Odd Socks (26 page)

Rather than engage in an exchange of X-rated lip-reading, I decide to ignore this shining example of what I've got to deal with day after day in my chosen career. Instead I turn my
back and reflect on the chosen career itself. The choosing of which is made even more stupid by the fact that I don't particularly like dealing either with the public or with the books. I don't mind
reading
them, if I get the time, but I find the haphazard piles and untidy shelves of the library more than a little frustrating.
I
like my books all in a line, categorised by size, not author, and with their spines about six centimetres from the edge of the shelves. Give or take a millimetre.

I idly flick the pages of the book in my lap, wondering why Cam hasn't shown up. Or Joanne. Or – I sigh deeply and lean back in the chair, my hairclip immediately digging itself into the back of my scalp. I straighten up and mutter a few choice obscenities of my own.

‘Want to be alone?'

I glance up and my mouth falls open. For, peering down at me from his rather impressive height, is none other than Richard. And he looks exactly as I remembered, apart from a slightly more coordinated outfit of bone corduroy pants and a burgundy cable-knit v-neck. One look and I immediately realise that after three days of thinking about him, analysing my reactions, dissecting my responses and justifying my emotions – nothing has changed. He still makes me feel like a gawky teenager with a first crush. Without taking my eyes off him, I close both my mouth and the book in my lap.

‘No, I mean, yes. No, I mean –' I pause, take a deep breath and pull myself together. ‘I mean, please join me if you'd like. And how are you? I thought you'd have left for Tasmania by now.'

‘Ah, would have.' Richard folds his thin frame into the chair next to me and starts examining his fingernails. ‘But something came up. Leaving Sunday now.'

‘Oh.' I pat my hair surreptitiously as I rack my brain for something intelligent to say. Just as I open my mouth to emit
what would no doubt have been words of wisdom, there is another series of sharp raps on the window to my right. I look up automatically and, as soon as she sees she has my attention, the middle-aged, plump female proffers me a rather damp finger.

‘Friend?' asks Richard curiously, looking over as well.

‘Not quite.' I watch the woman stomp off towards her car through the rain, which is now positively pelting down. ‘But we take our overdues seriously here.'

‘Ah.'

‘Just look at the rain out there.' I turn again to Richard, and fall back on the age-old conversation filler: ‘Horrid weather, isn't it?'

‘Ghastly,' he agrees with a grimace. ‘We got soaked.'

‘We? I see – Joanne. How is she?'

‘Fine, fine. Nice girl.'

‘Yes, she certainly is.' I look at him curiously because he didn't sound much like a man in love, or in lust, or whatever. ‘So she was okay with you staying on longer?'

‘Joanne?' Richard glances at me with his eyebrows raised. ‘Why not?'

‘I don't know.' I play with the book nervously and, after a few seconds of silence, Richard reaches across and plucks it out of my lap, holding it up and looking at the cover.

‘
Lust in the Desert
,' he reads before looking at me with interest. ‘Fascinating.'

‘No, no.' I snatch the book back and fling it over onto the returns trolley. ‘I'm not
reading
it, I just picked it up because I was bored.'

‘Wouldn't work, anyway.'

‘What?'

‘Lust in the desert. All that sand.'

‘Yes! And the dust-storms – yech!'

‘Communal tents.'

‘No showers!'

‘Curious camels?'

We look at each other, burst out laughing – and I'm hooked. One hundred percent, totally, absolutely hooked. The only thing missing as far as I know has been that all-important sense of humour, and it seems not only has he got one, but it's also on the same wavelength as mine. Albeit slightly more monosyllabic. Now visibly relaxed, Richard leans back in his chair and stretches while I tuck my legs underneath me and make myself comfortable. A few moments of fairly companionable silence go by, and then I decide to throw caution to the wind. After all, I'll probably never see him again.

‘Just out of curiosity, do you remember Camilla, the woman we had lunch with on Tuesday? Remember how her mother turned up? Well, we were wondering – did you by any chance already know her from somewhere?'

‘Who, Camilla?'

‘No, her mother.'

‘Already
know
her?'

‘Yes.'

‘Ah, no . . . not
really
.'

‘Oh, I see,' I reply, although I don't actually see at all. The mystery is no clearer and now I also have to wonder why he put emphasis on the word ‘really'. I puzzle over how to frame my next question without it appearing that I'm sticking my nose into what is none of my business, while still doing exactly that.

‘Nice city, Melbourne,' says Richard, obviously trying to change the subject. ‘Enjoyed myself.'

‘Haven't you ever been here before?'

‘Never.' Richard smiles at me without quite meeting my eye. ‘Ah, might visit more now.'

‘And why would you do that?' I query quickly in my best Sherlock Holmes manner. ‘Have you met someone you might want to catch up with again?'

‘Pardon?'

‘Have you met . . .' I peter out as I realise that what I've just said could be construed several ways, when really I was just referring to Rose Riley. I chew my lip thoughtfully.

‘Met someone?' Richard turns towards me but still doesn't quite look me in the eye. ‘Ah, maybe.'

‘I see,' I reply slowly, with a heavy feeling that the conversation might just have taken a sharp turn in a direction I was not quite ready for.

‘Yes.'

‘Well then,' I say brightly, deciding that another change of subject is called for, ‘where has Joanne taken you?'

‘Ah!' Richard groans, leaning back again. ‘Everywhere!'

‘Sounds like you've been busy.'

‘Understatement.'

‘And has she introduced you to everyone here?' I wave my arm to indicate the library, not all of Melbourne.

‘Tried to.' Richard crosses one corduroyed leg and I notice that he is wearing red socks. ‘But, ah, the speeches . . . '

I laugh and roll my eyes expressively. ‘No wonder you found cover! That Alan is a pompous dork.'

‘A dork?' Richard turns to me and finally meets my eye as a smile lights up his face. ‘You know what a dork is? Really?'

‘Sure! An idiot, or a twit, or . . .' I trail off when I see the amusement crinkling around his eyes. ‘Why – what is it?'

‘Whale's penis.'

‘
What
?'

‘Whale's penis,' he repeats. ‘You know, a–'

‘I know all about whales' penises!' I exclaim, at which he raises his eyebrows. ‘What I mean is, I don't actually know
all
about them, like I don't know what one really looks like . . . I mean – hell! I can imagine.'

‘Really?'

‘Sort of,' I say with embarrassment, trying to work out how on earth I've ended up sounding like I spend my spare time conjuring up images of whales' penises.

‘Ah, interesting,' he smiles in my general direction.

‘Not really.' I grin back as I shove the embarrassment away. ‘In fact, I'd prefer lust in the desert any time.'

‘Quite right!'

‘Even with the sand –'

‘And the dust-storms –'

‘And the curious camels!'

Looking at each other with pleasure, we laugh again and I notice that his warm brown eyes actually develop a distinct twinkle when he is amused. He certainly seems to be more relaxed now than the last time I saw him, if the number of words he is stringing together is any indication. If I can keep this conversation going for another twenty minutes or so, it may well get to the stage that I've got to interrupt him to get a word in edgeways.

I smile with contentment and look down at his loose corduroy pants. He
definitely
looks a lot better with his knees covered – less like he should be standing on one leg in shallow water searching for fish. My gaze travels slowly up to the burgundy v-neck, which has seen better days. Although, by the looks of it, not for quite some time. I get a sudden urge to lean across, rip it off him, throw it to the floor – and then drag him off shopping for some decent clothes. Taking a deep breath and looking away before I do something stupid, I glance through the palm towards the throng of people over on the other side of the library. There appears to be a tad more action happening there and I note that the chatter has started to
build up: a sure sign the speeches are over and the fun has begun.

‘Do you miss your wife?' I blurt, and then blush fiercely when I realise what I've said. ‘Sorry! None of my business!'

‘That's okay.' Richard looks down at his fingernails again. ‘Yes – I do. But we were separated before. She died. For five years or so. Still miss her. So does Eve.'

‘Oh,' I say, when it becomes obvious he isn't going to add anything further. ‘I see.'

‘Ah, Terry –' Richard abandons his fingernails and stares at my right ear instead.

‘Yes?'

‘How long are these things? Usually?'

‘Oh, a couple of hours, that's all.'

‘You doing anything? Afterwards?'

‘Afterwards?' I repeat idiotically as my heart slips a cog and then tries to compensate by increasing its pump-rate dramatically. ‘You mean, after this?'

‘Richard!' Joanne shrieks excitedly as she pops her head around the potted palm. ‘I was
wondering
where you'd got to! And, look! Here's Terry! Oooh, what are
you
two up to?'

‘Nothing,' I mumble as I feel my face go red. ‘Nothing at all.'

‘Hey, Barbara, I found her!' Joanne yells over her shoulder. ‘She was hiding out with that guy I was telling you about.'

‘Terry!' Barbara's round, plump face joins Joanne's. ‘Well, well, well. What
are
you doing tucked away behind here? And what would Fergus say?'

‘Nothing,' I repeat with irritation as I untuck my legs and sit up straight, ‘because there's nothing
to
say!'

‘Who's Fergus?' Joanne looks from Barbara to me curiously.

‘Nobody!'

‘Well then, we might just have to tell him and find out,'
laughs Barbara, obviously under the mistaken impression she is being amusing.

‘Fine!' I snap, now thoroughly annoyed. ‘You
do
that!'

‘Hang on! I was only teasing, you know.' Barbara does a double-take and then looks at me apologetically. ‘Hey, I'll grab you some wine to make up. Don't move!'

‘And I'll grab a couple for us, Richard,' says Joanne, ‘then I'll join the two of you. Terry can tell me all about this mysterious Fergus of hers. It's got to be better than making small talk with Alan and Co!'

To avoid looking at Richard, I twist my head around and watch the two of them walk away. They make an odd pair – redheaded Joanne in a flowing red outfit that's not quite the same red as her hair, and Barbara with her generous frame clothed in her usual black. They head towards a large trestle table that has been set up near the autobiographies and loaded with several opened packets of chips, a couple of wine casks and a stack of plastic tumblers. This library is one class establishment, that's for sure. My neck starts to ache so I sit back and massage it lightly.

‘Good while it lasted,' Richard says wryly.

‘The peace, you mean?'

‘What else?' He looks at my right ear with his head tilted to one side. ‘Who's Fergus?'

‘Fergus?' I give up on my neck and start massaging my forehead instead. ‘Fergus who?'

‘Fergus your boyfriend, of course,' says Barbara helpfully as she passes me my tumbler of wine and pulls over a seat. ‘The cute blonde with the Irish accent.'

‘Ah,' comments Richard expressionlessly.

‘And I don't believe we've been introduced. I'm Barbara.' Smiling, she leans forwards to shake Richard's hand. ‘You must be Richard. Joanne's told me all about you.'

‘Ah, hmm . . .' Richard half rises out of his seat to shake her
hand and then sits back, staring at the large-print books in the distance.

‘And congrats to you, Terry!' Barbara turns to me and raises her tumbler. ‘Here's to the grandma!'

‘Thanks,' I say as I put my wine down and start rotating my thumbs in little circular motions around my temples. ‘Thanks a heap.'

‘Have you got a headache?' Barbara asks with concern.

‘I have now.'

‘Hey, Barbara, have you told Richard how you met Chuck?' Joanne chimes in as she settles herself on Richard's armrest. ‘Go on, tell him.'

‘How did you know?'

‘Cam wrote and told me. Anyway, Terry, where
is
Cam?'

‘I don't think she was able to make it. Busy with uni, you know.'

‘Bummer.' Joanne looks at Richard and raises her eyebrows. ‘Bummer.'

‘It's not all that unusual nowadays, you know,' Barbara says defensively as she turns to Richard. ‘Not uni – I mean me and Chuck. See, we met over the internet. Ages ago.'

‘Ah.'

‘We clicked. And it's just like a normal friendship, you know, when you get to know each other slowly and then realise there's something more. We've exchanged photos and everything, and we talk almost every night. I bet we know more about each other than most other couples ever do!'

‘Ah.'

‘And that's it.'

‘Ah.'

‘Well,
I
think it's really romantic,' declares Joanne, nodding emphatically, ‘and what's more, last night I read Barbara's tea-leaves and they spelt out success in all her spheres whilst the waning moon is in Uranus.'