Odd Socks (18 page)

‘Indubitably.' Stephen nods as he gazes at his plant with adoration. ‘Wouldn't miss it for the world.'

‘Great. I'll let you know a definite time when they tell me.'

‘Excellent. Hey –' Stephen looks at the empty biscuit plate and then up at me. ‘I thought you said the last one was for me, Miss Piggy?'

‘
I
didn't eat it!'

‘Well, I certainly didn't.' Stephen lifts up the plate and looks underneath it. ‘And it was here a minute ago. C'mon, fess up.'

‘I swear I didn't eat it!' I raise both hands and shake my head. ‘Really!'

‘Then who did, hmm?'

I shrug at Stephen and get up to fetch the biscuit barrel from the kitchen cupboard. I fill a fresh plate with chocolate-chip cookies and carry it across to the table, where I place it in front of Stephen, who immediately helps himself to one and begins eating. I
know
I didn't eat the other biscuit. I flick my ponytail back, look at Stephen, and then slowly move my gaze to the cactus. I watch it distrustfully – but it doesn't bat a blossom. Instead, with its fleshy protuberances bulging grotesquely, it just sits there – obviously biding its time.

‘So Mrs Woodmason is going to do all the ringing around
and
she's going to help on the day. You know, with the setting up and all.'

‘That's great, Bronte,' I reply as I lean over and look down into the Perspex capsule again. ‘But when is
she
going to wake up?'

‘I don't know, Mum, but hopefully not for a while.'

‘Why?' I glance at her curiously. ‘Has she been playing up?'

‘Like, not exactly.' Bronte leans back on her pillow, looking tired. ‘She just seems to have been awake an awful lot today, that's all.'

I look down at Sherry again and tuck her little blanket in securely around her. As the only visitor, I'm sitting in the green armchair and have pulled the baby trolley over next to me, just waiting for Sherry to show a sign of wakefulness. Any sign will do. But she's fast asleep with her eyelashes fanned out along the top of her flushed cheeks and her rosebud lips ever so slightly open. One tiny hand, which has escaped from her cocoon-like wrappings, is clutched around a corner of her blanket and there is a droplet of milk from an earlier feed poised in a fold at the corner of her mouth. Whenever she breathes out, it quivers.

On the other side of the room, the only evidence of Mrs Cobb is a scrawny-looking lump in the centre of the bed that hasn't moved since I've been here. And I'm beginning to think she doesn't have a baby at all – certainly I haven't seen one and I've been here a few times now. I turn my attention back to Sherry and stroke her fingers gently.

‘You wouldn't be wearing your mother out now, would
you?' I say in a singsong voice. ‘No, you wouldn't do that. Not you.'

‘Surely that's not our
Teresa
talking like that?'

I look up at the doorway in surprise and Rose Riley smiles at me playfully. And, as if that wasn't scary enough, my own mother pops out from behind her like she is auditioning for a scene from
The Sound of Music
, and gives me a huge smile. Rose is dressed in her usual skirt and twin-set, shades of lavender today, and my mother is wearing a petal-pink tracksuit, matching headband and runners.

‘Teresa, honey! Fancy seeing you here!'

‘Ditto,' I reply, getting up from the armchair before I'm asked to. ‘And, Mum, why do you look like the front cover of an aerobics tape for senior citizens?'

‘Because Rose and Harold kindly picked me up from the gym. I was doing my Pilates.'

‘Yes, we thought we would bring your mother over to visit the baby,' adds Rose Riley, settling herself down in the chair. ‘Somebody has to.'

‘I brought her on Monday!' I reply, stung. ‘I spent the whole day with her, too!'

‘And it was lovely of you, honey.' Mum bends over the crib and coos to the baby. ‘Oh, you're asleep, you little precious.'

‘Like, don't wake her, Gran!' says Bronte, looking worriedly towards the baby. ‘She
really
needs some sleep.'

‘And you look like you could use some too, dear,' Rose says, examining Bronte keenly. ‘You look tired. Where's that grandson of mine?'

‘Nick's at work, Mrs Riley.'

‘I think it's about time we dropped the ‘Mrs Riley', don't you?'

‘Oh!' Bronte looks horrified. ‘But then what do I call you?'

‘Well, perhaps you can just call me what Nick and the
others call me – Grandma.' Rose turns to my mother and looks at her questioningly. ‘That is, if you don't have any objection, Sherry.'

‘Certainly not, Rose.' Mum beams briefly at them both. ‘I think it's a lovely idea.'

Bronte nods, looking at me rather miserably. I give her a huge grin and a wink.

‘And we heard about your little ceremony on Sunday, Bronte –' Rose purses her lips slightly before continuing ‘– although I must say that, in my day, we simply had a proper christening and were done with it.'

‘Times change, Rose,' says my mother.

‘And who am
I
to say anything?' Rose throws her hands up and shrugs. ‘But, nevertheless, I'm quite happy to offer my assistance. Just tell me what it is you would like me to bring and I'll be sure to bring it.'

‘Why, thanks Mrs Ri– I mean, Grandma,' stutters Bronte.

‘So?' inquires Rose, with her head on one side.

‘So what?' asks Bronte, confused.

‘So – what would you like me to bring,' says Rose slowly, enunciating each word clearly, ‘to the ceremony?'

‘Um–I'm not sure . . . '

‘That's lovely of you to offer,' I interject, looking at Bronte's reddened face, ‘and I believe Diane's helping to organise the food and everything while Bronte's in here. So perhaps it'd be best if you speak to her so that there's no doubling up?'

‘Excellent idea. I'll phone her tonight.'

‘Thanks, Mrs – um,' says Bronte.

Harold chooses this moment to come wandering through the door, looking, as usual, rather anxious. He walks over to his wife and positions himself behind her chair before nodding politely at everybody.

‘Hello, Teresa. Good evening, Bronte. I finally found a car
park, dear,' he says, looking at his wife, ‘but it's miles away. Is that right?'

‘Good,' replies Rose approvingly. ‘But you'll have to fetch the car to the entrance for us when we leave then.'

‘Is this baby ever going to wake up, honey?' Mum asks Bronte. ‘Because I didn't get a chance to hold her on Monday, you know.'

‘Here, have my chair, Sherry, and I'll pass her to you.' Rose gets up and straightens her skirt fastidiously. ‘If that's all right with Bronte, that is. Yes?'

‘Well, um. I suppose so – like, yeah sure.'

‘You realise that you are going to have to be a bit more definite with your answers, dear,' says Rose, frowning at Bronte, ‘if you're going to raise a child. They pounce on
any
indecision and before you know it –
they
are the boss and not you. And, let me tell you, that spells disaster.'

‘Um, yeah. Okay.'

Rose shakes her head almost imperceptibly and turns to raise her eyebrows at my mother, who beams back happily from where she has secured herself in the chair. While Rose is thus occupied, I grab the opportunity to get a brief hold of Sherry and dart forwards to pick the baby up gently from her crib. As I lift her, she stiffens momentarily before relaxing and settling back into her sleep. I rock her slowly, drinking in her adorability and feeding off it like some sort of parasite while, once again, she melts me. After a few moments, when my mother's outstretched arms start to shake, I realise my time is up. So I reluctantly pass the baby down to her great-grandmother. Leaning back in the armchair, Mum smiles beatifically at us all before tucking Sherry's blanket around and then cradling her against her chest, her attention now focused totally on her charge.

‘Excellent.' Rose steps back and takes me firmly by the elbow. ‘Because I wanted to talk to you, Teresa.'

‘To
me
?'

‘Yes, to you. About yesterday.' Rose ushers me over to the other side of the room as she talks. This seems a particularly pointless exercise as the room isn't exactly huge and whispering has never been one of her strong suits. Accordingly, we are still well within earshot of everyone else and they immediately all stop whatever it was they were doing to listen in.

‘Yesterday? Oh, great!' I gently shake my arm loose and look down at Cam's mother with considerable interest. ‘Actually, I'm so glad you've brought that up because I
really
wanted to ask you. What
happened
?'

‘What do you mean?' Rose looks at me with slightly narrowed eyes.

‘Well, yesterday . . .' I hesitate, unsure how to continue. ‘When you went all – well, strange.'

‘
Strange
?'

‘It was the coffee,' interjects Harold, from across the room. ‘Is that right?'

‘Yes,' says Rose emphatically, ‘it was.'

‘But –' I look at her in confusion ‘– I thought that's what you wanted to talk about.'

‘No,' says Rose.

‘Oh, okay. Then what
was
it you wanted?'

‘All
I
want to ask,' Rose continues, straightening herself in a futile attempt to measure up to my height, ‘is whether you know that girl Joanne very well.'

‘Joanne? Well, I suppose so.'

‘Well enough to have her phone number?'

‘Of course,' I reply, frowning. ‘Why?'

‘No reason. Could I have it, please?'

‘Sure.' I shrug again. ‘But I don't have it on me. Anyway, Mrs Riley, Cam'd have it as well, you know.'

‘No, I've already asked Camilla and she only has her old one. Apparently, she was overseas for a while and isn't in the same lodgings now.'

‘Of course!' I try to look apologetic, instead of incredibly curious. ‘And that means
I'll
only have her old one as well. I never thought to ask her where she was living now.'

‘Oh.' Rose looks at me expressionlessly. ‘No matter.'

‘But I can get it from her on Friday, if you like. One of the girls from the library is moving to America so we're having a goodbye party. And I believe Joanne's coming. So's Cam.'

‘Excellent!' Rose brightens up noticeably. ‘That's excellent.'

‘But can't you tell me why?'

‘No.'

‘Oh, Rose, why don't you just tell her?' my mother pipes up from the armchair. ‘It's nothing to be ashamed of, after all. You did
nothing
wrong.'

‘No.' Rose shakes her head emphatically. ‘Definitely not.'

‘Oh, Rose,' sighs my mother, looking at her sadly.

‘Sherry, be quiet,' snaps Rose. ‘I'll tell if
I'm
ready and not before. And it certainly won't be until I tell my own daughters, thank you very much.'

I follow this exchange while being eaten alive by curiosity. After Rose finishes talking, she glares at my mother while Harold quickly crosses the room and puts his arm around her. I watch amazed as she leans against him and he holds her tight. I've never
ever
seen this woman show any sign of weakness, or of needing support – until now. I catch Bronte's eye and she looks at me with her mouth open, obviously just as stunned as me. Then I look across at my mother, who is still sitting in the chair with Sherry fast asleep in her lap. But she's just looking sadly at Rose.

‘I
am
sorry,' Mum says apologetically. ‘I didn't think. I'm such a fool, of
course
you'll want to tell the girls first. Of course.'

‘No,
I'm
sorry, Sherry.' Rose straightens up, but with Harold's arm still securely around her. ‘You meant well and there was no need for me to snap like that. Inexcusable.'

‘Well, you are under a lot of strain, honey.'

‘Still inexcusable.'

‘Why don't I get us some tea from the canteen?' Harold looks at his wife with concern. ‘And I'll get another chair for you, dear. Is that right?'

‘That would be lovely, Harold.' Rose smiles at him and his face immediately brightens. ‘In fact, I'll come with you.'

‘Excellent!' Harold beams.

‘And would anybody else like some tea?' Rose asks politely, her moment of weakness obviously behind her, at least temporarily.

‘No thanks,' Bronte and I reply in unison.

‘Yes please,' says my mother, with a smile at her friend.

Harold removes his arm from around his wife and, instead, grasps her hand and folds it within both of his. Then, somewhat awkwardly, they leave the room and Rose's heels can be heard tapping down the corridor in the direction of the elevators. Once I'm quite sure they're not coming back, I walk over to the bed and sit down next to Bronte. Then I flick my hair back, prop my elbow on a pillow, and fasten my mother with an evil eye.

‘Okay. Spill the beans – what's going on?'

‘Sorry, honey.' Mum tucks the blanket around the baby fastidiously to avoid looking at me. ‘I've promised.'

‘Can you just give me a hint?'

‘No.'

‘Does it involve Richard?'

‘How did
you
know?' Mum looks at me with astonishment as Sherry starts to stir.

‘I know more than you think,' I reply sagely, hoping to trick
her into a disclosure. ‘So if
you
tell me what
you
know, then
I'll
tell you how
I
know what
I
know.'

‘Um . . . ' Mum jiggles the baby. ‘You've lost me.'

‘Me too,' says Bronte, looking from me to her grandmother and then back again. ‘I have
no
idea what's going on at all! Who's Richard?'