Odd Socks (40 page)

Over by the island bench I can see Maggie having a heart to heart with Cam, which is interspersed by some pointing in my direction. I'd say Cam is trying to explain away the Rudolph business without having to admit to decking the halls with Santa on Tuesday. Maggie looks less than convinced.

A sticky little hand grasps my leg firmly and I move away from the playpen as I wipe my pants down. The twin who had tried to snare me waves her fingers menacingly so I move away a bit more.

‘Terry!' says Alex, joining me in the corner, ‘I need to talk to you.'

‘Really?' I ask, still cleaning my pants. ‘What about?'

‘Two things. The first has more to do with Ben than me but
I need your advice. You know how we, that is Ben and I, have been getting on quite well lately?' He pauses while I nod agreement. ‘Well, he came up with this rather odd story the other day. Apparently a few months ago he took a video of his
mother in the bath – stop grinning. It gets worse, because he sent it to that TV show,
Funniest Home Videos
.'

‘Wow!' I straighten up and give him my full attention. ‘You're kidding!'

‘No, unfortunately I'm not,' says Alex with a sigh. ‘Anyway, he showed me this letter they'd sent him about how they were just letting him know not to be concerned that it hadn't been shown. That due to its nature, it was being put with similar videos to be screened on a special show they were running later in the year called
Naughtiest Home Videos
.'

‘Bugger!'

‘Precisely. So here's my dilemma – do I tell Cam and have Ben never forgive me, or do I keep quiet and have Cam never forgive me? What do you think?'

‘I think I'm glad I'm not you,' I reply as I chew my lip thoughtfully, ‘but why did Ben tell you in the first place? Maybe that's a sign
he's
having second thoughts?'

‘Don't think so.' Alex shakes his head glumly. ‘We were doing this swapping secrets thing. His idea. See, I had to tell him a secret and then he told me one, and now we wait six months to see who can, and who can't, be trusted. This was his secret.'

‘Damn,' I comment, ‘double damn.'

‘Is that all you've got to offer?' Alex frowns at me. ‘No pearls of wisdom?'

‘Actually . . . ' I chew my lip a bit more. ‘No. You're stuck between the proverbial rock and whatever.'

‘Thanks.'

‘So what else can I help you with?'

‘I'm not sure if it's worth telling you now,' comments Alex. ‘You're not exactly proving to be a fount of advice, are you?'

‘Ho, ho, ho.' I look at him and smile. ‘That's my impression of Santa, you know.'

‘Very funny.' Alex grins. ‘So you knew it was me, then?'

‘Dag,' I reply fondly, ‘who doesn't? But I mean, Alex –
Santa Claus
?'

‘There's nothing wrong with the jolly old guy,' says Alex, still grinning, ‘and all that happened was that we were cleaning out her garage and found the suit. Apparently it'd been used for a playgroup fundraiser years ago. Anyway, one thing led to another and . . .'

‘Of course,' I comment sarcastically, ‘the first thing anybody thinks of when finding an old Santa suit is to immediately don a pair of antlers and leap into bed. It's only natural.'

‘Not when you put it like that,' replies Alex, looking around to make sure we're not being overheard. ‘And now to my next problem. See, I've been sounded out at work for a one-year posting to Hong Kong. It's not mandatory, but if I don't take it my promotion chances long-term are nil.'

‘Wow! When would you be going?'

‘Probably around Christmas.'

‘Ah.' I snap my fingers at him. ‘
That
explains the early festivities!'

‘Be serious,' Alex frowns at me, ‘because I want Cam to come too. What do you think my chances are?'

‘What about the kids?'

‘I've thought it all through,' Alex continues. ‘Sam'll be just about ready to join the army by then so she could stay here with Diane till she actually leaves. Ben could come with us, and so could CJ. It's only for a year.'

‘So why are you telling me all this?' I ask. ‘Why not tell Cam?'

‘Because I don't want to mention anything to her until it's certain – I don't want to jeopardise what we have.' Alex glances around to make sure his beloved isn't approaching. ‘But I want to have an idea of how she'll react. So – how do
you
think she'll react?'

‘No idea.'

‘Christ, you really aren't helpful, are you?' Alex shakes his head ruefully. ‘What the hell do you two talk about on those Friday nights of yours if you can't even give each other any advice?'

‘We
can
,' I reply, slightly stung, ‘but we don't usually have humdingers like yours. You want me to be honest? Well, I
don't
know. She's always on at me to be more spontaneous, so she might take the plunge – but on the other hand, she's pretty settled at the moment. Then again, she's having some problems at uni, I believe. But, hang on, don't forget that bastard Keith and won't you need his permission? And then there's Ben and his schooling, but she's always wanted to travel – or maybe that's me . . .'

‘Thanks, Terry.'

‘I haven't finished,' I protest. ‘I was just getting started!'

‘I noticed,' Alex smiles. ‘But I guess I was hoping for something more definite.'

‘Then you'll have to tell her, won't you?'

‘I suppose.' Alex sighs and takes a gulp of beer.

‘Well, I'll leave you with one suggestion.' I fold my arms and attempt to look wise. ‘Confucius say man who does not tell sweetheart about rude videotape must take first opportunity to leave the country – alone.'

‘Yep,' he smiles, and then sighs again. ‘Yep, yep, yep.'

‘Alex, you sound like a depressed dog,' says Cam, coming up behind us. ‘And what are you two talking about, anyway?'

‘Christmas,' I reply promptly. ‘I was just telling Alex how you had inside contacts.'

‘Ha, ha, ha.'

‘No,' I correct her. ‘Ho, ho, ho.'

‘I'm going to ignore you,' says Cam self-righteously, ‘and take the moral high ground.'

‘
That's
a good one – coming from someone who satiates rodents in her spare time.' I smile evilly at Cam. ‘And now you two will have to excuse me while I check what Bronte's up to.'

A certain methodical thump, thump noise warns me of the approach of the feminine mudslide so I stop by the table to let them pass. En masse, with Bronte and child still in the lead, they surge implacably towards the French doors and then flow out onto the terrace, where they form an indistinguishable blob over by the barbecue. They are followed by the rest of the company, who are being helped along at the rear by Rose Riley.

‘Come along, come along,' she says to the stragglers, ‘let's not keep the celebrant waiting, shall we?'

‘All she needs is a bullwhip,' Cam mutters to me as she and Alex fall into line. Even Chris and Evan have been extricated from the study and, eyeing off the group of females swarming by the barbecue, are moving outside with heightened interest. The two little girls, CJ and Bonnie, flit past me and try to dodge between the adults' knees until Cam pulls them over and makes them walk properly. Next come Pat and the two guys, each holding a full glass of beer, and then Fergus moves past with Joanne and, without even looking in my direction, holds the door open for her. I scan the crowd as it moves slowly past me, and my pulse quickens when I realise I can't see Richard anywhere. Dully I make myself face the fact that it looks like he has gone. Without even saying goodbye.

Just as I come to this conclusion, Alex and Cam reach the French doors and, as he stands back to let her through, I notice Alex give her a surreptitious pat on the butt. Without turning around, she slaps her hand against his, and they let their fingers linger against one another's for a second or two before breaking apart and going outside with innocent looks on their faces. But they aren't fooling anybody – except maybe themselves.

Stephen and Sven have already gone outside, so now Mum and Tom stand up from the table and, taking their glasses, follow Uncle Laurie and Aunt June through to the terrace. And suddenly I'm alone. Except, that is, for the twins – one of whom is fast asleep in a corner of the playpen, while the other looks like she is attempting to chew her way through the mesh to freedom.

‘Ooogle,' she says, pointing with a fat, damp finger towards her escape route.

‘I agree,' I reply, trying to decide whether to join the service taking place on my terrace or to stay here and think. Of course, I
should
be outside but I can't quite bring myself to it. Instead, I start collecting discarded plates and glasses and take them over to stack neatly by the sink. Through the window I can see the celebrant, standing by the barbecue and talking to the gathered crowd, which spills out from under the covered area and onto the extended terrace. Luckily the rain is still holding off.

‘Spare a minute?'

I turn around and there he is – standing by the island bench with a black overcoat draped over one arm and holding a brown overnight bag in the other. I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out.

‘Bad time, I know,' Richard says apologetically, ‘but I've only got a few minutes. Taxi's on its way.'

‘No, fine – that's fine.' I wipe my hands on the tea-towel and glance quickly outside. But the only person paying any attention to us is Cam, who gives me a surreptitious thumbs-up sign and a huge grin.

‘Sure?' asks Richard.

‘Yes, that's fine,' I repeat, ‘come on, let's go outside and then we'll see the taxi when it gets here.'

‘Great.'

‘Have you said goodbye to everyone?' I inquire as I come out of the kitchen. ‘Rose and the girls?'

‘Everyone I could find.'

‘Good.' I walk around the corner into the lounge-room and there, still sitting on her armchair, is the wizened old dragon, who immediately fastens me with a venomous glare.

‘She took my cane!' she shrieks at Richard. ‘She took my cane!'

‘Really?' asks Richard of me.

‘Of course not.' I smile at her sweetly on the way past. ‘Poor old thing.'

‘I'm reporting you, girlie,' she screams after us, ‘just you wait!'

I open the front door and a gust of wind immediately turns my artful waterfall into a geyser, and then slams the door shut behind us. There are cars lined up and down my driveway and all the way up the street. I spot Fergus's distinctive yellow panel van and feel a frisson of guilt gnaw at the excitement that is churning inside – but it can't destroy it. We walk out onto the porch and I lean against the column, shivering. Richard puts his bag down, shakes his overcoat out and drapes it around my shoulders.

‘Warmer?' he asks me solicitously.

‘Yes thanks.' I smile at him while I breathe in the scent of the coat. ‘Much.'

‘You're beautiful,' he says simply, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and looking down at me.

‘Oh. Um.'

‘You know before,' he says, looking up the street towards the corner, ‘when I said . . . what I said?'

‘Yes.'

‘You know what I said then?'

‘Yes.'

‘I meant it. And wait –' he removes one hand from his pocket and holds it up but still doesn't look at me ‘– just let me get it over with. See, I'm not good at any of this. Haven't dated since . . . well, for a long time and even then, wasn't my strong suit. But, well, I like you and I think you might like me . . . do you?'

‘Yes.'

‘Ah, good.' Richard finally looks at me and his eyes start twinkling. ‘Incredible, isn't it? Came here thinking I'd find, well, missing jigsaw pieces – and found you. But maybe, well . . . maybe you're the missing jigsaw piece I
really
need. The other ones are decoration, background –
you're
for real. Make sense?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then come with me.' Richard suddenly puts his hand against the column and leans across me. ‘Come with me. I'll cancel the taxi, change my flight and we'll leave later. Spend a week with me and see where it takes us. I've got a meeting tomorrow but the rest of the week off. And Eve – my daughter – well, she's not due till Friday. Meet my grandmother and uncles. I'll show you round – what do you say?'

‘To Tasmania?' I say, dumbfounded. ‘You want me to come to Tasmania?'

‘Yes – come with me.' He looks at me and I realise his eyes aren't twinkling anymore. ‘You'll love it. No strings. Just want to get to know you, talk to you. For hours and just . . . explore you. Say yes.'

‘But . . .' I think of the million reasons why I can't do what he's suggesting, but find it hard to articulate them. Which is odd because
he
is usually the one who has trouble with words, and yet he's the one who's saying everything just right. While I'm trying to come up with an answer, I hear the sound of an engine and turn around to see a yellow taxi coasting to a halt
at the end of the driveway. The driver honks and then, with his engine idling, opens the passenger window and leans across to yell over at us.

‘Are you Berry, mate? Any bags?'

‘Yes, it's Berry and no – no bags,' calls Richard. ‘With you in a minute!'

‘Where
are
your bags?' I ask, trying to put off my answer.

‘Airport locker,' he replies shortly before leaning even closer. ‘Come on, Terry – what do you say?'

‘I can't.' I take a deep breath and repeat myself. ‘I can't. Sorry.'

‘But why? Why not?' Richard lets go of the column and puts a hand on each of my shoulders. ‘Don't you
want
to?'