Odd Socks

by Ilsa Evans

  THURSDAY

  Handy Household Hint No III:

  Never forget that the sooner you fall behind, the more time you’ll have to catch up.

  THURSDAY

  0715 hrs

  ‘I didn’t wake you up, did I? Because I’m just so bored, Mum! Like, I’ve been up for hours because I’m so excited about getting out and I’ve already packed everything and Nick’s not going to be here to pick me up till about four! Oh, and Mum, he’ll be grabbing my V-dub from the front of your joint sometime today. But you should see all the balloons and crap I’ve got here! You know, where are we going to put them all? And, Mum, Sherry played up so bad last night that I almost tore my hair out. She just wouldn’t settle, didn’t matter what I did – fed her, sponged her, changed her, I even gave her a massage at two thirty! Like, I’m so looking forward to getting home, giving you this baby and having a sleep! Mum, I can’t thank you enough!’

  THURSDAY

  0825 hrs

  THURSDAY

  Phone calls – Fergus!!!! Diane (re email)

  Morning – Carpet cleaners @ 9.00am

  – Shopping: baby present

  – Pap smear appointment @ 10.20

  Afternoon – Visit Mum and don’t leave without some information!!!

  – Cam’s @ 2.00pm for the gym

  – Tidy Bronte’s room

  – Bronte and Sherry after 4.00pm

  Evening – Relax/watch videos or attack Gone with the Wind?

  THURSDAY

  0842 hrs

  ‘No way known, I’d only be robbing you, lady. Because, I’m tellin’ you, that there stain’s set in bloody concrete. Although, hmm – I shouldn’t be telling you this coz my boss’ll kill me if he hears I’ve been giving work to the opposition, like. But the only guy I know who might have a chance with this ’ere is my cousin. He’s bloody amazing with stains. I’ve seen carpets I wouldn’t have given a chance in hell of comin’ clean, then in walks Matt, and afore you can scratch yourself – bloody beautiful. I’ll give you his number. Great bloke, bald as an egg, bit plump, always on a bloody diet . . . if he can’t get it out, no one can.

  THURSDAY

  0925 hrs

  ‘So we’re grandparents! Unbelievable! I only wish I’d been there – you always get all the good stuff, Terry love. But hey! Don’t feel bad about it, I’m sure I’ll get to see a lot of the little tacker, too. Now, we’ll – I mean, I’ll be back in town tomorrow morning. Just need to pop into the office for a bit then I’ll come straight over to your place to see Bronte. Hey, I know! Let’s have lunch together. What’s on the menu? How about some of those chicken vol-au-vent things you used to do? Maybe with some risotto, and some scalloped potatoes? I tell you, I’d love something simple after all the stuff I’ve been eating for the past week! Unbelievable!’

  THURSDAY

  0943 hrs

  ‘Hi there, Terry my love. I was thinking that I might be getting a call from you last night? Ah well, never mind. Now, I just thought I’d better be letting you know that I’m up at Daylesford for a couple a days to help a mate out with some work. So you can think of me as I’m tasting the spas and dabbling me toes in the magic water! I would’ve been asking you up here with me but . . . um, of course! You’ve got the lass and the baby to be looking after, to be sure! And I know all about the partying to be taking place on Sunday – so I’ll be there with bells on. And you’ll be after me bringing you some of this here fountain of youth, so I’ll fetch as many bottles as you’ll be needing, and a couple more! Never you mind about that!’

  THURSDAY

  1105 hrs

  ‘Well, that’s it! All done, Mrs Diamond, and sorry we’re running a bit late today. But I told you it wasn’t so bad, didn’t I? You only made it worse by being silly and clenching yourself up like that. Now, up you pop, get yourself dressed and I’ll send this off to the lab. You’ll be getting the results pretty soon and next time you come in for this, just remember to relax, all right? These procedures don’t need to hurt at all. Okay, now – hey! Watch your foot there! You’re going to knock the slide off the – damnation! Look what you’ve done! See? Now we’re going to have to do the whole thing again. Come on, come on, I can’t do it with you standing way over there, pop back up on the bed and remember – just relax.’

  THURSDAY

  1155 hrs

  The same old guy is out in his front garden next door, watering his now-planted daisies, as I walk up the path to my mother’s front door. Despite his best efforts, a gusty wind keeps redirecting his water spray so that the only things around that remain dry are the daisies. He pauses in his endeavours to give me the once-over and then turns away, obviously recognising me as a non-criminal type who intends no harm to his neighbour. If only he knew.

  I open the security door and use the lion’s-head knocker on the front door. While I’m waiting, I pull my coat around myself tightly and hop up and down to keep warm. A few seconds later the door opens wide and my mother, dressed in a long-sleeved midnight-blue caftan, beams up at me.

  ‘Teresa, honey! How lovely!’

  ‘Hi, Mum. Just thought I’d drop in to say hello.’

  ‘You look like you’ve been out running,’ my mother says, looking at my outfit, which even I’ve got to admit is rather weird. I’ve got my black calf-length coat over a big red tracksuit jacket over a snug black tank-top and three-quarter length lycro hipsters. Odd combination – but I’m planning on going straight to Cam’s house after I finish with my mother. With or without Mum’s body in the boot.

  ‘Not yet,’ I reply, peeling off my coat. ‘First I’ll have a coffee with you, okay?’

  ‘Of course! What a treat!’ She stands back and, after I manoeuvre myself around her, shuts the door behind me. I hang my coat and my shoulder bag on one of the brass hooks by the door before following my mother into the kitchen. She heads straight for the kettle while I sit down at the rectangular formica table that has been here since I was a baby.

  The kitchen is of a country design. Square and huge, with benches and cupboards all around the perimeter and the table and chairs in the centre. There is a large, old-fashioned window covered by white net curtains, which match the tablecloth hanging almost to the floor over the table. Framed photographs and children’s drawings cover every available bit of wall space, behind which can be seen wallpaper of an orange and brown, pots-and-kettles design. You can’t buy wallpaper like that anymore – with good reason. Every counter in the kitchen is cluttered with plants, canisters and assorted bowls of fruit. And the whole feel is homely and comfortable – an excellent place to unwind and tell secrets. I rub my hands together in anticipation.

  ‘Cold, honey?’ asks Mum as she pours hot water into a coffee mug and looks up questioningly. ‘Sugar?’

  ‘Warming up now, thanks. And just one sugar, Mum,’ I reply, reflecting on the fact that I’ve always had one sugar. It’d be nice to come around here just once and not have to explain how I have my coffee.

  ‘Milk?’

  ‘Just a tad.’ And I’ve always had just a tad of milk. Never mind, there are more important things than a retentive memory. I decide to make some polite conversation to lull her into a false sense of security before I move in for the kill.

  ‘So, what have you been up to?’

  ‘Oh, this and that.’ Mum moves over to the table and puts my coffee in front of me with a plate of fat, heart-shaped biscuits. ‘Bit of gardening, bit of bingo, bit of yoga. Have a biscuit.’

  ‘Yoga? Really?’ I say, slightly taken aback because I’ve never heard her mention yoga before. ‘What’s it like? Tell me more.’

  Mum sits down opposite me with her own coffee. ‘Well, it’s down at the scout hall. Go on, have a biscuit, honey.’

  I wait for a minute or two but she’s obviously not going to add anything, so I take a biscuit and, while I eat it, gaze around the kitchen for inspiration. Almost immediately I notice a new set of drawings from my five year old niece tacked to the wall by the stove.
The subject seems to be something resembling a pink and grey horse – but with several more appendages than one might expect, that may or may not be legs.

  ‘I see that Amy is still doling out her daughter’s pictures to unsuspecting relatives. When did you get those?’

  ‘Oh, only last week,’ replies Mum, following my gaze and focusing on the set of drawings. ‘Aren’t they just wonderful? I think Bonnie’s going to be quite the little artist one day.’

  ‘Really?’ I ask doubtfully, putting my head on one side and looking back at the pictures to see if I missed something. Some portent of greatness, perhaps. Nope, just a six-legged male pink-grey horse thing with large teeth. I take a sip of coffee and then try another of the homemade biscuits. ‘Yum! These are really delicious, Mum!’

  ‘Aren’t they? Mr Hood next door bakes every Wednesday and brings me over a container full of the most wonderful things. You should have come over last week: I had éclairs and profiteroles.’

  ‘Wow!’ I make a mental note to drop in more often on a Thursday. Why can’t I have neighbours like this? All I get is a guy who has my taste in men and who faints at the sight of birthing babies.

  ‘Have some more, honey.’ My mother pushes the plate over towards me. ‘I always get too much for just me.’

  ‘Thanks, I will.’ I help myself to another couple of biscuits and decide that, as soon as I finish stuffing myself, I’ll launch the attack. In the meantime, I let my glance wander over the walnut-framed photographs hanging by the door and home in on the one of my father. Grimly staring slightly off to the side and with one hand resting majestically on his lap, he is in full court dress complete with wig. And, yes, the resemblance is quite striking. I spare a condescending thought for Tuesday’s me, imagining that she was falling in love with a man she’d only just met and then behaving like a complete pillock. Well, next time something like that happens, I’ll simply take advice from my subconscious – it’s obviously more in control than the rest of me. I finally finish my biscuits and, brushing my fingers off, regretfully decide to leave the others on the plate. It’s time to crumble my mother’s pitiful defences instead.

  ‘Mum, about yesterday –’

  ‘Teresa!’

  ‘What?’ I reply, startled. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Look at the time!’ Mum points to the wall-clock. ‘I’m terribly sorry but you’ll have to go, honey. Because I promised Mrs Carstairs from two houses over I’d go for a walk with her. Poor thing, she needs the exercise. She’s got a wall eye.

  ‘You need exercise for a wall eye?’ I ask, astounded, ‘Why?’

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why do you need exercise for a wall eye?’

  ‘Is this a joke?’ asks Mum, looking at me quizzically. ‘If so,

  I don’t think it’s in particularly good taste, honey.’

  ‘No, it’s not a joke,’ I say, exasperated. ‘You said that Mrs Whatever needed exercise because she had a wall eye.’

  ‘No, I did not,’ replies Mum emphatically.

  ‘Yes you – oh, doesn’t matter.’ I take another sip of coffee and reflect that should my mother ever get dementia, it’ll probably be quite a while before anyone notices the difference.

  ‘Well, it was lovely to see you.’ Mum stands and starts to clear the biscuit plate and coffee cups away. ‘Always a pleasure.’

  ‘Hey! I hadn’t finished that!’

  ‘Oh, honey, it’s cold. It’ll give you indigestion.’

  ‘Cold coffee gives you indigestion?’

  ‘Yes, of course it does.’ Mum tips the remaining biscuits off the plate and into a canister. ‘Everybody knows that.’

  ‘Well, what about iced coffee then?’ I ask smartly. ‘That’s cold.’

  ‘Oh, iced coffee’s different, of course.’ She lifts out a step-stool from next to the fridge and, after unfolding it, clambers up to put the canister away into a top cupboard.

  ‘Different how?’

  ‘Because it’s never been hot. It’s only coffee that’s been hot and then gets cold that gives you indigestion.’ She clambers down off the step-stool and folds it back next to the fridge. ‘So there you go.’

  ‘There I go?’

  ‘Yes, because now I have to leave for my walk.’

  ‘You’re kidding. Right now?’

  ‘Yes, I just told you – Mrs Carstairs is expecting me and I still have to get changed. Do you know, sometimes I think you don’t take in a word I say. See, we go up the trail out the back to the national park and then walk to the water tower and down again. It takes about an hour but it’s very refreshing, especially in this brisk weather. You should try it sometime.’

  ‘But, Mum, I wanted to talk to you!’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry,’ says Mum apologetically as she walks towards the door. ‘I tell you what! Why don’t you join us?’

  ‘I can’t. I’m going to the gym for some exercise.’

  ‘Ah! The great indoors versus the great outdoors. Well, there’s no competition, is there?’

  ‘No,’ I mutter crossly. There goes my interrogation. Straight up the trail to the water tower and down again. I push my chair back roughly, get up and follow my mother, who is already at the front door holding out my coat and bag. After I take them from her brusquely, she opens the door wide and stands there beaming at me.

  ‘Always a pleasure, honey,’ she says as I shrug on my coat. ‘Such a shame you can’t join us.’

  ‘Perhaps you’ll be home later?’

  ‘Of course I will!’ Mum nods agreeably. ‘But don’t you have Bronte and the baby coming home this afternoon?’

  ‘Bugger!’

  ‘Anyway, I’m sure we’ll get a chance to talk on Sunday at the party. I’m planning on sitting in that lovely little courtyard of yours all afternoon with Rose. And you’re welcome to join us. We can talk about whatever you want then. Okay?’

  Somehow I’ve ended up on the front porch in the gusty wind and, as I open my mouth to respond, my mother smiles, waves and shuts the door gently but firmly. So there I stand – cold, open-mouthed, and none the wiser. But at least I’m not hungry.

  THURSDAY

  1435 hrs

  ‘Hell’s bells! What on earth is that?’ Cam points at a shiny metallic contraption that sprouts from one wall of the gym. It has several padded parts, several handles, and several pedals. There is also a suspicious number of scuff marks on the wall behind it, almost as if past patrons have struggled frantically to free themselves at some point.

  ‘No idea. But we’ll give it a miss, I think.’

  ‘Thank god.’

  ‘Maybe we’ll start with an exercise bike,’ I suggest, looking at the row of vacant bikes. ‘How does that sound?’

  ‘Manageable.’

  We wander over to the bikes and I show Cam how to adjust her seat downwards to suit her height. Then, reaching over, I press her control pad to set up a slow and relatively easy climb for ten minutes. I watch her settle into a rhythm while I pull my hair out of its ponytail and redo it roughly into a spiky-looking bun. As long as it stays away from my face, I don’t care. This accomplished, I set up my own controls and soon we are cycling away in unison. I glance over at Cam and chuckle to myself because exercise gear doesn’t do a thing for her. At least, the exercise gear she is wearing doesn’t do a thing for her. An oversized green t-shirt and baggy orange tracksuit pants that make her look very much like a well-rounded carrot. I, on the other hand, have shed my coat and jacket and am looking fairly dangerous, if I say so myself. That’s one thing about my figure – it may not look all that great in street clothes, but it’s just made for the gym.

  I’ve never been to this particular place before but I’m quite impressed. It seems to have all the necessary equipment, and a little bit more. Rows of exercise bikes, treadmills and stair-climbers fill two rooms, while in another an incredible range of weird and wonderful apparatus allows for straining abs, curling biceps and flexing thighs. Large, almost impossibly luscious plants adorn every li
ttle nook and cranny, and the latest hits blare out from hidden speakers at a decibel level just loud enough to ensure privacy in conversation without having to shout. We’ve obviously come at a good time too, because the place is nearly empty.

  ‘Okay, now tell me again how you didn’t get anything out of your mother?’ Cam looks at me disparagingly as she cycles. ‘I mean, Terry! Your mother?’

  ‘I don’t know. I was just winding up for the attack, and then somehow I was outside staring at the door.’

  ‘Well done,’ Cam comments sarcastically.

  ‘Hey! I don’t see you finding anything out!’

  ‘You want me to speak to your mother?’

  ‘No, I want you to speak to your mother!’

  ‘Well, it looks like I won’t have any choice,’ Cam says grimly, ‘because that’s exactly what’s going to happen.’

  ‘Really?’ I look at her in disbelief. ‘You’re actually going to tackle your mother about Richard?’

  ‘I think it’s more that she’s going to tackle me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Exactly what I said.’

  ‘Okay, enough with the woman of mystery stuff,’ I say in exasperation. ‘God! It must be hereditary!’

  ‘Don’t scare me!’ Cam grimaces. ‘But all right, I’ll tell you my news.’

  ‘Shoot.’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure it’s got anything to do with Richard, but I’m just putting two and two together – although I might be wrong.’

  ‘Shoot,’ I repeat impatiently, ‘or I will!’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ she laughs. ‘See, Mum rang just after lunch trying to arrange some sort of meeting. That is, she started off trying to arrange a morning tea tomorrow with me and Diane, saying it’s ages since she spent any time with her daughters and –’