Odd Socks (10 page)

‘Yes. We do,' answers Cam emphatically as she fills the kettle, puts it on the stove and then gestures towards the adjoining room. ‘I've even set the table up in the dining-room for the occasion. See?'

I twist around and peer through the doorway at a table beautifully set with a vase of abundant greenery, rattan place-mats, vivid red and green serviettes, and crystal wineglasses. ‘Very impressive, and very Christmassy. Is this an ongoing theme?'

‘Aargh! I
knew
you wouldn't be able to shut up about that!' Cam turns and tries to look stern, but fails miserably and starts laughing instead. ‘God.'

‘No, Santa Claus. I distinctly remember.'

‘I'm going to kill you.'

‘Please!' I put my hands up in mock surrender. ‘Don't blame me! You should know by now that you're only meant to sit on his lap!'

‘Hey, you're a fine one to talk, anyway!' Cam rallies round for the attack. ‘
You're
going out with a leprechaun!'

‘Ah, yes,' I say sagely, ‘but he doesn't dress up as a leprechaun.
That's
the rub.'

‘Hell's bells.'

‘And speaking of rubbing. Tell me, all that fur – didn't you get a rash?'

‘Okay – now,' Cam takes a deep breath and massages both temples with the tips of her fingers, ‘I think I know the only way I'm going to be able to stop this.'

‘By moving on to the Easter Bunny?'

‘No,' she smirks at me, ‘but do you remember how you told me once that Dennis was much better in the sack than Fergus?'

‘Yes! But you promised not to tell – oh, I see. But you know it won't work. Even if you told Fergus, he'd just try harder so I'd still win.'

‘It wouldn't be Fergus I'd be telling.'

‘Well, then . . .' I trail off slowly.

‘That's right,' Cam says smugly. ‘I'm sure Dennis would be really chuffed.'

‘You wouldn't.'

‘Would.'

‘Wouldn't.'

‘Try me.'

‘Wow. Know what you remind me of?' I ask as I smooth the sides of my hair and pretend nonchalance. ‘The Grinch, that's who.'

‘
Terry!
'

‘What?' I ask innocently. ‘What did I do now?'

‘You know.' She reaches up into a cupboard and pulls out a pair of ceramic mugs. ‘Maybe one day I'll be able to laugh about it too – but I doubt it.'

‘Okay. Enough's enough,' I nod obligingly. ‘But I still think the table looks very . . . um, festive. Perhaps I should have brought champagne?'

‘No need because I'm totally organised. There's some in the fridge.' Cam gets out a sugar canister and plonks it down next to the mugs. ‘But for now, coffee or tea?'

‘Tea, thanks.' I look at her with my head on one side for a few moments. ‘Hey! You look different–did you colour your hair or something?'

‘Yeah, I got a one-shade lighter put through on Saturday and then a few foils for good measure. I've never tried foils before. Do you like it?' Cam does a slightly off-centre pirouette. ‘Well?'

‘Hmm.' I look at her critically and then nod. ‘Actually, yes, I
do
like it!'

‘So do I,' she replies complacently as she continues to arrange tea-making paraphernalia, ‘and let me tell you, it's been a
long
time since I've liked anything I've had done to my hair.'

I watch her as she pours hot water over the teabags in the mugs. And she
is
looking good. We may have a lot of similarities in our likes and dislikes but, physically, Cam is almost my exact opposite. As short as I'm tall, she has a neat, rounded figure that is much more in proportion than my rather top-heavy one. Her hair, which is usually a light brown but is now a highlighted dark blonde, is worn very short and never allowed even to creep much past her ears. Apart from that, she has rather average features – but an infectious personality that sort of lights her up.

‘Are you staring at me?' Cam looks at me curiously as she puts my mug down in front of me and returns to the kitchen to start assembling salad platters.

‘I was just thinking how good you're looking, that's all.' I peer around for a coaster and then give up, instead just wrapping my hands around my mug and blowing at the steam. ‘What's your secret?'

‘No secret,' she laughs self-consciously, ‘just good clean living, that's all.'

‘In a pig's ear,' I say shortly. ‘So, how's Alex?'

‘Alex?' Cam looks at me narrowly. ‘Fine, I suppose. Why do you ask?'

‘Mummy! C'n I hab something to eat? I'm
starbing
hungry.' CJ, Cam's six year old daughter, wanders into the kitchen with a Barbie in each hand and, ignoring me totally, focuses the full force of her rather imperious gaze on her mother.

‘CJ, be polite and say hello to Terry.'

‘Lo, Terry.' CJ looks at me briefly and then turns back to her mother. ‘Mummy, I'm
really
starbing!'

‘Hello to you too, CJ,' I reply politely to her back. ‘I thought you'd be at school.'

‘School finished last week,' says CJ over her shoulder. ‘Mummy? Food?'

‘CJ, you'll just have to wait. We're having guests.'

‘I'll starb to deaf by then,' replies the plumply rounded juvenile as she stomps over to the kitchen table and slides into a chair opposite me. ‘My stomach's eben rumbling, you know.'

I watch CJ with interest as she dumps her Barbies on top of the pile of debris at the end of the table, slides a toy catalogue out and begins to study it intently. CJ is a very attractive little girl with bobbed blonde hair and large blue eyes who is, unfortunately, spoilt rotten by both her mother and her father. We have a rather uneasy relationship, as I'm sure she understands that I see right through her shenanigans. However, we seem to have settled into a tacit understanding of the place each other occupies within Cam's life, and therefore manage to avoid stepping on each other's toes. Too much.

She finds a large blue texta and starts to circle items in the catalogue. Mainly Barbies and related accessories. Perhaps she realises Santa Claus has been around, and is getting ready to place her order. After circling eight or nine items, she pauses and looks up at her mother.

‘Mummy, I
need
this Barbie,
and
this one coz she's got lubly brown hair, and this one coz Caitlin's got one. And I
really
need this horse 'n carriage coz it's pink. And my Barbies
really
need this couch thingy and a hairdryer for when I take them in the bath. And I really,
really
need this –'

‘Hang on,' her mother interrupts, holding up a hand. ‘What have I been telling you about Barbies? They're totally warped! Look at her feet, for a start!'

‘What's wrong with them?' asks CJ petulantly, holding up one of her Barbies. ‘I think she's got lubly feet.'

‘CJ! How can you
say
that!' Cam waves a salad server in the air excitedly. ‘They are
permanently
arched! How could she play tennis? Or swim, or even walk normally? I'm telling you, young lady, Barbies symbolise everything that is discriminatory about the way the female body is represented – they extend unrealistic expectations which set cultural goals that are simply unattainable. I mean, look at the size of her boobs, for god's sake!'

‘That's not fair! Terry's got eben
bigger
boobies –' CJ points disparagingly at my chest ‘– and you still like
her
!'

‘That's not the same. She's in proportion, for a start.'

‘No she's not.' CJ sneers at the region in question and then, folding her arms across her own chest protectively, turns back to her mother. ‘What's pro-paw-shon, anyway?'

‘Excuse me,' I chime in sweetly, ‘could we leave my proportions out of this, please? And what the hell are you taking at uni, Cam? Barbie 101? Let's get back to what we were talking about before.'

‘What was that?' asks Cam, thrusting the salad server into a bowl while she frowns at both her daughter and the cultural icon of representational evil she's holding.

‘I believe it was Alex. And don't play the little innocent with me. I know –'

‘Hey!' Cam interrupts rather rudely. ‘You haven't told me about the baby.'

‘What baby?' asks CJ, dropping the Barbie back on the pile and bestowing her attention upon me. ‘Hab you got a baby now?'

‘My daughter had a baby,' I explain to her. ‘Yesterday. On my carpet.'

‘On your
carpet
!' says Cam, astounded. ‘Nobody told me that! What was Bronte doing at your house? Where was Nick? Don't tell me – you
didn't
deliver it, did you?'

‘Hang on,' I laugh, ‘slow down! Firstly, yes – on my carpet. Secondly, she came around in the middle of the night because she didn't feel well and Nick was at work. And, thirdly, yes I delivered it. And did a pretty good job too, if I say so myself.'

‘Wow! How did you know what to do?'

‘I didn't. She did most of it and I just went along for the ride. Stephen from next door helped as well. Although he fainted when we got to the main bit. The ambulance guys got there after it was all over. And if you don't believe me, I've got the proof – a bloody great stain right in front of the couch that the carpet cleaners can't get out.'

‘Terry, I'm impressed.' Cam is still looking stunned. ‘You, of all people!'

‘What do you mean, me of all people?' I ask curiously.

‘Well, you're not usually the most hands-on type of mother, you know. And you freak if anyone drops a pretzel on your carpet. Let alone a baby.'

‘That's not quite fair,' I frown at Cam. ‘So I'm a tad neat – so what?'

‘A
tad
neat?'

‘But, if the baby came out on the carpet,' says CJ slowly, ‘then where did it come out
from
?'

‘From?' repeats Cam, with a confused look at her daughter. ‘What do you mean – from?'

‘Well, Auntie Diane had her babies in the hospital so I thought that . . . well . . .' CJ thinks furiously. ‘See, if the baby was in Bronte's tummy and it was all ready, and then it came out – well, Terry, you were there, you must hab seen it get out –
where
did it come from?'

‘I'm sure your mum will explain the whole process to you later,' I smirk at Cam agreeably. ‘I'd tell you myself but I'll be too busy tidying my house.'

‘But I want to know
now
. Because there's nowhere big enough for a whole baby to come out from.' CJ pauses for a second, and then continues rather doubtfully: ‘
Is
there?'

We are saved from answering this age-old query by the sound of a car honking in the driveway. Glancing with relief at each other, we both head towards the front door and, with CJ bouncing beside us and still requesting some answers, go outside to greet Joanne.

The car she is driving is a huge bronze 4WD that makes my little hatchback look like it is in desperate need of steroids. Joanne grins and waves excitedly from up behind the steering wheel before pounding the horn once more for good measure. I flinch and put my hand to my head.

‘She's here!' Cam states needlessly as she goes over to greet the new arrival. Even CJ momentarily stops her rather irritating bouncing. I wander over to the garden, pick up the Rollerblade from the top of the shrub and place it carefully on the edge of the porch so that it will be easily found later on. Then I walk over to the 4WD to give Joanne, who has clambered down from the driver's seat, a welcoming smile. But instead my eyes are irresistibly drawn to the apparition that is slowly emerging from the passenger side of the car. Because it looks for all the world like a human praying mantis. Out of the corner of my eye I notice that Cam is now staring transfixed as well and, next to her, Joanne is looking on with a huge grin.

The praying mantis unfolds his various lengthy limbs and gradually turns into a very gangly, very badly dressed adult male of about my age. I focus on his lower half simply because the boniness of his knees demands that I do so. And, even apart from the knees, there should definitely be a law regarding the wearing of shorts by anyone that thin. Especially in winter. They are what my father would have called ‘walking shorts', crisply pleated in a pale mustard colour reminiscent of the effluent of breastfed babies. The hideous shorts, and the bony knees below, proceed to advance towards us in an unexpectedly coordinated fashion.

‘Richard,' the owner of the knees announces in a deep, melodious voice as he folds Cam's hand within both of his and gives it an enthusiastic shake. ‘You're Camilla. Ah, pleased. Very pleased.'

‘Likewise,' stutters Cam as she tries to disengage her hand. Joanne beams at them both while CJ scuttles closer to her mother's side and stares up at the apparition with her mouth hanging open. Miracles will never cease – this is the longest I've ever seen her go without contributing to the conversation.

‘Mummy, who's
that
?'

‘I'd better make introductions.' Joanne is still beaming happily. ‘Cam, Terry – this is my friend, Richard. Richard – my old friends, Cam and Terry. And this is Cam's youngest daughter, CJ.'

‘Tad less of the old, thanks,' I comment dryly as it's my turn to have my hand enveloped in Richard's and given a vigorous shaking that makes me wish I had worn a more supportive bra. When the shaking eases off, I look up at Richard with the vague intention of muttering something polite and noncommittal once I'm able to focus – but instead my world promptly collapses as I fall in love at first sight for the second time in my life.

Everything around me suddenly ceases motion as I literally feel the blood drain away from my face. I can't seem to take my eyes away from the person peering down at me yet, try as I might, I also can't quite register any of his details. Instead, my stomach leaps into my chest cavity where, of course, there's no spare room for it and the subsequent compression causes my breathing to become rather restricted. I gasp for air involuntarily and, as if it was just waiting for some small action from me, the world suddenly comes back into play. I lean against my car in shock.