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“What are you doing?” asked Lisa from her spot at the doorway, concern clear in her voice as Carla was turning their bedroom upside down. “Love, what’s wrong?”
“I’ve lost a sock. My lucky pair of socks. I need it for this afternoon’s pitch…” huffed Carla, taking time to look around the room to see the contents of the laundry hamper strewn over the floor, wardrobe doors thrown open wide, and grasping its surviving mate in her hand. “I know it’s only a sock…”
“It is, but it’s a sock that is important to you. When was the last time you had them on?”
“A couple of weeks ago.”
“So, you would have put them in the wash since then, right?” asked Lisa, Carla nodding. “And you haven’t had them on since.” Carla shook her head.
“And you’ve obviously checked the machine. Could you have accidently left it in there and it’s got mixed up with Betsy’s stuff?”
“No, she wears crew socks with her trainers, these were my little white no-show socks. And it would be pretty obvious if it were mixed in with Ryan’s stuff.”
“Was it just your stuff, or did you put our stuff in the machine?”
“Our stuff, your work shirts, more socks, pyjamas, and underwear.”
“And it’s not in the orangery?”
“No, I’ve pulled everything out, checked underneath, and put my hand down the back of the sofa, and still nothing. I’m half-convinced that I’ve accidentally thrown it in the bin.”
“I’m not going through the last fortnight’s wheelie bin, either!”
I wouldn’t ask you to!”
“Maybe, just maybe I could help make another pair of socks your lucky pair. Would that help?” flirted Lisa.
“Ordinarily, yes, but not today.”
“How about a kiss for good luck…”
“Fine,” relented Carla, pouting as Lisa’s lips met hers.
“Better?”
“A bit. I need to go. Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need it, you know your products, costs, and lead in times inside out and upside down. Go and dazzle them, love.”
“Lise…”
“Go and be brilliant.”
“Love you, see ya later,” sighed Carla, closing the front door in a whoosh of kimono and perfume.
--
“Would you look at that!” exclaimed Lisa.
“What!”
“I do believe that this is your lost lucky sock,” as Lisa pulled said sock from the leg of her clean pyjamas. “Where’s the other one?”
“I… I put it somewhere... I can’t quite remember. Oh, don’t look at me like that.”
“Carla, are you telling me that you’ve now lost the unlost sock?” giggled Lisa.
“No, can’t remember doesn’t mean it’s lost.”
“Temporarily misplaced…”
“Exactly. So where am I putting the refound lost sock?”
“Your sock drawer, it will stick out amongst them black and blue pairs of yours!” smirked Carla.
“And you are going to remember this bit of information, are you?”
“Course, why wouldn’t I?”
“…and the reason we are having this conversation is..?”
“Shut up you and go to work!”
--
“Ha!” exclaimed Carla, “I knew I’d put it somewhere!”
“Huh?”
“My temporarily misplaced lucky sock.”
“You know it’s taken you three weeks to remember…” teased Lisa. “Are you going to reunite them, they will be delighted I’m sure.”
“Fuck off, will ya,” smiled Carla who by now was opening her wife’s sock drawer to reunite said lucky socks. “Erm, Lise, you haven’t moved the other one, have you?”
“Nope, I shoved it in the front corner. It was there yesterday. Why?”
“It’s not there now,” said Carla.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Lemme have a look,” replied Lisa, unable to hide her exasperation at the latest instalment of the lost sock saga as she had fondly called it in her head. Raking through all her neatly balled up, blue, black, the occasional dark green or purple yet no white trainer sock. “It was there, I promise.”
“Did you come home to change after the gym?”
“No, I went straight to work.”
“Looks like the luck has run out with my lucky socks,” sighed Carla.
“I’d say you are luckier in other ways…” smiled Lisa, her suggestion not lost on her wife.
“Is that so…” smirked Carla. “And what evidence have you got.”
“Why don’t I show you…” as she ran her finger tip down Carla’s arm, watching the goosebumps appear in its wake, shivering with anticipation. “Sure?”
“Always,” breathed Carla.
--
Wrapped in each other’s arms, half-dosing as late afternoon drifted into early evening and the hum of the working day was punctuated less and less with car horns and kids on their way home from school to the smell of barbecues being lit drifting over the back gardens of Weatherfield. “We should probably get up?”
“Five more minutes. I’m not cooking, it’s too hot.”
“Rovers?” hinted Carla.
“Nah, takeaway. Comfies, flip-flops, and a glass of wine in the garden. I’d have to put proper clothes on and it’s too hot.
“Fair enough,” said Carla, “pass me phone will ya? What d’ya fancy?”
“Do you want the very, very obvious answer,” whispered Lisa, her fingers grazing her wife’s hip.
“Behave, will ya!”
“Lebanese, and we can double up with desserts from the place next door.”
“I like you thinking, missus.”
“I should hope so, seeing that we’re married,” giggled Lisa. “C’mon, I need to be a bit more presentable than the just fucked look if we’re sitting out and David Platt is giving me daggers.”
“Let him, he’s probably heard us!” cackled Carla.
“Behave!” as Lisa pulled a vest top over her head. “I’m not putting a bra on either.”
“Oh, guess my luck has returned.”
“It never went away love,” replied Lisa, pulling her leggings over her hips feeling her foot catch in something, reaching to pull out a white trainer sock. “You’re kidding, how did that get in there?”
“What?”
“Your bloody lost, found, relost, and unlost sock!”
“Told ya they were lucky!” grinned Carla as she pulled Lisa towards her and snaked a hand under her vest to cop a feel of a bra free boob.