Odd Socks (14 page)

I take out my hairclip and run my fingers through my hair haphazardly then, pulling it together roughly, reclip it at the back. The results are probably less than attractive, but it bought me time to think of something scintillating to say. ‘Um, so how's work going? Apart from Maggie's handle dilemma, that is.'

‘Flat out. It's a holiday I'll be needing soon.'

‘Sounds like it.' I take a sip and then play with my glass again. ‘So, what about today then? What did you do today?'

‘You're not really wanting to know all this.'

‘Yes I am. What did you do today?'

‘Terry –'

‘No you didn't. I'm sure I'd have remembered.'

‘All right then, if you're insisting.' Fergus throws his hands up in mock surrender. ‘What did I do today? Well, wasn't I stuck for the entire day in a house up at Tecoma replacing floorboards? Terrible termite damage.'

‘Interesting.'

‘Not very,' Fergus laughs. ‘But what about you? And how are you after spending your time off?'

‘Well, let me see. Today I had lunch at Cam Riley's place.'

‘Camilla!' Fergus slaps himself on the forehead. ‘Wasn't I supposed to fix her doorbell last week!'

‘Ah! So I can hold
you
responsible for . . .' I trail off as Fergus looks at me curiously. ‘Never mind.'

‘For what?' he asks, his eyes bright. ‘Come on, you can be telling me.'

‘No, sorry.' I grin at him, amused as always by his love of gossip. ‘But actually something curious
did
happen today that you might be interested in. See, we were having lunch with this old library friend when the strangest thing happened.'

‘Strange, how?' Fergus asks, right on cue.

‘Well, Joanne – that's the old library friend – brought this guy with her. Apparently she'd only just met him on the plane back from overseas. He was about six and a half foot tall and as skinny as a beanpole. And he was wearing these ghastly shorts, one of those stretchy shirt things and sandals with socks. But he had quite a nice face, hair was a sort of dark brown, with a tad of grey over the ears, and a bit receding. Largish nose – but nice.
Really
thick eyelashes, and his eyes were –'

‘Terry, my love?'

‘Hmm?'

‘It's getting the picture I am. Because haven't you spent ten minutes describing the man and none telling me what your Joanne is looking like – and isn't
she
the one who's after being your friend?'

‘I'm just getting to that! She's shortish, plumpish and has red hair and freckles. Okay? Happy now?'

‘Ecstatically so. Haven't I a weakness for redheads?'

‘Whatever. Anyway, so there we were having lunch when there's a knock on the door and it's Cam's mother.'

‘Oh, sweet Jesus.'

‘Exactly. So she comes in and starts off in her usual manner, but then when Cam introduces her to Richard she suddenly shuts up. In fact, not only does she shut up, but she goes really pale and looks like she's going to faint.' I pause for effect, and to take another sip of scotch.

‘I'm guessing Richard is being the tall, skinny guy with the big nose?' Fergus is finally looking interested. ‘And were you finding out why?'

‘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.

‘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.

‘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.'