If Ferne had two functioning ankles, she’d kick the couch in frustration. Instead, she had her left ankle in a moon boot with crutches propped nearby, so she lay on the couch feeling sorry for herself.
Damn her clumsiness. If she believed in karma, she’d think that all the bad thoughts she’d been harbouring towards Mac since she’d entered the apartment yesterday had cursed her. But her fractured ankle had more to do with her lack of coordination than any residual bad juju Mac might’ve left here or his malevolent spirit haunting her.
She’d waited for eight hours in emergency before her ankle had been X-rayed and the awful news delivered. Though it could’ve been worse; with a hairline fracture of the fibula, she could get away with a walking boot rather than a plaster cast, but the recommended six weeks’ immobility meant no hiking across New Zealand glaciers for her.
Bette had dropped her home an hour ago, with a promise to return with dinner. Ferne initially refused, but she had a feeling not many people said no to Bette. The woman ran her own advertising agency and had her boss voice down pat. Ferne could imagine her ordering a bunch of underlings to do her bidding, but Bette’s kindness since Ferne had taken a tumble this morning had been a welcome surprise. Having no friends in the city hadn’t mattered when Ferne had plans to travel, but with her intention to join the jet-set crew on hold, she could do with a friend.
Thankfully, the ultra-modern apartment could be controlled from an app on her phone, so when Bette buzzed to be let in downstairs, Ferne tapped a button on her phone to open the apartment building’s front door. A few minutes later, Bette opened the apartment door Ferne had left unlocked and breezed in, brandishing two brown paper bags emitting the most delicious aromas of garlic, ginger and chilli.
‘There’s a great Asian restaurant two blocks from here that serves a mix of Korean, Chinese and Thai food, so I grabbed a bit of everything. Pork and chive dumplings in special chilli oil, bibimbap and a beef massaman curry.’ Bette placed the bags on the kitchen counter. ‘How’s the leg? Is it okay if I serve a bit of everything for you and we eat on the sofa?’
‘The ankle is throbbing a bit, but I took the anti-inflammatories the doc prescribed. Feel free to eat at the table if you want.’
‘I live on my own and often eat on the sofa while watching TV, so it’s no big deal if I join you over there. Where are your plates and cutlery?’
Ferne hated sounding like an idiot, but she had a feeling nothing would shock her new friend. ‘I don’t know. I only arrived last night, remember?’
Bette’s eyebrows rose a tad. ‘But I assumed you owned this city pad when you said you’re from the country?’
Ferne had two options: lie to Bette like she’d been lying to herself for years about the state of her marriage—and more recently, the extent of Mac’s treachery—or tell her the truth.
‘This place was my husband’s love nest. I only discovered it existed after he died five months ago.’
Bette gaped at her, before recovering her wits and lifting plastic containers out of the paper bags. ‘Was he the love of your life?’
Ferne respected her for not offering condolences. If stating that this apartment was Mac’s hidey-hole for his lover wasn’t enough of a clue to how she felt, her acerbic tone would’ve clued Bette in.
‘Hell, no. We were nothing more than housemates for many years and when he died, I discovered why he never came near me.’
‘Bastard.’
‘Yep.’
‘Want to talk about it?’ Bette pulled a bottle of chardonnay out of one of the bags. ‘I’ve got some truth serum here.’
Ferne laughed. ‘Right now, I’d rather eat.’
Bette smiled. ‘Coming right up, queen.’
Ferne watched Bette open cupboards until she discovered crockery and glasses, dished their dinner onto two plates, and poured wine into two glasses. Mac and Jesse must’ve entertained, because they had eight of everything: champagne flutes, wine glasses, martini glasses, whiskey glasses and beer schooners. Once again, it struck her how little she knew about her husband and the alternative life he’d shared with someone else. But seeing evidence of his relationship with Jesse explained his foul mood whenever he returned to the farm after one of his ‘business’ trips.
‘Here you go.’ Bette handed her a plate laden with food and Ferne’s stomach gave an embarrassingly loud rumble.
‘This smells so good,’ she said, inhaling the spicy aromas and salivating. ‘The only good thing to come out of today was meeting you.’
To Ferne’s surprise, Bette’s eyes misted over a little.
‘Maybe Obi does have the Force after all, because I was in the doldrums this morning and the only reason why I left the house was because I needed dog food and thought I’d get a coffee on the way.’
Doldrums could mean anything from a bad start to the day to clinical depression, and while Ferne didn’t want to pry, the thought of this bright, confident woman putting on a brave face and caring for her while going through her own tough stuff made Ferne feel a tad selfish.
‘Everything okay?’
‘Nothing a few glasses or ten won’t fix,’ Bette said, lifting her wine in a toast. ‘Here’s to forgetting exes exist.’
Ferne picked up her wine from the coffee table and raised it to clink Bette’s glass. ‘I’ll drink to that.’
Bette sat on the armchair next to her, and they fell silent as they ate. A comfortable silence, nothing like the tension that had existed between her and Mac at the dinner table.
