Odd Socks by Ilsa Evans

conversational gap with inanities. In fact, she’s extremely comfortable with long silences and some of my happiest moments with her have been spent without a word being uttered.
    I put my blinker on to turn into the road leading to the hospital, and so does the hearse in front of me. Accordingly I resign myself to being lead mourner in the funeral procession all the way through Upper Ferntree Gully, which is indeed what happens. At least it means that, for once, all the other users of the road pay me some respect. And I even have a few elderly gentlemen doff their hats as I drive past. I try to look suitably bereaved but it’s difficult with my mother sitting beside me beaming and waving cheerfully at the hat-doffers.
    Finally I turn off into the hospital car park and the funeral procession continues on up the hill. Now for the fun part. The William Angliss Hospital is renowned for its lack of parking and is subsequently an extremely rewarding hunting ground for the city’s parking inspectors. We drive around and around for half an hour before finding a space which is about four foot shy of being a decent car park. But this is where having a Barina pays off. I let Mum out before manoeuvring the car in with a series of dexterous movements. Then I throw her the keys so she can open the boot and I lock both doors from the inside before clambering over into the back seat, and from there into the boot and out. I dust myself down and lock the hatchback.
    â€˜Has Bronte thought of any names?’
    â€˜Not that she told me.’ I carefully look both ways before ushering Mum over the road and towards the hospitalentrance. ‘But then, we didn’t get much of a chance to chat this morning.’
    â€˜Oh, that is a shame.’ Mum shakes her head ruefully. ‘You know, honey, you really should take the time to talk with Bronte more. One of these days you’re going to turn around and she’ll be all grown-up and gone. And then it’ll be too late.’
    â€˜Given the fact she spent the morning giving birth on my lounge-room carpet,’ I say as I precede Mum through the automatic doors and into the hospital foyer, ‘I’d reckon she’s pretty grown-up already, wouldn’t you?’
    â€˜Nothing of the sort,’ replies Mum blithely, ‘because being grown-up and having babies are not necessarily mutually inclusive, you know.’
    I turn and give her an astounded look because, well, sometimes she floors me. Just when I think I’ve got her pigeonholed, she comes out with something incredibly insightful. We continue in silence to the elevators, where there is a considerable crowd waiting, and I press the ‘up’ button. Glancing around me, I realise there must be a baby boom at the moment. Everybody seems either to be laden with wrapped gifts and stuffed toys or carrying a blue and/or pink balloon announcing the gender of whatever it is they are going to see.
    â€˜Oh!’ Mum is staring raptly at the various balloons. ‘We should have gotten Bronte a balloon!’
    â€˜Not necessary,’ I comment, batting one away that was floating dangerously near my face. ‘I think she knows what the baby is by now.’
    â€˜No, we have to! Come on!’
    â€˜What, is it some type of rule?’ I ask as the metallic elevator doors finally slither open. ‘Will we get fined or something?’
    â€˜Probably,’ says one heavily jowled grandfather type as he passes me laden with both a pink and a blue balloon. ‘Although odds are the fine’d be cheaper.’
    â€˜Don’t be such a spoilsport, Bob,’ remonstrates his wife. ‘If it was up to you, we’d only be giving a card.’
    â€˜Damn right,’ says Bob grumpily as he enters the elevator, ‘and then we could’ve just posted it.’
    â€˜Come on, Teresa.’ Mum pulls at my arm as I try to follow Bob into the elevator. ‘Let’s go and get