A Pair of Lost Socks

Max was sure he detected a hint of a smile at the edges of Heather's lips again. "It's not the flu, Dad. You need to realise it's serious shit and our immune systems don't know how to handle it."

"Okay, okay...let's stop thinking about it right now and get lunch. We'll worry about the other stuff later."

"Sure, but I'm still going to have a chat with Mum, see what she says."

"I think you're wasting your breath." Then Max grinned. "Maybe I can stay with you and Tim's Irish friend, Kathy."

Heather snorted a laugh. "A girl gives you a little attention and suddenly you think she want's you. Don't be a dirty old man."

"I can always live in hope," Max said, chuckling.

"Anyway, she's a nurse too, so not even an option, even if it was your lucky day."

"A man could do with some nursing every now and then."

Heather chuckled and shook her head, then they walked on in silence to buy their fish-and-chips, sitting by the water, huddling close with their meal between them, fending off the persistent gulls. They blew on hot chips and ate juicy steaming pieces of fish, and Max looked across the little port where the old work boats were moored, over to where he'd once parked his Torana next to a rusting old Dodge truck, and where he met Heather's mother, whom he gave his heart and soul.

Closing his eyes, he pictured her, Yvonne, the woman he'd married thirty-five years previously, and was still legally married to, even if she'd walked out on him fourteen-years ago. Yvonne - Heather's Mum, and Ryan's Mum, and Justin's Mum too, rest his soul.

Max took a deep breath, and opened his eyes, expecting to see her with sun glowing off her blond hair, but the world was changed and not even the Robinson's fish-and-chip shop existed anymore. Seeing Heather tucking into a piece of fish in his peripheral vision, he thought, Every moment was worth it, even if it didn't work out how I expected...

Looking ahead, eventually his eyes settled on the mountain in the west, with its green-grey slopes of bushland and great rocky cliffs overlooking the city, and he remembered how he used to run there, for fitness back when he played football. There were dark clouds building near the mountain's summit.

"I think it's gonna rain later," he whispered to himself.

"Clouds are dark so maybe a storm's coming," Heather said, blowing on a chip.

And Max thought of this new disease sweeping the globe, the increasing news reports suggesting a potential storm of global proportions, and he looked to his daughter beside him, a baby growing inside her, and he wondered what the future held; wondering if things would change forever.

~0~

Tim arrived home, dumping an eight-pack of three-ply toilet paper on the floor and grinned. "Last packet of poo tickets in the whole damn supermarket. You wouldn't believe how many old women I fought off to nab this...but they're all dead now."

"You're such a brave provider for our little family, taking down feisty old grannies," Heather said, clasping her hands over her heart with great exaggeration.

Tim grinned. "Hey, the apocalypse is coming and it's quick and the dead out there with people fighting over dunny paper before the excrement hits the fan."

Heather gestured to the toilet paper. "And now we're totally prepared for when it happens!"

"Prepared for when shit happens," Tim said with a smirk. "In all seriousness, though, it's truly getting crazy out there. People are stocking up on up on the weirdest things, like, I reckon every second trolley was loaded with at least a couple of bags of flour, like everyone's suddenly going to bake bread rather than buy it. I didn't even think so many people knew how to bake, and I even wondered if I should buy some flour before I realised I don't even know where to start when it comes to making bread!"

Heather still smirked. "All those grannies know how to bake, you could ask them around here next time rather than take them down."

Tim grinned. "Yeah, nah, I can't go back there because they'll be ready to avenge their friend with their walking sticks and handbags!"

"You're such a dag," Heather laughed, and they hugged, sharing a lingering kiss.

Max turned away, still unsure where to look when his daughter and son-in-law were affectionate, which was pretty much most of the time. Not in his face, mind you, and he smiled at their regular little touches, lots of gentle kisses, their shared looks of pure love. He was more than happy to see Heather and Tim were in love and happy, because what made Heather happy made Max beyond happy.

And Tim was a great bloke; the big Queenslander tall and fit, with brown hair and blue eyes, and who worked hard and played hard. He was the perfect match for Heather, and Max loved the way they interacted. But they needed room, their own room, and Max always felt he was intruding.

"Did you hear the news?" Tim asked, un-packing the rest of the groceries and placing them in the cupboard and fridge. "The Government's finally beginning to take things a bit more seriously with the coronavirus and limiting public gatherings."

Heather chopped an onion on the kitchen bench. "Yeah, I heard. They're still allowing people to go to football matches though."

"Ah, yeah, which reminds me, real footy's starting up tonight. Cowboys are going to clobber the Broncos."

Heather turned, her eyes red from onion fumes, but a grin formed on her lips. "You know the rules of this house state League's not real footy..."

"It's Rugby League to you, Cogs," Tim said, winking at Heather. "It's not a dirty word you know."

"Is in this house," she said, grinning coyly. "Actual real footy's starting up next week, and first game the Hawks are gonna take down your Lions."

"In your dreams..."

Max smiled at Heather and Tim's banter, recalling a time when he and Yvonne bantered in their kitchen. He should've anticipated the sudden wave of sadness that came upon him, something he tried so often to shrug off. He'd tell himself, You're a man, snap out of it and move on! But he couldn't.

"I might as well make meself useful," he said, standing, limping over to kitchen. "Can I help you there, love?"

Heather turned and picked up a potato and peeler, handing them over, giving him a smile. "You can't sit and relax for even a minute!"

"You sound exactly like yer mother."

"Yeah, and she'd be right too." But Heather smiled.

Shuffling to Heather's side, he began peeling away, happy to be useful, and Tim smiled at Heather and Max, telling them, "I'm gonna get these disease ridden clothes off and shower."

"We should've hosed you down in the driveway," Heather said with a wink. "Or maybe out on the road."

Tim grinned then left the room, and as far as Max could tell Heather must've made a face, and he smiled too. "I should find me another place and get out of you two's hair, love."

"Don't be silly, Dad." Heather began chopping the skinned potato he handed to her. "Where would you go? Nowhere like the bloody dingy flat you were in, it was bloody horrible with the rising damp mould and drug-fucked mentally unstable neighbours. It's a wonder it wasn't condemned before it was."

"At least it was my own space. You and Tim need your space. Especially with the little one on the way."

"Don't worry about us, you can stay as long as you need to." She turned to face him, her eyes full of love and concern. "And I don't want you feeling like you're a burden, Dad, because you're not."

Max shook his head. "You need your space."

"It's fine, Dad." She grinned. "We have bigger things to worry about than my old man taking up space. Anyway, I'm going to call Mum after tea, I'll say hello for you."

"Yeah, sure."

Later, after tea, which was what the Coughlans always called the evening meal of dinner, Max sat in the lounge room with Tim in front of the TV, both sitting on the adjacent blue leather couches sipping from cans of Cascade Draught. Tim's brand of football, Rugby League, was on the TV, where Tim's team, the North Queensland Cowboys were playing his second team, the Brisbane Broncos.

A Tasmanian through and through, Max suffered minimal exposure to Rugby League until Heather began dating Queenslander Tim; League being the 'football' mostly played in Queensland and New South Wales. Australian Rules Football, the AFL, was the code he'd grown up with, though it was called VFL back in his day, and everyone knew it was real football. But he'd admit to himself he found League a tough and exciting game and he rather enjoyed watching it with Tim and Heather, even if he didn't fully understand the rules.

Occasionally he'd ask Tim a rule or why the referee was blowing his whistle, and Tim appeared to be a wealth of knowledge, having played the game from a young age. But there were rare occasions Tim couldn't explain why the referee had blown his whistle or made a decision, and sometimes he'd throw his hands in the air, asking the TV if the ref even knew the rules and was he blind? Max laughed, saying, "Maybe all refs and umpires from all codes of football around the world are cut from the same cloth, all being a bit dim."

"They're all born blind and biased," Tim laughed and Max smiled, because he genuinely derived pleasure from hanging out with his son-in-law, who he thought of as one of his few remaining cobbers.

"I have this little theory they change the rules of all football codes every few years to keep us fans on our toes."

"Yeah, you're not wrong there, Max. Another beer, mate?"

Max shook his can, listening to the dregs slosh about. "Hmm, I'm not..."

"I'll take your hesitation as a yes, mate."

Max laughed and said, "Sure thing, cobber."

Heather smiled at her father and partner's interactions, from where she drank a glass of water over by the sink.

"Barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, just how I love my women," Tim said to her, grinning, caressing his hand across her belly on the way to the fridge.

"Thin-ice, mister." She pointed to the glazed sliding doors to the back deck. "The doghouse is out there."

"Not again...," Tim whined sarcastically, but grinning too. He whispered, "Speaking of thin-ice, there's ice-cream in the freezer."

"Ooohh, exactly what I was craving...but I have to pop out and warn King you'll be using his bed tonight and he can come in to sleep in your spot."

"Don't let him form bad sleeping habits."

"Why not, better than you getting into the barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, just how I love my women habit," she said, bunging on a facetious tone.

They shared more smirks and smiles and their love was undeniable. Tim opened the fridge, barely illuminating the dark kitchen with its interior light, and Heather did duck out the back to the deck. King, their one year old Alsatian with long gangly legs and huge paws and intelligent eyes, entered the house, nuzzling up to Tim before trotting over to Max for a pat.

"Hey, Kingy boy," Max said, scratching the pup behind the ears, earning a furious tail slapping against his live leg. Heather stayed out back and Max assumed she was talking to her mother. Tim handed him an open beer can encased in a Hawthorn Hawks cooler, and after a while Heather returned indoors, grabbing a bowl of ice-cream and then sat, reclining against Tim on the lounge.

"Mum says Hi to everyone. She also says to give Nana her love and happy birthday wishes tomorrow."

Max raised his eyebrows. "That's nice of her."

"I didn't ask about what we talked about earlier today."

"About you staying with her if this virus thing goes pear-shaped?"

"Yeah...I dunno, I don't want to be a burden to her."

Max smiled. "Ah, the tables have turned."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Don't nothing me, you're not a burden to us, Dad."

He let it drop and Heather finished her ice-cream, placing the bowl on the armrest of the lounge, relaxing with feet up, protesting when Tim stood, but smiling when he kissed her forehead and took her bowl to the kitchen, placing it in the dishwasher, while Heather turned her attention to the puzzle games she sometimes played on her phone.

Max smiled, recalling a time when he'd taken great pleasure in doing things for Yvonne, back in a time when she'd look up from her crossword or jigsaw puzzles, flashing him a loving smile.

Back in the good old days...

~0~

Max gazed across the grey waters of the river Derwent where a large cruise ship manoeuvred into position directly in front of town on the far shore, clouds building over the city and mountain. The ship triggered his memory of Heather mentioning recent events, where a cruise ship off Japan experienced an outbreak of the new corona disease, and he thought of how his oldest friends, Darren and Maureen, were currently on a cruise out of Sydney, and wondered if they'd be affected too.

Nah, he thought, Not down here in Australia, no way.

"You have the front seat, Max," Tim said, calling Max's attention away from thoughts of diseases and friends on cruises, his son-in-law holding open the door of Heather's Subaru Impreza hatch.

"You take it, I'll sit in the back."

"You're as tall as me, mate, and not as flexible. Take the front, it's a shit-load more comfortable."

He knew not to argue, because both Tim and Heather were generous and kind to him, to a fault, and always insisted Max use the front seat, despite Tim's hulking frame and same height as Max. Of course Max was grateful of their generosity, but the irritation gnawed at him because it was a reminder of his struggle to remain independent. He climbed in and Tim closed the door before climbing in the rear, shuffling across to sit behind the driver's seat.

"Ready to go, everyone?" Heather asked when she opened the rear passenger door for King, who bounded up, gave Tim a lick on the face, circled a few times, then settled into the rear left seat behind Max. Climbing into the driver's seat, Heather glanced in the rear-view mirror and smirked. "Brought your puffer jacket, Tim? Might be a bit cold for a Queenslander down the Huon."

"You Coughlan's might not feel the cold, but all summer long the moment it hit twenty degrees, you complained about the heat."

"Pfft, twenty-degrees," Heather said, her voice suggesting contempt, then sarcasm. "Twenty-five more like it. But remember, I was based in northern Australia for years in the Army, enduring heat and humidity like you wouldn't believe."

"Back in my day when I was in the Army..." Tim said in a mocking tone, and Heather narrowed her eyes at Tim in the mirror, making a face and sticking her middle finger up, and Tim chuckled, Heather then turning the engine over.

Max smiled, proud of his tough daughter, and he knew her banter with Tim was the affectionate ribbing of two people in love and comfortable with each other. From the stereo came poppy guitar and electronic music, plus occasional rap Tim and Heather appeared to like, as they drove across the river, heading up the main road dividing the town from the waterfront, King sticking his head out the partly-open rear window. Max looked to his left too, at the fishing and recreational boats tied to the docks, tourists and locals walking about, and the great white cruise ship now tied up against the cove's northern dockside.

"Apparently they're not letting the passengers disembark," Tim said, and again Max thought of the disease, this coronavirus, whatever it was, which was making both Tim and Heather, and even the government, concerned. Glancing across Constitution Dock, he spied the familiar old steam crane by the harbour's entrance channel, the drawbridge raised to allow a masted yacht through, and he thought of Yvonne.

At least you're safe up the coast, he thought.

They drove south, along the winding road through the hills taking them to the Huon Valley, where apple and cherry orchards, and paddocks of grazing cattle and sheep spread into the countryside each side of the highway, and beyond the farms were eucalypt forested hills surrounding them on all sides, and mountains too, misty cloud obscuring their peaks.

Passing through the town of Huonville, they crossed over the dark tannin-stained waters of the Huon River, where Max swam and fished and raced timber rowing dinghy's and piner's punt boats as a kid, and where black swans drifted in the current, lowering their elegant long necks to dip their red bills into the stream.

Continuing south, the road wound along the river's edge, and they passed through small river-side villages, where classic timber sailing sloops were moored next to modern fibreglass racing and cruising yachts, and old and new fishing boats too, hulls and silver masts glistening against the dark river waters.

A red Western Star prime mover hauling a full load of logs swept past, seemingly dangerously fast for the narrow winding road, Heather cursing under her breath at the driver to slow down, and even Max whistled, thinking the big rig was travelling much too fast. The long logs stacked in the truck's jinker trailer were a reminder the bush in this region were working forests, where some of the tallest hardwood trees in the world grew; the very forests Max's family had worked for several generations. Shortly after passing the truck, the road turned inland towards thickly forested hills, passing between two huge tree stumps, the gateway to the historic timber-town of Geeveston.

Heather drove through the town in silence and onto a crumbling backroad. Soon she slowed and indicated, pulling onto the gravel verge out front of a tired weather-board cottage with creamy-white paint peeling, a puff of smoke rising from the blackened flue cowl sitting atop the red-brick chimney at the side.

You're looking tired, Max thought, examining the house he'd grown up in till he left home at fifteen, memories of helping his Old Man apply a new coat of paint when he was maybe twelve or thirteen. Now he wished he could do it again, to help his mother, and he felt the shame of a man who once took pride in the fact he was handy at most things, but now felt useless.

"I'll park here in case we need a quick get-away," Heather said, stopping beside the English oak young Max and his brother used to climb and peg acorns at one another. Max grunted a reply, remembering his happy childhood, shaking the more recent dark thoughts from his mind. He looked at the rear of his sister's dirty white Mitsubishi Pajero parked in front of them, with rear spare tyre and windscreen caked in dry mud, except where the wiper had smeared an arc of semi-clear glass, and at the very rear bottom left a green triangle The Greens sticker poked through the dirt.

They climbed from the car, Tim leading King, Heather assisting Max, all greeted by a chortling currawong pecking the lawn for worms, and Max breathed in the smell of damp soil and eucalypt forest mixed with wood smoke on the breeze, savouring it, scents he grew up with, memories of his youth. Heather turned, her wavy hair catching the gust, strands blowing across her face, and she said, "Ah, shit, bad timing."

Max looked to the road where his daughter faced, and saw his brother's late model navy-blue Land Rover Discovery approaching, then turn into his mother's driveway, parking with the rear tyre of the vehicle in-line with the unkempt box hedge he recalled planting with his mother as a young boy, its surviving bushes denoting the property's front boundary. He muttered to Heather, "Might need a quick getaway sooner than expected."

Heather sighed and whispered, "Let's just hope he plays nicely."

The Land Rover's doors opened and out climbed Greggory and Bev, Max's brother and sister-in-law. Greggory greeted Max with a gruff, "G'day, Maxie. You taking care of yerself?"

"Greggory, good to see you."