Excitement made her fingers tingle as she booked her flight, leaving tomorrow. No good could come of dithering in this apartment and she had to start living her new life sooner rather than later. Fleeing the farm had been a start, but she’d underestimated the power this apartment would have on her. All the redecorating in the world wouldn’t change facts: Mac had loved Jesse when he’d never loved her. He’d built a whole other life with Jesse, one that didn’t include her, and knowing she’d been nothing more than a means to an end could never be forgotten, no matter how many new throw blankets and lamps she bought.
She’d come to terms with Mac’s betrayal and had talked herself into thinking that living in Melbourne, even for a short time, would be fun, but now that she’d spent her first night here, she realised she’d been deluding herself. Even if she scrubbed the place from top to bottom, the memories of what Mac had got up to here would haunt her. The less time she spent here, the better.
Gritting her teeth, she booked a cheap hotel room in Christchurch for three nights, followed by a coach around the island. That way, she could get a guided tour and discover places she’d like to return to and explore further at her leisure. Next, she arranged travel insurance, hating that she paid a premium price because of her age. Heck, when would society realise that seventy wasn’t old?
As she double-checked the confirmation emails that came through for her flight, accommodation and insurance, she allowed herself to embrace a glimmer of optimism.
She was doing this. Shedding her old life, embracing her new.
She could hardly wait.
Buoyed, she dressed quickly, in desperate need of one of the fantastic Melbourne coffees Cruz always raved about. She’d grab a celebratory croissant too.
Slipping the key card and her phone into her jacket pocket, she opened the door to be confronted by a young woman in her twenties, dressed in black athletic gear and fluorescent green sneakers, coming out of the apartment opposite.
Before Ferne could offer a polite nod, the woman tugged out her earbuds and beamed.
‘Hi, I’m Kika. You must be a friend of Mac’s?’ She stuck out her hand. ‘Nice to meet you. How is he? Haven’t seen him in ages. Are you housesitting or staying with him?’ Kika paused for a breath. ‘I miss his cooking. Mac makes a mean teriyaki beef stir fry and takes pity on me by gifting me leftovers.’ She held up her hands. ‘Not that I’m hinting for food if you’re staying with him. I hate to impose.’ She winked. ‘Though if you’re as good a cook as Mac and can’t eat it all, you know where to find me.’
Kika’s excited chatter turned Ferne’s stomach. Mac cooked? News to her, considering he’d rarely set foot in the farm’s kitchen during their marriage. The thought of her husband lovingly preparing meals for Jesse when he could barely look at her made her nauseous.
‘Anyway, sorry for bombarding you with all that first thing in the morning. I’m a chatterbox.’ She raised her hand in a wave as she jogged down the hallway. ‘Give my love to Mac.’
Had Kika realised Ferne hadn’t said a word? She should tell the girl that Mac had died, but by the time she’d gathered her wits, Kika had vanished. Interesting that Kika hadn’t mentioned Jesse, which meant Mac had been discreet in the city too.
Annoyed at Kika for taking the gloss off the excitement at booking her trip, and at herself for allowing thoughts of her husband’s treachery to still affect her, Ferne exited the building and turned right. A row of terrace houses led to the café on the corner. She needed a caffeine hit, pronto. As she reached the café, she saw that a long line of patrons had formed a silent queue inside as a flustered barista bustled between taking orders and making coffees. The pungent aroma of freshly ground beans wafted outside, perking her up, and a pistachio croissant tempted her from behind the front window.
She couldn’t wait for a delicious pick-me-up, but before she could enter the café a cavoodle on a short leash darted in front of her. As she sidestepped, her foot caught on the step leading into the café. She tripped, bracing for impact by clutching at the doorframe so her fall wouldn’t be so hard. It didn’t help. She sprawled on the concrete floor, the air leaving her lungs in an oomph as unimaginable pain ricocheted from her ankle up her leg.
‘Oh my goodness, are you all right?’ The fifty-something woman holding the cavoodle’s leash squatted beside her, her expression equal parts concerned and guilty. Not that it had been the dog’s fault, but Ferne glared at it, wishing she’d never crossed paths with the cutie.
‘I think so,’ Ferne said, using her elbows to push up into a sitting position, but biting back a groan as her left leg moved. Her stupid ankle had been weak since she’d broken it on the farm and while this wasn’t her first sprain since the fracture healed, it was the first time the pain had been so bad.
The woman looked doubtful as she glanced at Ferne’s leg. ‘I think you’ve sprained your ankle. It’s swelling already.’
Ferne glanced at her ankle and looked away quickly. Seeing the evidence of what might’ve put an end to her travel plans brought tears to her eyes, along with the pain.
‘Here.’ The woman held out her arm. ‘Hang onto me, I’ll help you up.’
Ferne almost snapped,Haven’t you done enough?, but it wasn’t this stranger’s fault that her foot caught on the step. She’d managed that clumsy feat all on her own.
‘I’m Bette, by the way. And this is Obi.’
‘Ferne. I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but Obi might’ve used the Force to trip me.’
Bette’s eyes widened and Ferne glimpsed a flicker of fear. ‘You’re not a litigious type, are you? Because there’s a café full of witnesses that saw you trip up the step without any help from my Obi.’
‘Relax. I’m not going to sue you. I’m well aware of how clumsy I am.’
‘Phew.’ Bette swiped her brow in a gesture of relief. ‘Are you ready to stand? Then I think I should shout you a coffee.’ She smiled. ‘It’s the least Obi can do.’
‘Obi’s very well behaved.’ Ferne took Bette’s proffered arm, surprised no-one else had tried to help her up. Then again, this was the city, and most of the café’s patrons had barely glanced her way.
‘He’s used to living in a townhouse, so he’s not a yapper. Neighbours wouldn’t put up with the noise.’ Bette slid an arm around her waist. ‘Ready?’
‘Yeah. Thanks.’
With Bette’s help, Ferne stood, but when she put weight on her left foot she saw stars and a wave of nausea swamped her.
