Odd Socks Page 8

  What on earth am I doing here when I’ve got a perfectly nice, warm home to go to? I shake my head and sigh. The elderly couple have now reached the highway and are waiting for the lights to change. He lets go of her hand and, instead, puts his arm over her shoulders and pulls her closer. I watch them as I wait for my kinks to warm up and suddenly wonder whether Bronte will still be with Nick at their age – whether she will have someone she’s so evidently close to, to wander with hand-in-hand through a tree-lined park in winter.

  And I wonder if I will.

  TUESDAY

  Handy Household Hint No VII:

  A successful dinner party hinges on a beautifully laid table. This is all the more crucial if your skills as a cook leave something to be desired, as the attention of your guests will thus be distracted from the standard of your fare.

  TUESDAY

  0920 hrs

  ‘What did you do, lady, slaughter someone in ’ere?’ The carpet cleaner, who could easily be that horrid ambulance man’s clone but for his blue bib-and-brace overalls, stares with awe at the big stain in front of my couch. To my untrained eye, it appears to have spread.

  ‘That’s right,’ I reply jovially. ‘That’s all that’s left of the last guy who couldn’t get my carpet clean.’

  ‘Funny,’ he says, visibly unamused.

  I feel a bit embarrassed now so I speak quickly: ‘It’s from my daughter. You see, she gave birth there yesterday. On the carpet. So it’s a birthmark – get it? A birthmark, because she . . . oh, okay.’

  I peter out in the face of his stony silence. After I finish rambling, he looks slowly from me to the stain and then back again, obviously having trouble digesting the information. His offsider, a very plump guy who is completely bald and has a gold stud through one side of his enormous hooked nose, comes trundling in dragging some machinery behind him.

  ‘Look ’ere, Matt,’ says the first guy, ‘some bird ’ad a baby ’ere yesterday.’

  ‘On the carpet?’

  ‘Yep. So they say.’

  ‘On the carpet?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Haven’t they heard of hospitals?’

  ‘Actually,’ I chime in, getting pretty irritated, ‘we have heard of hospitals, thank you. There just wasn’t time.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘So, what can you do?’ I decide that this could go on and on unless I get them to the point. ‘Can you get it out or not?’

  ‘Let’s see . . .’ Matt props one elbow on the machinery he has dragged in, and contemplates the stain. ‘Hmm. Bloody hell.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Perhaps I should just leave you to it?’ I suggest with annoyance, ‘and you can let me know after you’ve discussed it.’

  ‘So what’re we talking here?’ asks Matt, looking at me for the first time.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Fluids. What’re we talking?’ Matt points at the stain with his foot. ‘I’m guessing bit o’ blood, some amniotic fluid – that be about it?’

  ‘Well, we didn’t stop for a glass of red wine, if that’s what you mean,’ I say sarcastically. ‘Why, does it matter?’

  ‘Of course!’ sniffs Matt. ‘And you shouldn’t have left it overnight, that’s for sure. You’ll have set it by now.’

  ‘Yep,’ agrees his offsider.

  ‘Well, I tried to get an appointment yesterday but I couldn’t!’

  ‘Amniotic fluid, mate.’ Matt ignores me and turns to his partner. ‘Ever had amniotic fluid before?’

  ‘Not personally.’

  ‘Me neither. Bloody hell.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘What about coffee or tea?’ I ask politely, because sometimes a friendly gesture can have a positive influence on the willingness of people to work miracles.

  ‘Coffee! Tea!’ Matt stares at the stain with fresh horror. ‘You didn’t mention them!’

  ‘Not there! I mean do you want a cup of tea!’

  ‘Thank god! Tea’s a real bitch,’ says Matt with relief.

  ‘So would you like some?’ I ask patiently.

  ‘Yeah, great!’ says the first guy enthusiastically. ‘White and two for me and black with none for Matt.’

  ‘I’m on a diet,’ confides Matt morosely. ‘Bugger it.’

  ‘Yep, ’is missus won’t let ’im ’ave nothing decent.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Yep.’

  I leave them leaning on the machinery discussing diets and amniotic fluid, and go to the kitchen to put the kettle on. While it’s heating up, I open the window slightly to try to coax some fresh air into the unit. It’s pretty cold out there, but it’s pretty stale in here. Then I straighten Tutankhamen on the fridge and study today’s list to see if I’ve forgotten anything.

  TUESDAY

  Phone calls – Cam, Fergus, Dennis?

  Morning – Shopping: baby present, new d/gown

  – Get some videos

  Afternoon – Visit Stephen & say thanks with

  chocolates

  – Relax/watch videos

  – Do my tax return

  Evening – Visit Bronte

  – Start reading Gone with the Wind

  It promises to be a much more relaxing day than yesterday so I give the list a nod of satisfaction before reaching out to turn the kettle off. The phone rings just as I’m pouring hot water over the teabags so I tuck one side of my hair behind an ear and answer it.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Terry, my love!’ Fergus’s lilting voice comes through crackly with static from his mobile. ‘And what was happening to you last night?’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry! But, guess what? Bronte had her baby!’

  ‘You’re kidding me! A lass or a lad?’

  ‘A lass. They’ve called her Sherry.’

  ‘Well, isn’t that bloody great!’ Fergus says cheerfully. ‘And they’re both after doing fine?’

  ‘Sure.’ I think quickly and decide to postpone filling Fergus in on the exact whereabouts of the birth. He’ll want to know all the ins and outs, literally, and I just don’t have time at the moment. ‘And it all went well and she’s in the Angliss for a couple of days. I’ve taken the week off work.’

  ‘Well, I’ll have to be getting in there to see her. Perhaps tonight – are you?’

  ‘Um, I don’t really know,’ I say slowly. ‘I haven’t decided.’

  ‘Great!’ Fergus’s voice starts to break up slightly. ‘I’ll be picking you up then and we’ll be going in together.’

  ‘Oh. Okay.’

  ‘It’s a date then! I’ll be seeing you directly after work.’

  ‘Terrific. See you then.’ I hang up the phone and stare for a few moments at the steam wafting up from the two mugs before me. I realise I don’t feel terribly enthusiastic about visiting Bronte with Fergus in tow, probably because I wanted Sherry all to myself. I shrug mentally. I can always go in this morning as well – I am the mother of the mother, after all.

  Matt and his offsider appear in the kitchen doorway and look expectantly at the mugs on the counter, so I fish out the teabags and pass the black tea over to Matt. Then I add sugar and milk to the other and pass that over as well with instructions to please use the coasters on the coffee table. They thank me profusely and wander back into the lounge-room, no doubt to lean on the machinery again. I put some coffee in the plunger, fill it with hot water and let it sit while I call up a mental picture of Sherry’s gorgeous face and examine each of her features in turn. The phone rings once more just as I reach her shell-like little ears and I hesitate before answering it, trying to decide whether it’s Fergus again or not. Only one way to find out, I suppose.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Congratulations, Grandma!’ says Cam warmly. ‘You didn’t tell me about the baby yesterday!’

  ‘Ho, ho, ho,’ I reply with relief, ‘if it isn’t Santa’s little helper!’

  ‘
Very funny.’

  ‘Besides, it was a bit hard to tell you anything yesterday!’ I continue cheerfully. ‘You were much too busy decking the halls and jingling the bells!’

  ‘Okay, okay. You’ve had your fun now, so let’s drop it.’

  ‘What’s the matter? Won’t anybody join in your reindeer games?’

  ‘I said drop it!’

  ‘You wish! I’m only getting started!’

  ‘I’ll hang up,’ threatens Cam. ‘I swear to god, I’ll hang up if you say one more word about yesterday.’

  ‘There’s no satisfying you, is there?’ I reply brightly. ‘First you have a go at me for not telling you about the baby and now you say you’ll hang up if I talk about yesterday at all!’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ says Cam darkly. ‘Now, tell me about the baby or else.’

  ‘All right,’ I laugh in resignation. ‘Well, she’s very cute.’

  ‘Come on! Even you can do better than that!’

  ‘Well, she’s small, red, wrinkled and cute. What more do you want?’

  ‘A lot more. But I see I’ll have to visit Bronte to find out. Now, I gather you’ve taken a few days off?’

  ‘I’ve taken the whole week. I decided I deserve it.’

  ‘Great! Because I’m on semester break, so we’ll be able to do some stuff. Starting with lunch today.’

  ‘Okay,’ I reply with enthusiasm. ‘To celebrate the baby?’

  ‘Yes – that, of course, and also . . . guess who rang me last night?’

  ‘Um, Mrs Claus? And I’m betting she was really peeved, as well.’

  ‘I’ll hang up, I will!’ says Cam seriously. ‘And you can jam your lunch –’

  ‘Now, now!’ I say, with mock horror. ‘Naughty girls don’t get what they want from Santa, you know. No sirree. You’ll be stuffing stockings all on your lonesome, and –’

  She hangs up.

  TUESDAY

  1233 hrs

  I park my Barina neatly behind Cam’s old Holden and stretch happily. I’m really looking forward to this lunch. Apart from the fact that Cam can’t hang up on me if we’re face-to-face, she’s also invited an old friend we haven’t seen for over a year. We all used to work together at the Ferntree Gully Library before Cam decided to turn her life upside down, go back to university and start studying again, while Joanne flitted off overseas to some retreat in an effort to find herself and/or inner peace and contentment on some level. It should be very interesting to see if she has succeeded because Joanne has never been known for inner peace and contentment on any level. Before she left she was riddled with insecurities, had a temper to match her flaming red hair, and didn’t believe in retreating – only attacking.

  I open the car door and step out, straight onto the toe of a deserted Rollerblade that flicks up and hits me in the shin with one of its wheels. I curse roundly and kick the Rollerblade over to the garden, where it rebounds off a neglected-looking tree fern and falls onto a shrub. Where, no doubt, it will remain for the rest of its days. I love her dearly, but Cam has three of the messiest children I’ve ever met in my life – and a messy life to match.

  Like me, she is divorced but has two ex-husbands to contend with. The first ex-husband is, of course, Alex, and a really nice guy to have around, whether or not he is masquerading as Santa Claus. But Keith, the second ex-husband, is a real pillock who set a record for obnoxious behaviour during the marriage that he’s been at pains to surpass ever since. Unfortunately, he’s also the father of Cam’s youngest daughter, CJ, whose temperament is showing clear signs of being an inheritance from his side of the family.

  I shake myself out of my reverie and rub my shin, which is still smarting. Then I reach back into the car to grab the box containing my contribution to lunch. I slam the car door shut with my butt before crossing the lawn to the porch and knocking loudly on the front door. There’s no way I’m ever letting myself in again after yesterday. While I’m waiting, I check out my reflection quickly in the lounge-room window. Blonde hair waterfalling down from an oversized bronze clip at the back, black cowl-neck jumper, denim jeans, black ankle boots – not too bad. After a little while the door opens and Cam, dressed in identical jeans but with a cream cardigan, grins up at me.

  ‘You’re late.’

  ‘Yes, but I brought cheesecake,’ I say as I hand her the brightly coloured cake box. ‘It’s one of those creamy chocolate ones that makes you put on weight simply by looking at it.’

  ‘Just what I need,’ replies Cam with a grimace as she takes the box and shuts the front door behind me, ‘but I appreciate the effort you’ve gone to. Must have taken you hours.’

  ‘That’s right. I spent all morning cooking and then packed it in this bakery box so you’d think it was a bought one.’

  ‘Well, it worked. I think it’s a bought one.’

  ‘See?’ I say as we walk down the passage and towards the kitchen. On the way, I negotiate my way past a single Rollerblade (probably the mate to the one now in the garden) with a purple sock dangling from it, and then step over a Barbie bus loaded with an assortment of well-dressed blonde occupants and a one-armed, naked Ken doll who looks inordinately pleased with himself.

  ‘Sorry about the mess.’ Cam kicks the Rollerblade over to one side and then bends down to pick up a lunch-box lid that she balances on top of the cake box.

  ‘What’s new?’ I comment as we arrive in the kitchen, where various salad vegetables are spread haphazardly across the island bench. ‘And, anyway, where’s the happy wanderer?’

  ‘She’s running late too.’ Cam throws the lunch-box lid into the sink, puts the cake box down on the bench and then goes to check the contents of the oven. As soon as she opens it a delicious aroma wafts out.

  ‘That smells good!’ I sniff appreciatively and clear some assorted debris from the kitchen table as I settle myself into a chair. ‘What’s on the menu?’

  ‘Quiche and salad. With fresh-baked bread.’

  ‘Sounds great!’ I say with considerable feeling. ‘Have you been taking lessons?’

  ‘Of course not! I can cook, you know.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I reply noncommitally. ‘Anyway, I’m starving. Do we have to wait for Joanne?’

  ‘Yes. We do,’ answers Cam emphatically as she fills the kettle, puts it on the stove and then gestures towards the adjoining room. ‘I’ve even set the table up in the dining-room for the occasion. See?’

  I twist around and peer through the doorway at a table beautifully set with a vase of abundant greenery, rattan place-mats, vivid red and green serviettes, and crystal wineglasses. ‘Very impressive, and very Christmassy. Is this an ongoing theme?’

  ‘Aargh! I knew you wouldn’t be able to shut up about that!’ Cam turns and tries to look stern, but fails miserably and starts laughing instead. ‘God.’

  ‘No, Santa Claus. I distinctly remember.’

  ‘I’m going to kill you.’

  ‘Please!’ I put my hands up in mock surrender. ‘Don’t blame me! You should know by now that you’re only meant to sit on his lap!’

  ‘Hey, you’re a fine one to talk, anyway!’ Cam rallies round for the attack. ‘You’re going out with a leprechaun!’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ I say sagely, ‘but he doesn’t dress up as a leprechaun. That’s the rub.’

  ‘Hell’s bells.’

  ‘And speaking of rubbing. Tell me, all that fur – didn’t you get a rash?’

  ‘Okay – now,’ Cam takes a deep breath and massages both temples with the tips of her fingers, ‘I think I know the only way I’m going to be able to stop this.’

  ‘By moving on to the Easter Bunny?’

  ‘No,’ she smirks at me, ‘but do you remember how you told me once that Dennis was much better in the sack than Fergus?’

  ‘Yes! But you promised not to tell – oh, I see. But you know it won’t work. Even if you told Fergus, he’d just try harder so I’d still win.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be Fergus I’d be telling.’

&nb
sp; ‘Well, then . . .’ I trail off slowly.

  ‘That’s right,’ Cam says smugly. ‘I’m sure Dennis would be really chuffed.’

  ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘Would.’

  ‘Wouldn’t.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Wow. Know what you remind me of?’ I ask as I smooth the sides of my hair and pretend nonchalance. ‘The Grinch, that’s who.’

  ‘Terry!’

  ‘What?’ I ask innocently. ‘What did I do now?’

  ‘You know.’ She reaches up into a cupboard and pulls out a pair of ceramic mugs. ‘Maybe one day I’ll be able to laugh about it too – but I doubt it.’

  ‘Okay. Enough’s enough,’ I nod obligingly. ‘But I still think the table looks very . . . um, festive. Perhaps I should have brought champagne?’

  ‘No need because I’m totally organised. There’s some in the fridge.’ Cam gets out a sugar canister and plonks it down next to the mugs. ‘But for now, coffee or tea?’

  ‘Tea, thanks.’ I look at her with my head on one side for a few moments. ‘Hey! You look different–did you colour your hair or something?’

  ‘Yeah, I got a one-shade lighter put through on Saturday and then a few foils for good measure. I’ve never tried foils before. Do you like it?’ Cam does a slightly off-centre pirouette. ‘Well?’

  ‘Hmm.’ I look at her critically and then nod. ‘Actually, yes, I do like it!’

  ‘So do I,’ she replies complacently as she continues to arrange tea-making paraphernalia, ‘and let me tell you, it’s been a long time since I’ve liked anything I’ve had done to my hair.’

  I watch her as she pours hot water over the teabags in the mugs. And she is looking good. We may have a lot of similarities in our likes and dislikes but, physically, Cam is almost my exact opposite. As short as I’m tall, she has a neat, rounded figure that is much more in proportion than my rather top-heavy one. Her hair, which is usually a light brown but is now a highlighted dark blonde, is worn very short and never allowed even to creep much past her ears. Apart from that, she has rather average features – but an infectious personality that sort of lights her up.