Odd Socks (8 page)

One of Diane's boys elbows me in the stomach as he tries to manoeuvre his way past. While I double up in pain, he apologises quickly and then steps over a sister as he continues pushing his way towards his brothers, who are leaning casually against Eeyore's bed-end on the other side of the room. Eeyore herself is still buried.

‘Look what I've got!' He brandishes the television remote control at them and they respond with various hoots of encouragement. Within seconds the television is on, the sports channel has been found, and all the males in the room are watching with varying degrees of interest. I glance over to see how Eeyore is taking all this, but she has simply buried herself still deeper and now even her head is covered. Diane follows my gaze and, when she sees the small mound of blankets, takes the remote from one of her sons and turns the volume down as well as shooing them away from the bed-end. But it doesn't make any real difference either to the level of noise in the room or the feeling of claustrophobia.

Meanwhile, the mobile twin has flip-flopped over to me and has her neck bent back at an impossible angle while she looks up at me with interest. After a few moments contemplation, she gives a sudden, sideways jerk and rolls herself onto her stomach. Then she reaches up to hook a finger into the lowest side pocket of my cargo pants and, using this as leverage, slowly
but surely pulls herself into a wobbly standing position. Once upright, she looks around for applause.

‘Bravo, Regan!' says Regan's mother with enthusiasm as her offspring leans forwards and starts sucking wetly on my knee. ‘Did you see that, David?'

‘Yes!' responds her husband heartily. ‘What a clever girl!'

‘Did you know, I only just found out that my daughter has changed her entire carpet?' Mum asks Rose incredulously. ‘She never tells me anything!'

‘I know the feeling, dear,' says Rose, shaking her head sympathetically as she adjusts the bunny-rug around Sherry and slaps Elizabeth's hand away. ‘Always the last to know.'

From my position in the far corner, I can barely see any more of Sherry than her pink bunny-rug. I raise myself on tiptoes and peer over the heads of the various visitors in front of me. This has two immediate benefits. One is that the knee-sucker loses her grip and falls backwards, landing with a solid thump on her behind. And the other is that now I can see the top of Sherry's bald little head.

Diane dives forwards and collects her daughter just as the infant limpet opens her mouth and begins screaming with anger. I don't take much notice because I'm still stretched out and focusing on a glimpse of pink scalp across the room. As my ankles start to send distress signals up towards my thighs, I lower myself down, smiling in amazement as I remember what it was like when I first saw her properly about twenty minutes ago. Who'd have thought that I, of all people, would have such an extreme reaction to a baby? All I want to do now is get rid of these people, sit down with her on my lap, and spend a few hours admiring her in peace.

The child in question, who has been remarkably well behaved so far, now begins to fret and Rose picks her up expertly and pops her up on one shoulder, with her hand behind Sherry's
head for support. Then, in answer to yet another query from my mother, Rose turns slightly and suddenly I'm rewarded with a complete facial view of the object of my devotion. For a brief instant it's almost like her eyes lock in with mine and I get a thrill of connection that echoes through my bones and turns my stomach to porridge. I know, on a sensible level, that not only can the baby not see me, but that she's really only interested in where her next feed is coming from. And, in that regard, I'm totally useless. But rationality doesn't matter, and logic doesn't count.

Because I'm in love.

I flick my right-hand blinker on and slow to a halt while I wait patiently for a learner-driver, and the long line of cars trailing her, to pass by on the opposite side of the road. I congratulate myself on my patience because, really, I haven't had a good day at all.

After finally dragging my mother away from the hospital, I discovered that I'd left my car lights on and the battery was flat. It took three-quarters of an hour for roadside assistance to turn up. Three-quarters of an hour spent leaning against the car in the freezing cold, listening to inane chitchat from the person who was responsible for the lights being on in the first place. At some point I tuned out but apparently during that period, or so she informed me later, I promised I'd take her grocery shopping as soon as we were mobile again. But first, because we hadn't had lunch and she couldn't possibly shop on an empty stomach (apparently this is an economic no-no),
we had to visit the pub for a counter lunch. And it
had
to be the pub because after eating she likes to play the pokies for half an hour or so to settle her food down. It certainly didn't work that way for me. After watching various elderly gentlemen push my mother's buttons while I lost twenty bucks in ten minutes flat, my food was anything but settled.

Then, by the time I dropped her off with her twenty-five bags of groceries, it was late afternoon and she insisted on supplying me with coffee and biscuits as a thank-you for running her around all day. So I sat and yawned and ate dutifully while she filled me in on the goings-on of my brother, my uncle, my cousins and each of their families as well as all the gossip from the old neighbourhood. Which, if even half her stories were true, certainly makes my current neighbourhood sound incredibly dull by comparison. Thank god.

The long line of cars continues to crawl by and I idly glance past them and down my street, immediately spotting the rear of Fergus's distinctive yellow panel van parked against the nature strip adjoining my block of units. Hell – I'd forgotten he was coming over this evening! Without really giving it any conscious thought, I flick my blinker off and quickly head back out in the direction that I am pointed. As Fergus usually waits in his car if I'm not home, I very much doubt he saw me in the few minutes I was stationary. Nevertheless, I feel guilty and rude, and downright sneaky. Also a tad confused. Why did I do what I just did? I mean, I
enjoy
Fergus's company – that's why I've been going out with him for almost six months. So why did my stomach just sink at the sight of his car?

All I know for sure is that I'm not changing my mind – my unit is off limits until Fergus gives up and goes home. Which means I've got a few hours to kill because he's a very patient man. I briefly consider going to the supermarket again because, although there's nothing I can think of that I forgot
earlier, I'm sure I'd still be able to fill a trolley without much difficulty. It's one of those truisms that grocery conglomerates rely on. But I really don't feel like facing a supermarket twice in one day.

Another option would be a visit to the Tim Neville Arboretum, which is just around the corner, and has some lovely walks that would use up time. If, that is, I felt like taking a lovely walk – which I most certainly don't. Then I suddenly come up with a brainwave. I'll visit Camilla, who lives only about ten minutes past the Arboretum. Apart from the fact that I can regale her with my stint as an obstetrician, I'm absolutely dying to bore someone to death with how damned gorgeous the newest member of my family is. And as the newest member of my family also happens to be the newest member of hers – well, it's perfect.

The only drawback to visiting Cam at this time of day is that at her house it'll be akin to feeding time at the zoo. Except it's like you're
in
the animal enclosure, not just watching. However, my desire to discuss Sherry and avoid Fergus is currently greater than my aversion to children and animals en masse. So I veer into the adjoining lane and take the next corner at a sharp angle that a lesser driver than me would have found positively risky. A few minutes later I'm pulling into Cam's driveway and parking behind her old Holden.

I run my fingers through my hair to comb it smooth before ringing the doorbell and then waiting patiently. But nobody comes to answer it. This is very unusual for Cam's house, so I walk over to the lounge-room window and press my face against the glass to peer in. I can't see anybody watching television but I can hear some music in the background so there's definitely somebody home. Most probably Cam herself, judging by the car in the driveway. I walk back to the door and give the doorbell another try but still no answer. However, my
heart is now set on unburdening myself, so I'm not giving up without a fight. I try the door handle and it turns easily so I push the door open and call out softly.

‘Hello? Anybody home?' I venture inside and step over a pile of school shoes in the hallway. ‘Hello?'

The music is coming from the kitchen area, so I wander up there and check it out. On the radio Roy Orbison is pleading with a pretty woman to look his way, but there's nobody around. Just a large pot of something simmering on the stove and a glass of wine sitting on the bench. I take a look out of the kitchen window into the backyard but it too is deserted. Except for Murphy, their Border collie cross, who is lolling on top of a double-decker hutch containing some rather lethargic-looking rabbits. I pick up the glass of wine and, sure enough, it's still chilled. This is beginning to feel like the mystery of the
Marie Celeste
.

‘Hello? Cam? Anybody?' I meander into the lounge-room where, from its glass tank on the sideboard, a blue-tongue lizard flicks a moist dark tongue in and out and watches me suspiciously. As I stand there, trying to ignore the tongue and work out where everybody is, I suddenly realise I can hear some muffled noises coming from the other side of the house. At last. I head back over into the passageway and towards Cam's bedroom where, sure enough, I can hear her murmuring.

‘I've been looking everywhere for you!' I exclaim cheerfully as I push the bedroom door open. And immediately freeze in shock – because I
can't
be seeing what I think I'm seeing. I just can't.

There, on my best friend's bed and in full festive regalia, is none other than Santa Claus. And he's not there stuffing stockings either. As I've flung the door open, he has leapt up and, with his bright-red fur-trimmed trousers hanging around his ankles, has executed a perfect tuck and roll and disappeared
over the far side of the bed. But before he vanished from sight, I saw enough to be able to vouch personally and definitively for his cheeks being
extremely
flushed and jolly.

Left on her lonesome in the middle of the bed is my best friend, Camilla Riley. She is sitting up with both hands holding a sheet to her neck, and is staring at me with a horrified expression. In fact, she'd look exactly like some Victorian virgin protecting her modesty if it weren't for one little anomaly. Which is the pair of red and green reindeer antlers firmly attached to the top of her head.

‘
Terry!
'

‘I'm sorry! I'm
so
sorry!' I try to back out but my feet are frozen in position. After all, it's not every day you get to see Father Christmas delivering his presents. Even if it
is
July.

‘I didn't hear you come in!' Cam says, appalled, as her antlers wobble with agitation. ‘Where did you
come
from?'

‘I rang the bell! I called and called!' I say hysterically as I realise with a surge of relief that my feet have started working again. I immediately back straight into the doorframe, bounce off it, and rebound into the hallway.

‘Terry! Hang on!' Cam calls and I hear her jump off the bed. Then she appears in the doorway dressed only in a half-buttoned pyjama top and with the antlers still firmly in place. Blushing madly, she looks at me with embarrassment. I look back, with equal embarrassment.

‘I'm
so
sorry!'

‘Hell's bells! So am I!'

‘I thought you'd all be at home! I never thought that you'd . . . that is, it never occurred to me that –'

‘No, I
never
usually have the house to myself at this time! I can't believe that the one time I have – my
god
!'

‘But I rang the doorbell! Twice!'

‘It's not working!'

‘Oh, I'm so, so,
so
sorry.'

‘Don't be. You weren't to know.' Cam takes a deep breath, glances behind her into the bedroom and then turns back to me with her antlers wobbling. ‘Um, do you want a glass of wine or something?'

‘God forbid!' I say with feeling because the only thing I want to do is get out of here and rid myself of the visions of Christmas, past, present and future. ‘But, Cam – Santa Claus? It's
July
, for heaven's sake!'

‘I know. Tacky, isn't it?'

We both look at each other in silence for a moment, and then suddenly burst out laughing. I hold on to the wall as I laugh so hard my side threatens to split.

‘I can't
believe
you saw that!' Cam puts her hands over her face. ‘God!'

‘I wouldn't believe it either,' I say, trying to stop laughing, ‘if you didn't
still
have those bloody antlers on your head!'

‘What!' Cam puts her hand up and, with a shriek, rips the antlers off and flings them back through the bedroom doorway. Then she looks at me and we both break up again. From the bedroom, a deeper voice joins in the laughter. After a few minutes, I finally get myself more under control and look at Cam with a grin.

‘That reminds me. How's Alex? I haven't seen him for
ages
.'

‘Fine. I expect he's just fine.' Cam stops laughing and looks at me with narrowed eyes. ‘Why do you ask?'

‘No reason,' I reply with a smile because I don't have to see Santa's face to know exactly who he is. Alex Brown is Cam's first ex-husband and the father of her two eldest children. He's also a genuinely nice bloke who came back to Australia in February after some years spent overseas, and became Cam's next-door neighbour and a little bit more. That little bit more has now escalated into a full-blown affair with
both participants acting like lovesick teenagers with a first crush.