Odd Socks

by Ilsa Evans

  ‘Well, not really. Everyone bustled around her and got her to sit down and have a drink of water. And his nose wasn’t that big. But I thought poor old Harold was going to have a heart attack. And the weird thing was that she just kept staring at Richard and he just kept staring back, and sort of smiling at her. Like he knew why she was acting strangely but he wasn’t going to say anything unless she did first.’

  ‘So, did she?’

  ‘No. And when she’d sort of gotten over her turn, everyone was asking what had happened but all she said was that it was a combination of the heat in there and Camilla’s coffee.’

  ‘Hmm, and isn’t that possible? I’ve tasted her coffee.’

  ‘But that’s the thing, Fergus.’ I lean forwards to give my words added emphasis: ‘She hadn’t had any yet.’

  ‘Well, isn’t that strange,’ says Fergus thoughtfully as he takes a handful of corn chips. ‘Very odd indeed.’

  ‘Yes. And then about five minutes later she made up some excuse about a meeting somewhere and they left.’

  ‘So were you lot asking this fellow Richard whether he knew what was going on?’

  ‘Of course. Cam just about gave him the third degree. But he said he had no idea – just that he has that effect on women sometimes.’

  ‘And does he?’

  ‘Yes – no, I mean, of course not. He was only joking. And that’s about all he’d say on the matter. So we had coffee and Joanne talked about Tibet, and meditation, and how she’s discovered that she was several of Henry the Eighth’s wives in previous incarnations.’

  ‘Why is everybody always being from someone famous?’

  ‘Exactly. But Richard hardly said anything. And that was that.’

  ‘So you’ll never be knowing then?’

  ‘Maybe not,’ I reply slowly, ‘unless Cam can get it out of her mother. She was going to ring her later.’

  ‘Well, hey.’ Fergus leans forwards, his eyes alight with curiosity. ‘And why don’t you ring Cam now and be finding out?’

  ‘Can’t – it’s Tuesday night.’

  ‘Ah, to be sure.’ Fergus leans back again and grins. ‘And isn’t that their night for neighbourhood watch?’

  ‘That’s one way of putting it.’

  ‘Well, let me see. Hmm, why would a woman be paling at the sight of a fellow?’ Fergus pauses to consider the various possibilities. ‘To be sure it doesn’t happen to me all that often. Hey, didn’t they maybe have a passionate but doomed affair in the past?’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ I reply shortly as my stomach does its happy wanderer act again. ‘There’s too much of an age gap.’

  ‘Really?’ Fergus raises his eyebrows and then finishes off his scotch.

  ‘No, I mean a real lot,’ I add quickly as I remember that there is a fair age gap between the two of us as well. ‘Like about twenty-odd years. That sort of age gap. Besides, he doesn’t look the part.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Fergus says sagely as he glances at his watch. ‘You’ll have to be finding out for both of us and letting me know. And now I’ll be heading off.’

  ‘To rescue Maggie’s client.’ I stand up and collect the glasses. ‘Well, they should be heartily sick of each other by now.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ says Fergus with a leer as he levers himself out of his chair.

  We walk over to the front door in silence and I open it for him. He leans up and kisses me on the cheek before giving my arm a clumsy, and rather uncomfortable, squeeze.

  ‘I’ll be ringing you, okay?’

  ‘So you’re not coming back over here tonight?’ I ask awkwardly, not sure what I really want the answer to be.

  ‘And isn’t that a tempting thought?’ says Fergus with a grin. ‘But, no, don’t I have to be up at the crack of dawn – so it’s to me own little bed, I think.’

  ‘No problem.’ I wave at him as he walks over towards his van and smile cheerfully when he waves back. Then I shut the door and lean against it, taking a deep breath. A couple of months ago it would have made absolutely no difference to Fergus that he had to get up at the crack of dawn, he would have stayed regardless. And, a couple of months ago, I would probably have put up a stronger fight to talk him into it.

  TUESDAY

  1930 hrs

  ‘So, after her feed, she slept straight through until seven thirty this morning. Like, I couldn’t believe it! Mum, she’s an angel.’

  ‘She sure is,’ I agree as I look down at the little angel nestled in my arms. Sherry is fast asleep, sparse lashes fanned out across the tops of her cheeks and her chest rising and falling ever so slightly as she breathes. I can see tiny veins threading just under the surface of her eyelids, and every so often she smiles tremulously, as if having a particularly good dream. Bronte has dressed her in one of the new jumpsuits she received yesterday; it’s a lemony yellow and covered with vivid red cherries. She looks beautiful.

  ‘I mean, there’s all the other babies carrying on and everything. And, like, I was talking to that weird woman from the other bed.’ Bronte gestures towards the empty bed by the door. ‘It’s okay – she’s gone for a walk. But anyway, she had her baby on Sunday and she said she is so tired she can barely think straight! They’re all so jealous of me because Sherry is just so good!’

  ‘She sure is.’ I put my hand lightly on Sherry’s chest and watch as it rises up and down. Then I rock her gently backwards and forwards. At first, without opening her eyes, her little hands splay outwards but then she gets into the rhythm and relaxes once more.

  ‘So we had a lesson on giving the babies a bath. And, Mum, I was, like, so nervous that I’d – oh, I don’t know, drown her or something. And some of the other babies screamed so much you couldn’t even concentrate. But Sherry – she loved it! She was terrific!’

  ‘She sure is.’ I stop rocking the baby and she immediately flutters her eyelids open and stares at me for a second before tiredness forces them back down. She yawns hugely and then sighs as she settles into sleep again.

  ‘And then the lady from the cord bank came up and, like, personally thanked me for donating the umbilical cord. She said she wished there were more socially aware mothers like me around. Because apparently the donation rate is, like, really low and half the cords are just thrown away because people can’t be bothered.’ Bronte pauses to take a breath and looks down at me looking down at Sherry. ‘Mum, you really do love her, don’t you?’

  ‘I sure do,’ I reply as I force myself to stop staring at the baby and look at Bronte. ‘Why, did you think that I didn’t?’

  ‘Well, no. Not really. But I know what you think about babies so I was a bit worried, you know.’ Bronte looks down at Sherry and smiles. ‘But you can’t help but love her, can you?’

  ‘No, you certainly can’t,’ I grin at Bronte reassuringly. ‘And, believe me, I wouldn’t be sitting here with her on my lap for so long if I wasn’t totally smitten. So when do you get to take her home?’

  ‘Actually, they said I could’ve got out tomorrow but I was, like, no way! So it’s Thursday morning.’

  ‘Thursday morning,’ I repeat with astonishment. ‘That is quick!’

  ‘Well, it’s not like I had a caesar or anything.’

  ‘True,’ I say as I look back down at the baby. ‘And has Nick got everything ready for you at home?’

  ‘Well . . . ’

  ‘What?’ I ask suspiciously, because I know my daughter. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Well . . .’ Bronte hesitates and starts playing with one of her bracelets. ‘We were going to speak to you about that.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About going home.’

  ‘Yes?’ I’m no longer looking at the baby at all as Bronte has got my complete attention. ‘Yes? What about going home?’

  ‘So you’ve told her?’ Nick comes bouncing in through the door and throws himself onto the bed next to Bronte. ‘Excellent! Then it’s all sorted.’

  ‘What’s all sorted?’ I ask, with some foreboding.
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br />   ‘I haven’t asked her yet,’ says Bronte crossly, ‘I was just leading up to it.’

  ‘Knowing you, it’ll take till Thursday to get around to it,’ comments Nick cheerfully, ‘so let’s get it over and done with. Mil, because it’s semester break, I’ve got all these extra shifts at the garage for the next two weeks. Mostly nights. And, to be perfectly frank, we need the money. So, we were thinking that perhaps it’d be better all round if Bron and the baby go back to your place for a week or so. For support, you know. What do you reckon?’

  ‘My place,’ I repeat dumbly.

  ‘Yeah, your place. I mean, she’s already got her own room there and you’ve got the week off. And you’ve got great heating and, besides, it’ll be really excellent for her to have you around for the first little bit. Well – top idea, huh?’

  ‘Hang on a minute.’ I try to stem the flow of words, or at least slow them down so I’ve got a chance to think. ‘I thought you had your unit all set up for the baby?’

  ‘We do, Mum,’ says Bronte, ‘but with Nick working most nights, well, I just won’t feel right. I mean, I hate it anyway but with the baby – oh, it’d be awful.’

  ‘And Merrill’s thesis is due in a month so she’s working at home – flat out.’

  ‘I see,’ I say slowly.

  ‘And I would really love to have you around for the first week or so, Mum.’

  ‘I see,’ I say, even more slowly.

  ‘So? What do you reckon?’ asks Nick impatiently. ‘Top idea, yeah?’

  ‘Well . . . ’ I look across at Bronte’s face–and smile. ‘Yes, it’s a top idea. You’re more than welcome. You and Sherry.’

  ‘Fantastic!’ Bronte beams at me with relief. ‘I didn’t know what you’d say – what with a baby, and nappies and night-feeds, and all that. But don’t worry, I won’t be asking you to do too much! Like, you’re a legend, Mum! Thanks so much!’

  ‘No problem. Hey, hang on.’ I look across at Nick as something occurs to me. ‘What about you? Are you staying over as well?’

  ‘No, that’s fine,’ he laughs. ‘So you can take that look off your face! I’ll stay in the unit and come over whenever I’ve got a day off. I’ll probably pick up Bron and we’ll go out. Give you a break.’

  ‘Okay,’ I smile at him. ‘Not that I would’ve minded, of course!’

  ‘Sure,’ he says with a grin.

  ‘Mum, can you look after Sherry for a tick?’ Bronte clambers down off the bed. ‘I need to talk to Nick.’

  ‘No problem.’ I start rocking the baby again as they leave the room and shut the door behind them. I can hear them talking furiously just outside in the corridor but it doesn’t make much sense so I concentrate on Sherry instead. She’s probably more interesting anyway. Although I hadn’t quite planned on spending as much time with her as it looks like I’m going to. I might be in love with the child, but I’m not stupid. I know how much work a new baby demands in the first week or so. I remember.

  I look up as the door is pushed open again but it’s only the room’s other occupant returning from her walk. She pokes her feathery head through, peers around and then sidles in and looks at me questioningly.

  ‘Nurse been here?’ she asks me in her flat, Eeyore voice.

  ‘Ah, no,’ I reply, slightly confused by her behaviour. ‘Did you want her?’

  Instead of answering, she turns and pulls the door open a fraction again. Then she peers outside and, obviously not liking what she sees, suddenly jumps back and flattens herself against the wall. Almost immediately the door is pushed fully open and obscures her as a plump nurse, pushing a fully loaded Perspex baby trolley, bustles through and stares around the room with a frown.

  ‘Have you seen Mrs Cobb?’

  ‘Mrs Cobb?’ I repeat stupidly, trying to work out what the hell is going on.

  ‘Tsk. Never mind.’ The nurse sighs with annoyance and then, after having another good look around, backs out of the room pulling the trolley along with her. The door swings shut again as she leaves and Eeyore, or Mrs Cobb as I now suspect she’s called, is revealed once more. She hops up and down for a few seconds, counting under her breath, and then heads for the door herself.

  ‘Going for a walk,’ she mumbles to nobody in particular before slithering out through the door. I’m beginning to think the woman has severe psychiatric problems. Whatever, she’s left the door ajar and I can now hear every word from the corridor.

  ‘I said no – we’ll ask her tomorrow!’

  ‘But it’ll be fine, Bron – she won’t mind.’

  ‘I tell you – not yet!’

  ‘But don’t you reckon she’ll want as much notice as possible?’

  ‘Like, no way.’

  ‘Hey, guys?’ I call out to Bronte and Nick. ‘You do realise I can hear every word you’re saying, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, can you?’ Bronte pokes her head around the door-frame and looks at me sheepishly. ‘How much did you hear?’

  ‘Enough that you might as well ask me whatever it is now, and get it over and done with.’

  ‘I told you so.’ Nick comes in pulling Bronte along by the hand. ‘Come on, Bron.’

  ‘Anyway, I thought you had just asked me,’ I say as I look at them both with my guard well and truly up. ‘Wasn’t that what went on before?’

  ‘No, this is something else,’ says Bronte as she leans against the bed.

  ‘Yeah, another favour.’ Nick puts his arm around her and looks at me. ‘But just a little one.’

  ‘No it’s not.’ Bronte looks at him with irritation. ‘We might as well be honest – it’s, like, a really big favour.’

  ‘I can’t see it,’ Nick says, shaking his head. ‘What’s so big about it?’

  ‘That’s because you won’t be doing any of the work,’ says Bronte. ‘I know you.’

  ‘Still don’t reckon it’s that big.’

  ‘Well, it is.’

  ‘Not.’

  ‘Is.’

  ‘Hey!’ I look at them both with amazement. ‘Will you two grow up! And why don’t you let me decide if it’s big or not. So what the hell is it?’

  ‘Shh, Mum,’ whispers Bronte as she leans over to check on Sherry. ‘You’ll wake the baby!’

  ‘I’ll tell you.’ Nick plumps up a pillow and makes himself comfortable on the bed. ‘It’s like this. Bron and I decided ages ago we didn’t want the baby christened, like in a religious ceremony or whatever. But we wanted something instead. Then a friend of ours had a naming day for their kid and it was exactly what we were after. Something to celebrate the arrival with family and friends and all, but with no religion involved.’

  ‘I know all this,’ I say impatiently, ‘Bronte told me.’

  ‘Did she also tell you we wanted the same celebrant?’ asks Nick. ‘Because she was really fantastic.’

  ‘Yes, she did,’ I reply, rocking Sherry gently. ‘And I thought you’d already booked the woman, so what’s the problem?’

  ‘Well, we had booked her.’ Bronte starts playing with her bracelets again. ‘But we booked her for about six weeks from now because, like, Nick had this stupid theory that the baby would be late, because he was.’

  ‘Well, I was,’ says Nick defensively.

  ‘Yeah, but she wasn’t.’ Bronte gives him a disparaging look. ‘Anyway, we really wanted to have the naming thing for when she was about a week or two because it’s all about being, like, a welcome thing, and if you wait till they’re months old, then what’s the point?’

  ‘Okay, I think I see what you’re getting at,’ I say as I put one hand up to my temple and massage it lightly. ‘But I still don’t see the problem. Why don’t you just rebook her for a couple of weeks time?’

  ‘Because we can’t!’ wails Bronte. ‘She’s going away next Monday to Europe for five weeks!’

  ‘And we don’t want to wait five weeks,’ adds Nick, ‘because it’s supposed to be a welcome thing so if she’s that old, well . . . ’

  ‘Then what’s the point?�
�� I finish for him. ‘Yes, I get it. What I don’t get is where I come in. What’s the favour?’

  ‘Well, I rang her today, and she goes, “You’ve really only got this Sunday”. But that’d be it – until she gets back, that is.’

  ‘I see,’ I say slowly, because I think I do see. ‘And you want to have it this Sunday. And you want to have it at my place because you’ll be there then.’

  ‘And because it’s so much nicer!’ says Bronte eagerly.

  ‘And warmer!’ adds Nick.

  ‘Hmm.’ I look down at the sleeping baby and sigh. ‘How many people?’

  ‘Oh, only family,’ says Nick dismissively, ‘so not that many.’

  ‘And it’d be only a little afternoon tea.’ Bronte is finally looking at me. ‘I’d help you, of course.’

  ‘Of course!’ adds Nick. ‘And so will I!’

  ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ I say, shaking my head, ‘but – all right. You can use my place.’

  ‘Oh, thanks, Mum!’ Bronte leans forwards and kisses me on the cheek. ‘You’re the best! Thanks so much!’

  ‘Yeah – thanks, Mil!’ Nick grins at me and then turns to Bronte. ‘See? I told you she wouldn’t think it’s a problem!’

  ‘And I promise you won’t have anything to worry about, Mum. Like, I know how you are about your place, and we’ll take really good care of it.’

  ‘We sure will.’

  ‘And we’ll clean it after,’ adds Bronte earnestly, ‘every inch.’

  ‘Every inch!’ repeats Nick.

  ‘Oh, and your carpet!’ says Bronte, ‘I know how you are about your carpet. Well, you won’t have a thing to worry about!’

  ‘Not a thing!’

  ‘Not a mark!’

  ‘Not a spot!’

  ‘Like, it’ll look exactly the same as it does right now!’

  ‘Absolutely perfect!’

  TUESDAY

  2305 hrs

  I’m just drifting happily off to sleep when my father comes wandering over from the edge of my consciousness and looms large behind my closed eyelids. I smile at him and he smiles affectionately back before sitting his tall, angular body down and looking thoughtfully at me, his chin resting on one bony hand.