Odd Socks by Ilsa Evans Page A

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 forgotearlier, 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, myheart 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.
    â€˜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 .
    â€˜Hello? Cam? Anybody?’ I meander into the lounge-room where, from its