We may as well go to the big brick church first,’ suggested Les, driving past a lollipop-man in an orange vest.
‘The Church of Our Blessed Lady,’ said Tania. ‘I know it well.’
‘Daht’s de one, ’oman,’ said Les.
‘I beg your pardon, Mr Norton?’ said Tania.
‘Nothing, Tania,’ smiled Les. ‘I was just trying out my Jamaican. I’ll tell you about that on the way home.’
Les took a left at the war memorial, then pulled up on the grass at the rear of the church opposite the golf course. He took the torch from his overnight bag and followed Tania around to the storage shed. She took a key from her bag, turned it in the lock and the door creaked open. Having been there before, Mrs Settree quickly found the light switch near the door.
The shed lit up and apart from the usual junk, it was mostly gardening essentials stacked neatly on tables or resting against walls. In the middle of the shed was an old grey Morris Minor convertible up on blocks.
‘Hey, look at that,’ said Les. ‘It’s not in bad nick, either.’
‘Rupert’s been going to get that on the road for years,’ said Tania. ‘One of the parishioners gave it to him.’
‘He should,’ said Les, shining his torch along the dash. ‘It’s a classic.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Tania. ‘Can I help you at all, Mr Norton … Les?’
‘No. I’ll be okay thanks,’ replied Les.
Les started rummaging through what there was. Boxes of books, LPs, old clothes, suitcases, etc. There was everything from the old car to old Victa lawn mowers. But nothing remotely resembling a bundle of old paintings.
‘No sign of any paintings, Mr Norton?’ asked Tania.
Les shook his head. ‘No. Fried egg, I’m afraid.’ Norton turned the torch off and wiped his hands on the sides of his tracksuit. ‘We go and have a look at the one up the road, past the war memorial?’
‘Saint Quillan’s.’
‘Yeah. That’s it.’
Tania locked the door and they walked back to the car. Les opened the door for her first, then got in and they drove the short distance to the white-panelled church with the low brick wall out the front. They got out of the car and Les followed Tania across to the storage shed. She found another key, turned it in the lock and the rickety wooden door almost fell off its hinges when it swung open.
There was no light inside; Les switched his torch on to find the shed was crammed mostly with old building materials. Bits of wood, sheets of corrugated iron going rusty, saws, sledgehammers, post-hole diggers. All placed on a dirty concrete floor spread with tins of paint, oil, weed killer and boxes of nails and screws or whatever. Again Tania offered to help. Les said it was okay, and started walking and crawling around with his torch. All he got for his trouble was a couple of skinned knuckles and more dirt on his tracksuit.
‘Nothing again, Mr Norton?’ said Tania.
Les let go a couple of robust sneezes. ‘No,’ he said. ‘But there’s plenty of dust and cobwebs.’
Les took out his handkerchief to blow his nose and wipe where he’d skinned his knuckles, then flashed the torch up around the ceiling. There was nothing there except some old rope, several blackened hurricane lamps and a rusty double-handed rip-saw. Les switched off the torch and turned to Mrs Settree.
‘Well. One to go.’
‘The Church of the Holy Order,’ said Tania.
‘Yeah. Let’s call in and see Uriah.’
‘Uriah’s a nice boy,’ said Tania as they stepped out of the shed. ‘But I think he needs to get out more often.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Les. ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. Or whoever the case may be.’
Tania locked the door to the storage shed and they walked back to the car. Although he’d struck out again with the last two churches, Les didn’t feel so disappointed having the woman from the orphanage for company, and he still had a good feeling about the last church. They got in the car and proceeded on to Sandstock Road.
The yellow church looked a lot brighter in the sunshine and so did the flowers along the pathway. Les stopped the car in front of the gate, then he and Tania got out and took the slab path past the vestry and round to the residence. The sound of someone tapping metal was coming from the garage. They walked across and Tania knocked on the side door. A few seconds later Uriah appeared at the door in his khaki overalls. As soon as his God-fearing eyes fell on Mrs Settree, a slick formed on Uriah’s forehead and he started to hyperventilate. He stared at her, then came out of the garage with one eyebrow twitching and his top lip curling like Benny Hill when he used to play the fat perv in the round glasses and beret on TV, ogling the bikini girls.
‘Good morning Uriah,’ smiled Mrs Settree. ‘How are you today?’
Uriah’s eyes bored into Tania as if he had Superman’s X-ray vision, and if Les wasn’t mistaken, the deacon’s nephew had a roaring boner poking against his overalls.
‘I’m good, Mrs Settree,’ Uriah replied, in a rasping growl. ‘Real good. How are you this truly wonderful day?’
‘Fine thank you, Uriah.’ Tania indicated to Les. ‘You met Mr Norton?’
Uriah hadn’t noticed Les standing beside her. ‘Oh yes,’ he panted. ‘Mr Norton. Good day, sir. How are you?’ Uriah glanced at Les before quickly riveting his gaze back on Tania.
‘I’m all right thanks,’ said Les cheerfully. ‘And is that a Bible in your overalls, Uriah? Or are you just happy to see Mrs Settree?’
Uriah turned back to Les. ‘What was that?’ he rasped.
‘I said, you’ve got your overalls on again, Uriah,’ smiled Les. ‘And you’re a man of the Bible, who’s happy when he’s working. Which is good to see.’
‘Yes, yes. I do. I mean, I am, yes,’ drooled Uriah, his God-fearing eyes immediately clicking back onto Tania.
‘Good for you mate,’ said Les. Yeah. And if I wasn’t around, you’d be all over poor Mrs Settree like ants at a picnic. You happy-clapping ratbag.
‘Mr Norton’s here to look in your storage shed for some paintings, Uriah,’ said Tania. ‘Is that all right?’
‘Yes. I got your message earlier, Mrs Settree,’ wheezed Uriah. ‘That’s quite all right. And Mr Norton explained things to me yesterday.’
‘That’s right,’ said Les. ‘And I appreciate what you’re doing for me too, Uriah. Don’t you worry about that.’
‘I’ll get the key,’ said Uriah.
Uriah ogled Tania again, like the crazy little weasel in the Bugs Bunny cartoons always trying to steal the chickens off Foghorn Leghorn, then hobbled off to the residence on three legs. Les turned to Tania and smiled.
‘Nice young man,’ said Les.
‘Yes,’ said Tania. ‘But if ever I’m here with Uriah, I always feel a little uncomfortable. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s just my imagination.’
‘Maybe,’ said Les. ‘But I think you’re right when you said he should get out a bit more.’
‘You think so?’ blinked Tania.
‘I’m sure so,’ Les nodded. ‘Right out. Like Mars or Pluto.’
Uriah returned holding a key. He’d managed to tuck his roaring boner up under his overalls and was walking straighter. However, the lust in his God-fearing eyes for Tania hadn’t receded one bit. If anything, it burnt brighter as he ogled her again.
‘Here’s the key,’ he panted.
‘Thank you, Uriah,’ said Tania.
‘Good on you mate,’ said Les.
Uriah opened the door to the storage shed then switched on the light and they followed him inside. Les had a quick look around and gave a double, triple blink. There was lots of junk stacked neatly around the shed. But sitting on a wide bench taking up one wall was a small army of gard
en gnomes. They weren’t ordinary garden gnomes. They’d all been repainted in bright colours, and their little gnome faces had been changed. There was an Alice Cooper gnome, a Marilyn Manson gnome, a Keith Richards gnome. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Saddam Hussein, Whoopi Goldberg. There was a Boy George gnome and four gnomes painted like KISS, right down to Gene Simmons with his monster tongue hanging out. There was even a gnome amongst the others that looked suspiciously like Mrs Settree.
Les turned to Uriah. ‘All … your own work, Uriah?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ nodded Uriah. ‘Do you like them?’
‘Yeah,’ nodded Les. ‘They’re great.’
‘They’re my little friends,’ said Uriah.
‘Uriah’s very talented,’ blinked Tania.
‘I can certainly see that,’ said Les. ‘Why don’t you put them outside in the sun, Uriah?’ he asked.
‘Uncle Lorimer doesn’t like me to,’ replied Uriah. ‘He thinks they’re evil. But I sneak them out sometimes. I’m just waiting for the paint to dry on Dame Edna. And I’m going to put them all out this afternoon. And we’ll have a little tea party.’
‘Just like Alice in Wonderland,’ smiled Les.
‘Yes,’ Uriah smiled back. ‘Just like Alice in Wonderland.’
‘I’ll start looking for the paintings.’
Les began searching around the storage shed, watching Uriah out the corner of his eye edging up to Tania, while she nervously shuffled away from him before he could start humping her leg.
If the paintings had been there they would have been easy to find because Uriah had the storage shed as clean as a whistle and everything was packed and sorted away neatly. Amongst the boxes of books, videos, records, golf bags, maps, mirrors, irons, coffee machines, crockpots, lamps, beer steins, old bottles and whatever, there wasn’t a speck of dust or a cobweb. There was also no sign of any paintings or anything resembling a bundle of paintings. Norton’s heart sank. This was it. The last blast. There was nowhere else now. He looked under the table full of gnomes, stood up and shook his head. And I had a feeling about this place. Les stared at a Johnny O’Keefe gnome in a leopardskin coat, red shoes and a string bow-tie. Some bloody feeling.
‘Nothing again, Mr Norton?’ asked Tania. She was standing not far from Les, keeping a small stack of school desks between her and a heaving Uriah.
‘No. Nothing unfortunately,’ said Les.
‘Oh. I’m so sorry,’ said Tania.
‘Yeah,’ nodded Les. He gave Tania a weary smile. ‘So we may as well get going. Unless you want to stay here and talk to Uriah for a while. I can get a coffee and come back.’
‘Yes, yes,’ nodded Uriah. ‘Mrs Settree could stay here with me.’
Tania latched onto Les’s arm like she was going to tear it out of its socket. ‘Mr Norton. Don’t you dare …’ She let go of Norton’s arm and composed herself. ‘I mean. Don’t you dare think I would stay here alone with Deacon Brockenshire’s nephew. My goodness! I’m old enough to be his mother. What would people say?’
‘No, no,’ whined Uriah. ‘It’s all right, Mrs Settree. You can stay.’
Les turned to Uriah. ‘I’m afraid I have to agree with Mrs Settree, Uriah,’ he said. ‘A small town. People could get the wrong idea and construe that as some kind of subliminal incest.’
Uriah shook his head emphatically. ‘No, no,’ he said.
‘Yes, yes,’ nodded Tania just as emphatically.
Les stepped across and pushed the side door open. ‘After you, Mrs Settree.’
‘Thank you, Mr Norton,’ breathed Tania.
Tania stepped outside and Uriah pushed in front of Les behind her. Les came out, closed the door and followed them down the slab path to the car.
Mrs Settree was walking fairly quickly with Uriah breathing down her neck. Les watched Uriah slip one hand inside his overalls then start stumbling along behind her, having a full-blown game of pocket billiards. They got to the gate and Uriah stopped as Tania opened it before she hurried across to the passenger side of the car. Les stepped past Uriah, closed the gate then turned around and smiled.
‘Well, thanks for your help, Uriah,’ said Les. ‘Enjoy your tea party this afternoon.’ Les squinted up as the sun appeared between the clouds. ‘Looks like you’ve got a nice day for it.’
‘Yes, thank you, Mr Norton,’ wheezed Uriah as he kept furiously playing pocket billiards under his overalls. The veins started to bulge out round his temples, and he stared desperately over at Tania. ‘Goodbye Mrs Settree,’ he wailed.
Tania was holding onto the car door as if her life depended on it. ‘Goodbye Uriah,’ she called back. ‘Be sure and say hello to your Uncle Lorimer for me.’
The second Les opened the car door for her, Tania got inside and quickly buckled up. With an eye still on Uriah, Les strolled round to the driver’s side and opened the door just as Uriah’s knees buckled and he gripped the gate with one hand for support. His blond hair flew back, then he let go a long, anguished groan of ecstasy and, seconds later, a huge wet patch started soaking through the front of Uriah’s khaki overalls. Les climbed behind the wheel and turned to Tania, who was staring anxiously out the windscreen.
‘Well, I guess that’s that, Mrs Settree,’ Les started to say.
Tania nodded to the keys in Norton’s hands. ‘Don’t you think you should start the car, Mr Norton,’ she suggested.
‘Yeah, righto.’ Les put the key in the starter and kicked the motor over. ‘One thing, Tania,’ said Les as he buckled up. ‘At least the car doesn’t suffer from premature ignition.’
Norton’s mind was elsewhere as they drove back towards the main road. The Church of the Holy Order was the last roll of the dice and now Les realised it was all over. Still, he told himself. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And at least he had a go. Les missed the turn-off he’d taken on the way out and was now driving along another road to the left, still deep in thought. Tania wasn’t saying anything either.
Houses were thin and it was mostly sparse brown fields pushing up to the surrounding hills. Les pulled up at a crossroad and noticed on the left a large block of land with a weathered grey sliprail fence in front taking up the corner. A white metal sign in front of a tree next to a locked gate on a dirt driveway said BLUE DOLPHIN GALLERY. The driveway led to a glimpse of buildings obscured by tall green fir trees. Les turned to Tania and noticed she was staring at the dashboard and looked quite downcast.
‘Are you all right, Tania?’ he asked.
Tania turned to the driveway. ‘That’s where the orphanage used to be,’ she answered.
‘The one you were in?’ said Les.
‘Yes. Saint Benedicta’s.’
‘Looks like it’s an art gallery now.’
‘Yes.’ Tania turned away and stared melancholically out the windscreen.
Les figured Mrs Settree had no desire to get out and reminisce about her childhood, and having figured out where he was, he turned right and eventually got back onto Sandstock Road.
‘Mrs Settree,’ asked Les as they drove along. ‘What would you say to a nice cup of coffee right now?’
Tania brightened up. ‘Yes. I’d like that very much,’ she said.
‘There’s a nice little place in Apollo Bay sells good coffee and pina colada muffins. I was in there yesterday.’
‘Sailor Girls,’ said Tania.
‘That’s it,’ answered Les. ‘We’ll hit there. And have a cuppa.’
‘Lovely,’ said Mrs Settree. They drove past some colourful wooden houses, then Tania turned and smiled at Les. ‘Well, Mr Norton, I must say, you seem quite happy, despite your disappointment at not finding your mother’s paintings.’
‘Yeah, well, what can you do?’ shrugged Les. ‘You just got to cop it on the chin. It’s not the end of the world.’
‘No. But I imagine your family will be very disappointed as well. Having sent you all this way and everything.’
Les smiled at Tania. ‘They’ll just have to cop it on the chin too.’<
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It didn’t take Les long to find his way back into town and there was a parking spot two down from Sailor Girls. He got out of the car, opened the door for Tania and they walked back to the coffee shop. There were a number of people seated out the front, but the same table Les had the day before was empty and Les pulled a chair out for Tania.
‘Now. What can I get you, Mrs Settree?’ he asked.
‘A pina colada muffin and a mug of flat white, please,’ she replied. ‘Is that all right?’
Les gave Tania a wink. ‘I’m going to have exactly the same thing myself.’
Les went to the counter and ordered then returned to the table. He sat down and smiled at Tania.
‘Well, Tania. Despite not finding the paintings, you’ve been a great help, and I really appreciate you going to the trouble you have. I know how busy you must be, with the orphanage and all that.’
‘That’s all right, Mr Norton,’ Tania replied. ‘I enjoyed the drive down. And I enjoyed your company.’
‘Thank you Mrs Settree,’ said Les. ‘And I’ll make sure I leave a donation when we get back to the orphanage.’
‘Whatever you can spare will do, Mr Norton,’ said Tania, looking a little embarrassed.
‘I can spare something, Tania,’ Les assured her. ‘And I’d like to take some photos when we get back too, if that’s all right.’
‘Of course, Mr Norton. It would be a pleasure.’
A tall curly-haired girl in black brought their order over. Les thanked her then he and Tania sugared their coffees and started in.
‘So do you come down here much?’ asked Les.
‘Every now and again,’ replied Tania, enjoying her muffin and coffee. ‘Something gets donated I can use at the orphanage. And we bring the girls down to play netball or hockey.’
‘Did you play sport when you were younger?’ asked Les.
‘I was quite a good runner,’ replied Tania. ‘I actually represented my school in the state titles. But I hurt my ankle bushwalking, and it was never the same.’
‘Yeah. I got a crook knee from football,’ said Les. ‘It’s okay now. But they’re never a hundred per cent.’
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