Odd Socks (35 page)

‘Of course,' says Diane, rolling her eyes at me. ‘So, Terry– I think we may just have pulled it off!'

‘Good on us!'

‘And I've been meaning to ask you, Teresa, what on earth happened to your carpet?' Rose gestures towards the next room. ‘There's a
terribly
unsightly stain!'

‘Oh, Mum did that,' says Bronte, passing through with Nick in tow, ‘with some red wine.'

‘On your brand-new carpet!' says Mum. ‘What a shame!'

‘Tsk.' Rose closes her eyes briefly, as if in physical pain. ‘Perhaps you should confine your drinking to the wet areas in future. If you must drink at all, that is.'

‘I must,' I reply truthfully.

‘Well, as they say, to each his or her own. Oh, and listen, Teresa –' Rose dismisses my drinking habits as she wipes her hands on a tea-towel ‘– I'm sure you don't mind but I took it upon myself to invite two more people.'

‘What's two more when you've got over a hundred?' I ask rhetorically, glancing at Diane who smiles in sympathy.

‘Yes, so I asked my son and his friend.'

‘Your son?' I repeat stupidly, my head whipping around to face her as I try to take this in. ‘Your
son
?'

‘Yes, it has a ring to it, doesn't it?' Rose takes a deep breath and smiles happily. ‘My son.'

‘Your
son
? You mean –
Richard
?'

‘You seem to be having difficulty taking this in, Teresa.' Rose frowns at me. ‘Are you on any medication?'

‘I wish,' I mutter as I glance around for a saviour. Unexpectedly it arrives in the form of Elizabeth, dressed in
ultra
-skin-tight black leather pants and a loose white v-neck jumper. She sashays slowly over to where we are standing and leans against the island bench, smiling a general greeting.

‘Why are you walking strangely?' asks her mother, looking with thin lips at the leather pants. ‘Well, Elizabeth?'

‘I'd say it's the pants,' comments Diane helpfully as Elizabeth seems incapable of speech. ‘I'm stunned she can move at all.'

‘She looks like she's had an accident,' says Rose dismissively.

‘Thanks,
Diane
!' Elizabeth finds her voice. ‘Thanks a bloody lot!'

‘Hey, what did
I
do?'

Phillip arrives in the kitchen area with his arms full of dessert platters and gazes with resignation at the scene unfolding before him. I send him a sympathetic smile and make my escape by tugging open the French doors and disappearing into the grotto.

And it's like entering another world. A slightly cooler world, but one that's beautiful nevertheless. It looked great last night, but the extra hour David spent here this morning has sealed the deal. Lush greenery surrounds my white wrought-iron outdoor setting and Stephen's green one. Ivy and long-stemmed roses have been twined around the columns supporting the roof, and copious branches of something dripping with clusters of tiny white buds have been secured to the beams so that it looks like the ceiling is positively cloudy with blossoms. The fountain has been switched on and water bubbles up and then spills into the bowl, which has been filled with white petals. It all looks amazing.

The only things that seem out of place in the little wonderland are the small fan heater that has been placed on top of the barbecue, the super-large Esky squatting in front of it – and the three men lounging comfortably at the green wrought-iron table.

‘What do you think?' asks David proudly, waving his hand around his magical paradise. ‘Pretty damn good, eh?'

‘Fantastic,' I reply admiringly, ‘absolutely fantastic!'

‘Who would have thought the old bloke had it in him?' asks Alex with a grin.

‘Yeah, he should be in interior decorating,' Dennis says before taking a sip of beer.

‘Well, you all look like you've made yourselves at home anyway.' I glance at the open beers, the platter of savouries, and the fully loaded Esky. ‘Settled in for the duration, have we?'

‘Indubitably,' says David, putting his feet up on the Esky and leaning back. ‘Mind you, we had to fight for possession.'

‘Nick and Bronte,' explains Dennis. ‘Just because they were here first!'

‘What a cheek!' adds Alex.

I look at them enviously. ‘Save a chair for me, okay? I'll be back out as soon as I can.'

‘Sure – but it'll cost you.' Dennis leers suggestively at my exposed midriff.

‘You can sit near me.' Alex pats the chair next to him. ‘Then you'll be safe.'

‘I'll hold you to that.' I smile at him and quickly memorise what he is wearing – gunmetal grey suit and black open-necked shirt – so I can assure Cam that at least one of her lot is dressed decently. Then I duck back through the French doors and close them securely behind me to keep the heat inside. Rose is still queen of the kitchen and Harold has now joined her, so everything there is well under control. Elizabeth and Diane have moved away and are deep in conversation. I catch the word ‘brother' and ‘Richard' and keep walking. The lounge-room is even more crowded than it was earlier so I decide to go upstairs and check on Cam's progress. Halfway up are Ben and Michael, who are sitting on either side of a stair with a Gameboy each and a cable linking the two. I leap nimbly over the cable and take note that Ben is also reasonably dressed in neat black jeans and a patterned shirt.

When I get to the landing, I realise there is noise coming from each of the rooms up here. I open Bronte's room first to see what's going on. There is a crowd of young females and a few young males in various positions on her bed. Some sitting, some lying – but all fully dressed. I spot Sam, Cam's eldest, on the periphery and take a mental note of her flared denim hipsters and black roll-neck before my attention switches to centre-stage and my daughter, who appears to be thoroughly enjoying her moment in the sun. She is reclining on a pile of pillows in the middle of the bed with Sherry draped across her lap while she entertains the crowd with details of her recent labour. They seem to be lapping it up.

‘Carry on,' I say needlessly as I shut the door again and open the study door instead.

‘Hey, Terry,' says Evan, swivelling around on the chair, ‘is this okay?'

‘Bronte said we could use the computer,' adds Chris.

‘It's fine. Do you know the password?'

‘Oh, you don't
need
a password,' says Evan, turning around to the keyboard again. ‘All you need to do is press this, and then this – and you're in.'

‘Everyone knows that,' adds Chris dismissively.

‘Of course,' I agree airily, shutting the door and then opening my own.

‘Where have you been?' Maggie looks at me with relief. ‘We've got a problem.'

‘What?' I ask, moving over to the bed and sitting down beside Cam who, although looking decidedly less red, is still looking miserable. ‘What's up?'

‘She can't talk.' Maggie throws a tube of foundation into the wicker basket. ‘The bottom half of her face's gone numb.'

‘You're kidding!'

‘Nope.'

‘Wow! I knew it was good stuff but – wow!'

‘Hmm.' Maggie looks at Cam. ‘So what now?'

‘Well, it should wear off soon, so I suppose the best bet is for Cam to just stay here until it does. What do you think?'

‘I suppose,' Maggie replies slowly while Cam narrows her eyes at me. She looks surprisingly like her mother when she does that, but I don't think I'll share this pearl with her right now.

‘Okay, all settled!' I say with a smile. ‘Now, would you like a book, Cam? I've got
Gone with the Wind
right here – barely touched.'

‘No – I'll stay with her.' Maggie picks up the wicker basket and moves it over to a bedside table. ‘You go see to your guests and I'll keep Cam company.'

‘You sure?'

‘Absolutely.' Maggie smiles at Cam, who is going rather cross-eyed while prodding at her chin. ‘After all, I love a captive audience. And I'm sure she's read
Gone with the Wind
, anyway. Who hasn't?'

‘Hullahumph,' says Cam, without moving her lips, as she gestures towards her clothing. ‘Hureaf?'

‘Yes, I've seen them and they're all well-dressed, so I'll leave you guys to it and bring you back some drinks.'

‘
Hease!
' Cam says enthusiastically.

I get up off the bed and, after giving them both a sympathetic grin, exit the room again. I head down the stairs, over the Gameboy cable, and come face to face with CJ in the foyer. She is hand-in-hand with a little dark-haired girl of about the same age and both are wearing party dresses, one sky-blue and the other rose-pink, with black stockings and patent leather shoes. Which is a relief, seeing as I just blithely informed her mother that she was looking decent.

‘Terry!' CJ greets me with considerably more enthusiasm than usual. ‘Hab you got any games for us to play?'

‘It's not that sort of party, CJ.'

‘No, not
party
games – you know, like proper games?'

‘Oh I see.' I point up to the landing at the top of the stairs. ‘If you go up there, you'll find a big cupboard and there's some old games of Bronte's in there. Help yourself. And watch out for that cable there!'

The two little girls dance up the stairs and perform a neat synchronised skip over the cable joining the two boys. They continue up in the direction of the landing, and I continue down in the direction of my guests. As I reach the foyer, there's a knock on the door so I open it and a coven of girls, aged twenty-something and dressed entirely in black, crowd in and pass me several gifts. I point up the stairs.

‘She's in her room.'

‘Cool,' says the coven leader as they troop past me. After watching them ascend the stairs like an upwardly mobile mudslide, I adjust my armful of presents and shut the door. Someone on the other side immediately knocks so I open it again.

‘Pat! Trevor! Bob!' I say with surprise as I see my Saturday tennis team.

‘Well, don't sound so shocked!' says Pat loudly, putting a silver-wrapped gift on top of the pile in my arms. ‘We did get an invite, you know!'

‘Of course, of course,' I say quickly to cover my confusion. But I
had
forgotten for a moment that Bronte played in my team for about three seasons until she fell pregnant.

‘So where's this baby?' asks Pat, looking around. ‘I want to see the reason we don't have a star player anymore.'

‘Upstairs – in Bronte's room.' I shut the door and watch them head upstairs. Pat is being a trifle generous when she calls Bronte our star player because Bronte, although she plays a beautiful textbook game of tennis, has all the killer instinct of
a dodo bird. If her doubles partners don't take matters into their own hands, they can just about take a nap at the net waiting for her to finish a rally.

Carrying the presents, I walk into the lounge-room and the wizened elderly lady in the armchair hits me hard in the shin with her cane. Right on the bruise I got on Tuesday from the Rollerblade. I whip around and look at her angrily but she just looks implacably back. So, rubbing my shin, I decide she's probably either senile or doesn't realise she just caused me serious injury. I limp over to the card table in the corner and deposit the pile of gifts on top of the rapidly growing heap. Then I turn to Diane, who is replenishing the food tables with an array of delicacies.

‘How's it going?'

‘Fine. But have you seen Cam?' she asks curiously as she moves a platter of dip and crackers to make room for some savoury vol-au-vents. ‘The kids are all here, but I haven't seen her.'

‘She's upstairs.' I grin at her wryly. ‘And don't ask.'

‘Is she okay?' asks Diane with concern.

‘She will be,' I say optimistically as we head towards the kitchen.

When we get there, I lean against the island bench while she continues over to the sink, where she dumps her tray. Through the French doors I can see the male bonding group has increased to include Fergus. They seem to be having an excellent time and I wish I could join them. Then I look over towards the other outdoor setting and immediately change my mind. Because there's Elizabeth and Phillip and Joanne – and Richard. My internal organs immediately start playing twister again as he catches sight of me and smiles hesitantly in my general direction. I smile hesitantly back, widening my eyes to make sure I don't blink.

‘Well, well, well. Aren't you going to at least say hello?'

I turn around at the sound of this vaguely familiar masculine voice and, after doing an immediate double-take, leap up into his arms and wrap my legs around his midriff.

‘
Tom!
'

‘In the flesh,' he groans, and staggers backwards. ‘Christ! Good to see you're still eating well!'

‘Hell!' I jump down before he collapses and stand in front of him, grinning for all I'm worth. ‘Where did
you
come from?'

‘Not hell, anyway – although sometimes it –'

‘America!' says my mother, taking hold of one of Tom's hands and beaming up at him with delight. ‘He came from America! Last night!'

‘Let me look at you.' I stand back and examine him. My brother and I look quite similar – both blonde and blue-eyed – but he also happens to be one of the few people who make me feel short. He is six foot six in his socks, and with a generous build to match.

‘Do I pass muster?' he asks with a distinct American twang.

‘Sure do. But how come you're here?' I ask him curiously. ‘And did anyone
know
you were coming? Did you know you're getting an American accent? And how long are you staying?'

‘One at a time,' says Tom, looking rather pleased with himself. ‘I've only been here five minutes – just walked in! And I've got a week before I have to fly out. As to
why
I'm here, I had a meeting coming up in Melbourne in about a month so, when I got Bronte's email, I just pulled a few strings and – well, here we are!'