Odd Socks

by Ilsa Evans

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Fine. But have you seen Cam?’ she asks curiously as she moves a platter of dip and crackers to make room for some savoury vol-au-vents. ‘The kids are all here, but I haven’t seen her.’

  ‘She’s upstairs.’ I grin at her wryly. ‘And don’t ask.’

  ‘Is she okay?’ asks Diane with concern.

  ‘She will be,’ I say optimistically as we head towards the kitchen.

  When we get there, I lean against the island bench while she continues over to the sink, where she dumps her tray. Through the French doors I can see the male bonding group has increased to include Fergus. They seem to be having an excellent time and I wish I could join them. Then I look over towards the other outdoor setting and immediately change my mind. Because there’s Elizabeth and Phillip and Joanne – and Richard. My internal organs immediately start playing twister again as he catches sight of me and smiles hesitantly in my general direction. I smile hesitantly back, widening my eyes to make sure I don’t blink.

  ‘Well, well, well. Aren’t you going to at least say hello?’

  I turn around at the sound of this vaguely familiar masculine voice and, after doing an immediate double-take, leap up into his arms and wrap my legs around his midriff.

  ‘Tom!’

  ‘In the flesh,’ he groans, and staggers backwards. ‘Christ! Good to see you’re still eating well!’

  ‘Hell!’ I jump down before he collapses and stand in front of him, grinning for all I’m worth. ‘Where did you come from?’

  ‘Not hell, anyway – although sometimes it –’

  ‘America!’ says my mother, taking hold of one of Tom’s hands and beaming up at him with delight. ‘He came from America! Last night!’

  ‘Let me look at you.’ I stand back and examine him. My brother and I look quite similar – both blonde and blue-eyed – but he also happens to be one of the few people who make me feel short. He is six foot six in his socks, and with a generous build to match.

  ‘Do I pass muster?’ he asks with a distinct American twang.

  ‘Sure do. But how come you’re here?’ I ask him curiously. ‘And did anyone know you were coming? Did you know you’re getting an American accent? And how long are you staying?’

  ‘One at a time,’ says Tom, looking rather pleased with himself. ‘I’ve only been here five minutes – just walked in! And I’ve got a week before I have to fly out. As to why I’m here, I had a meeting coming up in Melbourne in about a month so, when I got Bronte’s email, I just pulled a few strings and – well, here we are!’

  ‘We?’ queries Mum, looking around apprehensively.

  ‘Oh, did you bring Amy?’ I ask, trying to hide my disappointment.

  ‘Nah, she’s too busy,’ grins Tom. ‘So I brought Bonnie instead.’

  ‘Bonnie!’ screams Mum with delight. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘D’ya know what?’ Tom frowns as he peers around the room. ‘I don’t actually know. We walked in and this little blonde tyke came right up and nabbed her. Got no idea where they are now.’

  ‘That’ll be CJ,’ I comment, remembering the little dark-haired girl in the pink party dress who was holding hands with Cam’s daughter. So that was my niece, Bonnie. I can’t be blamed for not recognising the child as I haven’t seen her in the flesh since she was in a pram.

  ‘Sit down, sit down.’ Mum pulls on Tom’s hand and guides him over to the table where Uncle Laurie and Aunt June are sitting and beaming. ‘Stay here and tell us everything.’

  ‘Thomas, my boy!’ booms Uncle Laurie, slapping his nephew on the back. ‘Great to see you!’

  ‘Isn’t it just,’ smiles Aunt June. ‘How wonderful for your mother.’

  ‘Ogoodle!’ screams an occupant of the playpen in the corner as she sucks in a great deal of the mesh side and then starts to choke.

  ‘Regan!’ says Diane, coming over with two bottles full of milk. ‘Here, have this instead. And what have you two done with all your toys?’

  ‘I’m going to have to leave you guys, but –’ I lean forwards and kiss Tom on the top of his head ‘– it’s great to see you, and I’ll catch up when it’s a tad less full-on.’

  ‘No problem, sis.’ Tom grins at me before turning his attention to the table where his various relatives are waiting with differing degrees of impatience for his attention. I take a deep breath and smile at his back for a couple of seconds before remembering I’m supposed to be fetching drinks for the duo upstairs. As I turn towards the kitchen, I glance outside again and notice that both Richard and Fergus are watching me expressionlessly. I smile at them happily and walk over to lean against the island bench again. Rose, who is arranging parsley garnish on a platter of meatballs, looks up at me cheerfully.

  ‘How lovely for your dear mother.’

  ‘It sure is,’ I agree enthusiastically. ‘Now, do you know who’s acting bartender?’

  ‘I am,’ says Harold, tying a floral apron around his generous girth. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Could I have three glasses of champagne then, Harold?’

  ‘Coming up.’ He turns to the fridge while Rose continues to shred parsley and smile indulgently at my mother, almost as though she has bestowed this special gift herself. While I’m waiting, I help myself to a handful of nuts from a glass bowl on the bench and shovel them into my mouth.

  ‘So. How are you?’

  ‘Richard!’ I spit a large quantity of the nuts straight down the front of his grey jumper. ‘Hell! Sorry, so sorry!’

  ‘Ah. It’s all right.’ He starts wiping down the more masticated nuts that have adhered themselves to the weave of his jumper, so I help him. Our fingers immediately touch and I jump back, feeling like I’ve been electrocuted. I look up at him in shock, literally, and he looks back with his eyes wide. It suddenly hits me that he has just experienced the exact same electric shock I did. And, as this idea registers, I see the acknowledgement flicker over his face.

  ‘Richard!’ Rose discards her parsley in favour of brushing her son down. ‘I swear that girl’s on medication.’

  ‘Here are your drinks, Terry – is that right?’

  ‘Got a minute?’ Richard looks at me as Rose continues picking nuts off his jumper. ‘Ah, for a talk?’

  ‘No time. Gotta go, back later,’ I mutter intelligently as I grab the glasses from Harold and back away. ‘Yes . . . talk. Soon.’

  ‘Good.’

  I turn away and make my escape just as Rose expands on her theory regarding my medication. After pushing my way through the lounge-room and keeping an eye out for the cane, I reach the foyer with a sigh of relief and lean against a wall to catch my breath. I might not actually be on medication but, judging by the way I’ve been acting lately, I certainly should be. I suddenly get an idea and, shoving some coats aside to place the glasses neatly on the foyer table, weave back through the lounge-room. After checking that Richard has returned to the grotto, I head over to the table where my relatives are sitting and duck down next to Tom.

  ‘Back already?’ grins Tom.

  ‘No,’ I reply, rather stupidly because I obviously am, ‘no, I just wanted to ask you lot a question.’

  ‘What?’ says Uncle Laurie curiously.

  ‘See that guy over there?’ I gesture through the French doors towards where Richard has returned to the outdoor table. ‘No! No! Don’t look!’

  ‘Well, how are we supposed to see him then, honey?’ asks my mother reasonably.

  ‘I meant don’t let him see that you’re looking. Be sneaky.’

  ‘Okay.’ Tom crouches down in his chair and melodramatically peers outside. ‘Yep–subject spotted. Now what?’

  ‘Do you mean the man with the black pants and that nice grey jumper?’ asks Mum.

  ‘That is a nice jumper,’ says Aunt June approvingly. ‘I wonder where he got it.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agree with amazement, forgetting to be surreptitious as I stand up, peer outside and realise that Richard is incredibly well dressed
, for him. Today’s corduroy pants are a crisp black and the round-necked, loose jumper, which is the same gunmetal grey as Alex’s suit, has black sleeves and two thin black lines across the chest. ‘Wow!’

  ‘I thought we were supposed to be sneaky,’ says Tom with a wry grin.

  ‘Yes – of course.’ I duck back down and wait till I’ve got their full attention again. ‘Now who do you think he looks like?’

  ‘Looks like?’ repeats Mum, as they all peer back outside and squint at Richard.

  ‘I know – Alan Alda!’ says Aunt June, putting up her hand as if she is in class. ‘Is it Alan Alda?’

  ‘Do you reckon, June?’ asks Uncle Laurie. ‘Can’t quite see it myself.’

  ‘You’re kidding!’ I stare at them in disbelief. ‘You don’t see the resemblance?’

  ‘What resemblance?’ Tom looks at me, puzzled. ‘To whom?’

  ‘So it’s not Alan Alda?’ asks Aunt June, disappointed.

  ‘Told you,’ Uncle Laurie says smugly. ‘Nothing like him.’

  ‘Not bloody Alan Alda!’ I stand up and glare at them. ‘Dad! That’s who! How can you not see it?’

  ‘He doesn’t look anything like Dad,’ says Tom dismissively.

  ‘Honey! He’s nothing like your father!’

  ‘Not at all.’ Uncle Laurie frowns at me. ‘What’s up with you, girl?’

  ‘I think she’s on some form of medication,’ Rose confides in a stage whisper as she brings over a tray of drinks. ‘Hopefully it’ll wear off soon.’

  I grunt with irritation and turn my back on them all. How can they not see the resemblance? When I get back to the foyer I realise the three glasses of wine have been filched, so I kick the wall with annoyance. I don’t want to go back to the kitchen and ask for more. I lean against the wall again, this time with my arms crossed and looking like a sulky five year old. A sulky five year old who is nearly six foot tall and remarkably well developed for her age. After a few minutes I pull myself together and manoeuvre back through the lounge-room to the island bench in the kitchen.

  ‘Can I have three glasses of champagne, Harold?’

  ‘Certainly,’ he says, picking up three flutes with a flourish, ‘is that right?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s advisable to drink so much, Teresa,’ comments Rose as she raises her eyebrows at me. ‘Especially when you’re taking medication.’

  ‘I am not on medication!’ I reply crossly. ‘I’m just a tad tired, that’s all.’

  ‘Ah! Not sleeping well?’

  ‘Not that,’ I say, massaging my forehead, ‘just getting woken up a lot.’

  ‘Well, that explains it,’ says Rose with a nod, ‘because broken sleep is simply not the same. In fact, one hour of solid sleep is worth two hours broken – and don’t you forget it.’

  ‘I won’t,’ I answer distractedly as my gaze involuntarily sneaks towards the French doors and the view of the grotto. There seems to have been some seat swapping happening out there. Diane has now joined her husband, while Alex has deserted the alpha males in favour of a seat between Richard and Joanne and appears to be attempting to engage Richard in conversation. Fergus is standing in the garden with his back to everyone, having a cigarette. Harold hands me the champagne so I give him a smile of gratitude and, balancing the glasses carefully, bustle through the lounge-room taking a wide detour around the nasty old woman with the cane. Halfway up the stairs, I step gingerly over the electronic umbilical cord and continue to the landing. CJ and Bonnie have taken up residence here and have spread an old game of Bronte’s out all over the floor. I examine it more closely and am hit by a sense of nostalgic déjà vu. Because it was one of Bronte’s favourites, a model kit that was all the rage many years ago called ‘The invisible woman’. The two little girls have assembled the shell of the woman and are painstakingly fitting in her internal organs.

  ‘Having fun?’ I ask as I pass them by.

  ‘Oh yes,’ breathes CJ, holding up what looks like a set of shrivelled kidneys, ‘this is great!’

  ‘Excellent.’ I kick gently at the bedroom door with one foot and wait for it to open. ‘Here you go, guys!’

  ‘About time!’ says Maggie irritably. ‘What on earth kept you?’

  ‘Don’t ask.’ I cross over to the bed and hand a glass to Cam, who looks like she needs it. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Better now,’ says Cam slowly, putting her glass down without taking a sip. ‘The feeling’s coming back but – damn!’

  ‘What?’ I ask with concern as she reaches for a tissue from a box on the bed.

  ‘I keep dribbling!’ she says as she holds the tissue against her mouth.

  ‘Hmm, at least you can talk,’ says Maggie, taking a glass from me and having a sip. ‘Oh, I needed that!’

  ‘Sorry it took so long, but guess what? My brother’s here!’

  ‘Tom?’ asks Cam, reaching for another tissue.

  ‘Yes! How fantastic is that?’

  ‘Good for you!’

  ‘Sit with us for a bit,’ says Maggie, patting the bed. ‘We’ve just been discussing Cam’s brother. You know, this Richard.’

  ‘Really?’ I stop en route to the door and retrace my steps before putting my glass down on the bedside table and sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘Richard, you say?’

  ‘Yes, and what an amazing story!’ Maggie leans forwards. ‘Cam was just saying that she’s not quite sure how to take the whole thing.’

  ‘Right,’ says Cam shortly, folding the tissue over. ‘But I don’t think Terry wants to hear all this.’

  ‘Yes I do.’ I nod to give my words added emphasis. ‘Really.’

  ‘No you don’t. Because you’ve got a certain bias in this area, don’t you? So unless you want to include your agenda in the discussion . . .’ Cam dabs at her mouth with the tissue as she raises her eyebrows at me. ‘Ah, thought not. So let’s change the subject.’

  ‘Hmm . . .’ Maggie looks at us both questioningly. ‘Whatever. Well then, let’s talk about what you were telling me earlier, Cam, about uni. How you’re feeling a little out of your depth lately.’

  ‘Are you?’ I ask her with surprise. ‘I didn’t know that!’

  ‘Not so much out of my depth,’ Cam replies slowly, ‘just sort of a bit overwhelmed.’

  ‘But you’re getting good feedback, aren’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ She scrunches up the tissue and throws it onto a growing pile on the bedside table. ‘It’s not that. Just that those kids are so focused! And sometimes I stand outside a lecture room and feel a little behind before I even go in.’

  ‘Well,’ I reply smartly, ‘no wonder you can’t concentrate.’

  ‘Ha!’ snorts Maggie appreciatively as she embarks on a series of guffaws.

  ‘Very funny,’ says Cam, reaching for another tissue. ‘You can go now.’

  ‘Okay.’ I stand up. ‘Actually, I’d better anyway–I should be helping downstairs.’

  ‘Why don’t we all go?’ Maggie looks towards Cam. ‘What do you think, hmm? Better now?’

  ‘About as good as I can hope for, I suppose. How do I look?’

  ‘Fantastic!’ I exclaim magnanimously. ‘I can hardly see any redness at all! And if anyone notices, you can always say you’ve got a rash from your new bearded boyfriend.’

  ‘What new boyfriend?’ asks Maggie suspiciously.

  ‘Ignore her.’ Cam gets up off the bed. ‘Come on then, let’s go.’

  ‘Great.’ I lead the way out the door and onto the landing, where the invisible woman is becoming more visible by the minute. CJ looks up and smiles at her mother.

  ‘Look, Mummy! A bagina!’

  ‘Very nice, sweetie.’ Cam smiles at her daughter over her shoulder as she descends the staircase behind Maggie and me.

  ‘Watch out for the cord,’ I warn as I step neatly over the Gameboy link.

  ‘No problem,’ says Maggie, following suit.

  ‘Aaaaah!’ screams Cam, flying past us and hitting the side of the railing with
the top of her head before crumpling in a pile on the curve of the stairs.

  ‘Sorry!’ Ben and Michael both jump up and look down at Cam with concern.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ says Maggie. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Oh god,’ groans Cam, ‘I think I’ve fractured my skull.’

  ‘Lucky it’s not a straight staircase,’ I observe calmly, ‘or you would have torpedoed all the way into the lounge-room.’

  Maggie turns to the two boys. ‘Give her a hand into Terry’s bedroom, will you, guys?’

  We form an awkward procession back up the stairs and into my bedroom, where Cam collapses in an ungainly heap on the bed. She groans, holding a hand to her head and a tissue to her mouth. I fetch a packet of painkillers from the ensuite and, popping two out of the foil, pass them to her with the glass of wine she had deserted earlier.

  ‘Here, take these.’

  ‘Are you okay, Mum?’ asks Ben, backing towards the doorway with Michael.

  ‘Well,’ I say cheerfully, ‘look on the bright side – at least you got out of the bedroom for a minute!’

  ‘God! My head!’ Cam pops the tablets in her mouth and takes a gulp of wine, which immediately starts dribbling out one side of her mouth. She rams the tissue against it and sighs miserably.

  ‘Was that you crashing down the stairs, Mummy?’ asks CJ, looking through the doorway. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘She’ll be fine in a minute, CJ,’ says Maggie optimistically. ‘So off you go and play. You too, boys.’

  ‘Sorry, Mum,’ mumbles Ben as he exits the room quickly, pulling Michael with him. CJ hovers around the doorway and looks at her mother.

  ‘Mummy, is that Rudolph man here today?’

  ‘No,’ replies her mother with a groan.

  ‘Is he coming?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Oh. Okay.’ CJ swings around the doorframe and disappears.

  ‘Who’s Rudolph?’ asks Maggie, frowning at Cam apprehensively. ‘Is he the one with the beard that Terry was talking about?’