Odd Socks by Ilsa Evans

I smile in gratitude. They both smile back and raise a gloved hand each in farewell. Then, hand-in-hand, they stroll down the path to the outer reaches of the park and back towards suburbia. I turn the ignition over and put the heater on full as I rub my hands together and watch the couple go. Every bone in my body aches from cold and stiffness. Forty-one is clearly too old to be able to fall asleep in a car and suffer no ill effects. I might seem like a young lady from that old guy’s perspective, but it sure doesn’t feel like it from mine. I stretch out painfully and groan.
    What on earth am I doing here when I’ve got a perfectly nice, warm home to go to? I shake my head and sigh. The elderly couple have now reached the highway and are waiting for the lights to change. He lets go of her hand and, instead, puts his arm over her shoulders and pulls her closer. I watch them as I wait for my kinks to warm up and suddenly wonder whether Bronte will still be with Nick at their age – whether she will have someone she’s so evidently close to, to wander with hand-in-hand through a tree-lined park in winter.
    And I wonder if I will.

TUESDAY
    Handy Household Hint No VII:

    A successful dinner party hinges on a beautifully laid table. This is all the more crucial if your skills as a cook leave something to be desired, as the attention of your guests will thus be distracted from the standard of your fare.

TUESDAY
0920 hrs

    â€˜What did you do, lady, slaughter someone in ’ere?’ The carpet cleaner, who could easily be that horrid ambulance man’s clone but for his blue bib-and-brace overalls, stares with awe at the big stain in front of my couch. To my untrained eye, it appears to have spread.
    â€˜That’s right,’ I reply jovially. ‘That’s all that’s left of the last guy who couldn’t get my carpet clean.’
    â€˜Funny,’ he says, visibly unamused.
    I feel a bit embarrassed now so I speak quickly: ‘It’s from my daughter. You see, she gave birth there yesterday. On the carpet. So it’s a birthmark – get it? A birth mark , because she . . . oh, okay.’
    I peter out in the face of his stony silence. After I finish rambling, he looks slowly from me to the stain and then back again, obviously having trouble digesting the information. His offsider, a very plump guy who is completely bald and has a gold stud through one side of his enormous hooked nose, comes trundling in dragging some machinery behind him.
    â€˜Look ’ere, Matt,’ says the first guy, ‘some bird ’ad a baby ’ere yesterday.’
    â€˜On the carpet?’
    â€˜Yep. So they say.’
    â€˜On the carpet ?’
    â€˜Yep.’
    â€˜Bloody hell.’
    â€˜Yep.’
    â€˜Haven’t they heard of hospitals?’
    â€˜Actually,’ I chime in, getting pretty irritated, ‘we have heard of hospitals, thank you. There just wasn’t time.’
    â€˜Bloody hell.’
    â€˜Yep.’
    â€˜So, what can you do?’ I decide that this could go on and on unless I get them to the point. ‘Can you get it out or not?’
    â€˜Let’s see . . .’ Matt props one elbow on the machinery he has dragged in, and contemplates the stain. ‘Hmm. Bloody hell.’
    â€˜Yep.’
    â€˜Perhaps I should just leave you to it?’ I suggest with annoyance, ‘and you can let me know after you’ve discussed it.’
    â€˜So what’re we talking here?’ asks Matt, looking at me for the first time.
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜Fluids. What’re we talking?’ Matt points at the stain with his foot. ‘I’m guessing bit o’ blood, some amniotic fluid – that be about it?’
    â€˜Well, we didn’t stop for a glass of red wine, if that’s what you mean,’ I say sarcastically. ‘Why, does it matter?’
    â€˜Of course!’ sniffs Matt. ‘And you