A Pair of Lost Socks

Yvonne smiled. "Yeah, pretty sure we'll be arrested and spend the night in the lock-up till Heather comes to bail us out."

"She might leave us there," Max said with a little smile.

"She would too," Yvonne grinned back. Max sat in the car, unmoving while Yvonne gathered several canvas shopping bags from the rear seat, then she looked to him. "You okay with this, Max?"

"I'm fine. It's everyone else who's worried...this silly disease. But never in our lives has the government said we shouldn't leave our houses before now. It's like we're in a movie or some book."

Yvonne caught Max's eye. "We're a long way from the world down here, Max, so I think we'll be alright..."

"That's not what Heather says. There's an outbreak up north, and even Darren and Maureen caught the bloody thing on their cruise."

"Yeah, Heather told me, but she also said they're both recovering now."

"Donk was in hospital for a spell. I spoke to him on the phone. Toughest bastard on Earth and the thing near brought him to his knees, where they put him on oxygen. Said he still isn't feeling so flash. Maureen hardly had a sniffle."

"Apparently it affects people differently. But they're both going to be fine."

Max nodded. "Yeah..."

They climbed from the vehicle and walked into the small supermarket where Yvonne took a basket and greeted the teenaged girl behind the counter with long brown hair and big brown eyes and pimples on her cheeks, the girl returning Yvonne's greeting and watching Max with semi-interest, making him feel slightly unwelcome.

Max whispered to Yvonne, "I'm glad they have real checkouts here. So many supermarkets are automated these days, yet I feel when I use them I always have to call someone over to make the damn things work properly."

"Pat and Joan say the same thing all the time. But you know how hopeless they're with technology."

"Yeah, but you're a star with your computer."

"Ryan helped me set up years ago. Easy as, and if I have a drama, I simply ask him how to fix it. Hey, do you think you could get some milk and maybe five-hundred grams of butter?"

"Sure."

He could see the fridges and freezers along the rear wall, and he hobbled up the aisle while Yvonne walked up a different aisle. As he opened the door and fetched out a milk bottle, he sensed someone to his right near the open refrigerated display shelving further along, and he looked up, seeing a man roughly his own age standing there, his face craggy and grey hair not too dissimilar to his own bird's nest, wearing a red and black checked flannelette shirt and jeans, holding a laden basket. The shelves behind him were half bare, and Max ignored the man when he moved towards him to where he hoped he'd find butter.

"You're not from 'round here, are ya, cobber?" the man said.

Max felt irritation rise within, and replied, "I'm after butter, not trouble."

"Haven't ya heard the news about this new flu virus? If you're one of those grey nomads ya shouldn't be on the road, cobber, and shouldn't be in our town takin' our milk and butter."

"I'm not botherin' you, so mind ya own business."

"You should be at home, wherever that is, but I know for a fact it's not 'round here."

"Shouldn't you be at home, too?"

"I live here and haven't seen your face before..."

"Ian," Yvonne said, addressing the man from behind Max.

"Vonnie, lovely to see you." With his eyes on Yvonne, he gestured to Max. "Just be aware..."

Yvonne's hand went to her mouth, and she let out a surprised gasp. "A stranger! In our little town. Filthy, filthy, fellow human being, how dare you take our milk!"

Max turned to her and she winked, then walked up to him, taking the milk from his hand, placing it in the basket.

"Keep ya bloody distance from him, woman," Ian said, standing back.

"I agree, he can be a bit dirty at times," Yvonne laughed. "And I should know!"

Ian frowned, slightly confused, and Max laughed. "And she'd know because we shared a house for twenty odd years."

"And a bed," she cried, "Can you imagine it? He does the most horrendously smelly farts! Ian, I'd like you to meet my husband, Max."

"What?" Ian said, almost dropping his groceries and jaw. "But you're..."

"Separated, but still friendly."

Ian looked to Max and Yvonne and back again, brow furrowed, his crags deepening, and Max held out his hand and said, "No hard feelings, eh, cobber? I mean, it wasn't your fault you thought I might be ridden with the plague."

Max's gesture triggered an instinctive reaction in Ian, who took his hand with a crushing grip Max matched, because like generations of Australian men, he was taught from a young age crushing handshakes were the manliest method of introducing one's self to another man.

Then Ian pulled his hand away just as swiftly. "We're not supposed to be shaking hands...are we?"

With a chuckle, Max balled his fist, bringing it up fast, the man opposite flinching and appearing ready to strike back, then Max extended his arm out, real slow. "Apparently we're supposed to fist-bump these days. My son-in-law reckons people can tap elbows or feet, but I think he's taking the piss..."

"Son-in-law?" Ian said, stepping back from Max's out-stretched arm. He looked to Yvonne and asked, "Heather's married?"

"Not yet but might as well be. She's due to have a baby in August. Anyway, nice to see you, Ian."

Max and Yvonne moved past the man, who watched them for a moment before moving away down an aisle towards the front of the store. Max turned to Yvonne and said in an ironic tone, "Nice fella, made me feel better about being unwelcome."

"Ian's not a bad bloke. He was a few years above me at school and was one of Pat's mates when they both used to be professional fishermen, but things have changed around these parts."

"Scares easily..."

"You shouldn't have goaded him with your fist-bump," Yvonne said, and Max caught her sideways glance.

"I meant he's scared of the virus."

"You're scared of the virus."

"I'm not scared," he said with a chuckle. "Heather forced me here."

"And you protested..."

"I did, I could've stayed with Tim...or their lovely friend Kathy."

"Kathy?"

"Irish girl, about thirty, one of those rare beauties with black hair and blue eyes..."

"A girl young enough to be yer daughter, Maxie," Yvonne said, raising her eyebrows and smirking. "And Tim's on the front line."

"So's Kathy." Max chuckled, then sighed and shrugged. "I don't understand any of it. But Heather's worried, which I appreciate because she's pregnant and Tim's work potentially brings him into close proximity with infected patients. But up here, we do seem so far away from anything..."

"Yet you were the one who was concerned what people would think."

"Yeah, because of Heather's talk and the Scottish sounding doctor on the radio telling us the government should do more."

"I don't understand it either, Max," Yvonne said, facing him now. "And I don't always see eye-to-eye with Heather, as you well know, but when she asked if both you and she could come and stay I knew she was deadly serious and said yes without hesitation."

Max pursed his lips, looking into Yvonne's eyes burning through him the same way Heather's did. "Well, I suppose I'm grateful."

Yvonne smiled. "I'm not sure you are, and I think you think you're here under duress, but who knows, let's ride this thing out and hope it blows over in a few weeks, then see how we all feel about things."

"I guess so."

Completing their shopping list, they moved to the counter, where the young woman and Yvonne spoke briefly, the girl saying something about Ian grumbling about strangers in town. Max paid little attention, moving to the door of the store while Yvonne paid.

Out front Ian was placing his shopping into the rear of a light-brown older 70 Series Landcruiser, dirt splattered about the lower doors and mud-guards. Parked in front of his vehicle was a white Ford Focus hatch with Victorian numberplates, and though it's driver was not in sight, Ian stared at it for a moment and mumbled something about how mainlanders should be sticking to the mainland. Then he climbed in the driver's seat of his big Toyota and gave Max a good hard stare before pulling from the curb. Max smiled and waved, chuckling to himself.

"Nice to see you find something funny," Yvonne said, coming up behind him.

He turned, saw she was carrying two shopping bags and he instinctively grabbed for them. "Here, love, let me..."

"Hey," she said, "Hands off. I carry the shopping all the time and don't need help, and you can relax with the knight-in-shining armour routine."

"It's not a routine..."

"I know," she said, smiling now, "But, relax, Max...take a chill pill."

He shook his head, but smiled back.

~0~

Max sat on the stool beside the kitchen bench, sipping his tea and watching Heather through the glazed doors where she was standing on the deck, one leg stretched behind, the other bent in front, her hands on hips till she lifted her arms up above her head.

The warrior pose, Max thought, learning parts of his daughter's yoga routine over the years.

"We made her," Yvonne said, walking out to the open-plan living space from her bedroom, wearing her dressing gown.

"We sure did...thirty-two years ago. Hard to believe."

"Add the nine-months I carried her."

"Thirty-two years and nine months. And in about four months she'll know what it was all about."

"I'm pretty sure she's figuring it out already," Yvonne said, moving around the bench to pour her own tea.

"She'll be a great Mum. I watched her recently with my niece Karen's daughter Lauren. I think she's six or seven and she and Heather were having a good old chat."

"And did you think I was a good mum?"

"You know I thought you were a great mum." Yvonne shrugged, then silently sipped her tea, and Max searched for something to add, but could only come up with, "It's great to see you two getting along these days."

"She's not a teenager anymore..."

"Yeah."

Yvonne walked around the bench, past Max to sit at the table. She looked up at him on the stool and said, "Sometimes it felt like a long road, Max. But I always knew Heather would make her way, even if she took the hard route."

Max nodded, then turned to watch his daughter again, who was rolling up her yoga mat. "She's persistent."

"She gets that from you, you know."

"You say this like it's a bad thing."

Yvonne snorted quietly, shaking her head. "No, it's admirable. I always thought so...anyway, here she comes."

Heather opened the door and smiled at her parents, then gave a self-conscious quizzical eye-brow raise. "What?"

"Nothing," Yvonne said.

Max gave her a smile. "Yer Mum and I were tryin' to remember if there was something special happening today...old age's affecting our memories."

"Old age!" Yvonne sounded outraged, but her smile was cheeky. "I'm a vibrant young woman of fifty-five, thank you very much!"

And still as beautiful and cheeky as the day I met you, Max thought, but didn't say it. He chuckled, giving Yvonne a wink, then looked to his daughter. "Thirty-two years ago I drove your mother to the hospital..."

"I know this story, Dad, you've told it to me a hundred-million times."

"The old couldn't find a spot to park the Torry story, eh, Max," Yvonne said with a chuckle. "When you almost missed Heather's birth."

"Yeah, that's the one...but there's more to it."

Heather and Yvonne looked to him, two pairs of identical green eyes waiting sceptically. Yvonne said, "Is it the one where the nurse you'd once dated came in to check on us soon after Heather was born?"

"No, I haven't told that story."

"Mum has," Heather said with a half-smile on her lips.

Yvonne sipped at her tea, then said, "Your father didn't exactly date her but evidently she'd thought they once were a thing."

"I see," Heather said with a slight chuckle. Max went to protest, but Heather moved on. "Or is it the story how you stole the hospital blanket?"

Max shook his head. "Nope, and I met the nurse years before your mother...ah, forget it."

Heather smiled, walking over to Max and sat beside him on the second stool. "Go on, Dad, tell your story."

"Nope."

"Come on, Max," Yvonne said, smiling now. "Or I'll tell it."

"You tell it then."

"Well, it was like this. Your father drove me to the hospital at breakneck speed..."

"Wasn't breakneck speed," Max protested. "I was bein' super careful with my precious cargo on board!"

"You said for me to tell the story so I'm telling it. Like I said, breakneck speed, and he drops me off at emergency and said he'd be with me as soon as possible. He promised..."

"I couldn't find a carpark."

"I was in pain and the bloody doctor couldn't get the epidural right."

Heather shook her head, placing her hand on her belly, which was beginning to show. "I've heard this, Mum, and I don't need to hear all the birth details."

Yvonne smiled and pushed on. "And then you were coming, and your Dad finally runs into the room with Justin on his back..."

"I ran a couple of blocks and..."

"Running a few blocks was nothing to your father, as you know."

"The midwife told me to get out."

"And I said Noooo, he's responsible for this, he stays!"

"By now the epidural was working."

"Not quite working well enough," Yvonne said, wincing at the memory. "And my bloody anaesthetist recognised you from football games and wanted to chat footy."

Maxed winked at Heather. "Your Mum told me to come over to her side, then squeezed my hand so hard I thought I might need some aesthetic."

Yvonne laughed. "Big, tough, Maxie, almost fainting..."

"And you squeezing and cursing..."

"Then Justin began to cry and wanted to comfort me..."

"So a nurse bundles him up in a big hug..."

"And moments later the midwife was holding you," Max said, looking at Heather. "This tiny little creature covered in goo."

"Creature!" Heather cried.

Yvonne smiled. "You were like a bald little...alien."

"Alien!"

"Your father cried."

"Tears of joy," Max said.

"He took one look at you and whispered, my beautiful little girl."

"Happy birthday, love," Max said, smiling at Heather.

Yvonne was smiling too, and also said, "Happy birthday, sweetheart."

And Heather smiled, wiped a tear from her eye and gave them both a hug and kiss each.

Later, Max was cooking lunch on the deck barbecue and Yvonne prepared salads, while Heather sat at the out-door table under the big umbrella shading her from the sun, where she conducted a Zoom call with Tim.

"...really, the car battery died and the hot water system broke too? Just this week? When it rains it pours...you better not be saying this as a cover for all the extra spending on booze!"

They finished with more happy birthdays from Tim and wishes they could be together soon from Heather, then drawn out I love yous, and Heather teared up a little, where Max could hear Tim saying, "Aww, my love, we'll see each other soon enough..." and then they agreed to finish up.

Heather wiped the evidence of her emotion clear, sitting there for a while, looking towards the ocean through the trees. A few black cockatoos flew nearby, wailing their mournful song and landing in a tree further down the hill, and King raised his head for a moment from where he lay next to Heather, then trotted over to Max at the barbecue, perhaps hoping for a feed, and Heather joined them too.

"Tim alright?" Max asked.

"He's fine. He's busy, but there's hardly any cases of Covid, mostly dealing with normal things. Everyone's in lockdown so there's less car accidents, but people are still managing to injure themselves. He did say his car battery was flat last night and it was nigh impossible to get a new one, then this morning the hot water service has died so he scrambled to find an emergency plumber and electrician, but everyone's in lockdown, yet he found someone who could do it through a friend of a friend, and the plumber turned out to be Rodney, who had a good old chat with Tim and hinted there might be problems between Uncle Greggory and Aunty Bev."

"What kind of problems?"

"Tim said Rodney didn't elaborate."

"Like I heard you say," Max sighed, "When it rains it pours. And that's just the problems with Greggory. Anyway, are you alright?"

"I'm fine. It's just...he and I are apart for the first time since he moved here."

"I know, love. I'm sure this lockdown won't go forever."

Heather nodded. "After lunch we're going to stream a couple of episodes of Parks and Rec together before he heads into work for another night shift, assuming our internet connection doesn't fail either, so I'll probably be hanging in my room for a few hours."

Soon they ate their grilled steaks and potato salad and a raw bone for King to chew upon. Afterwards Yvonne produced the cake she'd spent the previous evening and this morning making.

"Oh my God," Heather cried, "It's the jelly-filled swimming pool cake with chocolate bullet fence you didn't make me when I asked for it as a kid!"

"I made you plenty of cakes from this book," Yvonne said, holding up the Women's Weekly Children's Birthday Cake book from which an entire generation of Australian children's birthday cake ideas came from, in the time before the internet.

"All the flat, easy ones."

"Go easy on ya Mum," Max said, "She always put in a big effort...I remember her making you several cakes from this book!"

"I know, Dad," Heather said, frowning then smiling. "Thanks, Mum. I really do appreciate it, I was only making a joke."

After cake, Heather helped her mother clear the dishes while Max cleaned the barbeque grill, then Heather left them to do her thing. Suddenly Max and Yvonne were alone, and he looked around for something to do, but there wasn't anything. "I might head off."

"Okay," Yvonne said. "Where you headed? Can't go too far on this block."

"Might go down there," he said, pointing to the last of the logs he'd cut near the fence.

"Don't you dare be disturbing our peace and quiet with your obsessive chopping of wood," Yvonne said. She'd smiled, but Max knew she meant it. "And we have more than enough firewood for now, and probably for next winter too, thanks to you."

"Is there anything else?"

"How about you relax for once in your life."

"I thought you once said I was wasting away."

"You were! But you were never relaxed about it."

Max shook his head. "I'm not talkin' about it."

"Nope, you never did, but you're the one who brought it up, not me."

He sighed. "I can't win with you."

"It's not a competition, Max. It never was, we're on the same team...at least we were supposed to be."

"I'm...goin'...over there."

"Fine, go. But don't cut any more wood."

He picked up his cane and hobbled off towards the shed. It was cloudy now, he noted, the earlier blue replaced with grey, the sun poking through the occasional gap. Inside the shed was hot, and he lay on the bed, flicking on the radio, but all the news was about the pandemic. Even his beloved AFL was affected, the football postponed after only one round, and for a while he listened to the radio hosts discussing a potential redraw of the season, with teams playing one another once only, and how they'd play without spectators, and there'd be travel bubbles where players would be restricted to their hotels and football stadiums.

Even the bloody football's over, Max thought, switching off the radio. He stood, ambled to the toilet and took a piss, moped around the shed for a bit, checking Yvonne's pottery equipment and tools, but he knew the shed's contents by heart now, then walked back outside, down to the bottom of the garden.

The remains of the log was there, but he'd not intended to cut the timber, so hadn't brought the axe or log-splitter down; a man taught from a young age to look after tools and keep them out of the weather. He sat on the log, then lay along it and closed his eyes, listening to the family of wrens in the shrubs nearby and feeling the sun's warmth on his face where it peaked from under the clouds in the west.