Odd Socks by Ilsa Evans Read Free Book Online Page A

either; nowadays she’s so vague that sometimes even entire conversations seem to pass her by. But, total twit or not, her huge, warm personality more than makes up for her lack in other areas. She is one of the most non-judgemental, kind-hearted, truly generous people I’ve ever met and, as much as she might frustrate the hell out of me at times, I love her dearly. She did a marvellous job of bringing us up and our snug, loving, secure childhood home was due in no small part to her warmth and family devotion. Even today, I know she’s always there for me whenever I need her.
    And she’s also still beautiful. Petite, fine-boned, fluffy and blue-eyed – sort of like a pocket Barbie doll – with her hair now an artfully tinted blonde to hide the encroaching grey. Although, personally, I don’t know that I’d bother – if she left it alone then at least she’d have some grey matter around her cranial region.
    Funnily enough, the predilection for clouding the gene pool must pass through the male gene – because my brother certainly did his utmost to better Dad’s choice. Needless to say, I don’t get on terribly well with my sister-in-law but I’ve got to admit their marriage seems blissfully content. Just like that of our parents, who worshipped the ground the other walked on until my father died five years ago. Now Mum just worships the ground that covers him.
    I run my fingers through my hair and then glance at my watch, deciding it might be prudent to go inside and hurry her along. The odds are she’s forgotten I’m even out here and is having an early lunch or something. Just as I get out of the car, the front door opens again and there’s my mother, now dressed in a pair of tailored black pants and a lilac cable-knit jumper, and carrying a brightly wrapped gift.
    The gentleman planting daisies pauses as she walks past and doffs his hat politely. If I were on the receiving end of such a gesture I’d stop dead in shock, but she is so used to that sort of reaction she just smiles sweetly back and then walks over towards me. She might be a kangaroo short in the top paddock but, even at the age of sixty-four, men seem to fall all over themselves to protect her. I only wish I had half her good looks and the small bones to go with them. Nobody ever gets an urge to defend you when you’re built like one of Wagner’s Valkyries. And clothes just don’t seem to hang the same either.
    â€˜Shall we, honey?’
    â€˜Of course.’ I get back into the car and start the engine as she settles herself neatly on the passenger side. I reverse deftly and we head off in the direction of the William Angliss Hospital in Upper Ferntree Gully.
    â€˜You must’ve moved pretty quickly,’ I say, looking at the gift in her lap. ‘I mean, I only rang you a couple of hours ago.’
    â€˜Oh, I didn’t get it this morning!’ says Mum with a laugh. ‘I bought this gift months ago! It’s a baby monitor set but I’ve already told Bronte so she didn’t double up. What did you get her?’
    â€˜Um. Well, nothing yet. Because I want to wait and see what she really needs.’
    â€˜Very sensible.’
    â€˜Yes, I thought so.’
    â€˜And what chilly weather we’re having,’ says Mum conversationally as I whip around a string of cars driving very slowly. ‘What a lovely surprise.’
    â€˜Well, it is winter – so it’s sort of expected, I suppose.’
    â€˜Not the weather.’ Mum smiles jovially at me. ‘I watched the news last night.’
    â€˜The news was a surprise?’ I ask as I find myself right behinda big black hearse and realise that all the slow cars were actually driving that way for a reason. ‘Why? What happened?’
    â€˜When?’ Mum looks at me with a frown.
    â€˜On the news. The surprise.’
    â€˜Oh, I don’t know. I only watch the