Chapter 9
CHAPTER
Ferne knew she should’ve waited until tomorrow to make the six-hour drive to Melbourne, but she didn’t mind night driving. She felt lighter with every passing kilometre. She felt free.
By the time she parked outside the low-rise apartment building where Mac had kept his secret bachelor pad for the entirety of their marriage, she could’ve skipped to the front door.
But as she grabbed her bags and swiped the key card to enter the modern foyer with its chrome and marble accents, her sense of freedom vanished as fear about what she would find in her husband’s love nest gripped her.
Finding out he’d owned an apartment had been a godsend, until she’d learned why Mac had bought the apartment in North Melbourne and who he’d lived with during his regular trips to the city. Her moody, cold husband had led a double life while making hers a misery.
He could’ve set her free years earlier, after Cruz left Rosevale Grove, but Mac valued keeping up appearances, though Ferne had no idea why.
His parents had died two decades earlier, leaving him the farm, and while Mac worked hard, she’d never believed farming was his passion.
She blamed the farm for his sullen, cantankerous demeanour, though when she’d asked him about his glumness once, he’d been offended and said she didn’t know what she was talking about and to leave well enough alone.
After he died, she’d discovered what made her temperamental husband so irritable all the time. She’d be constantly pissed off too if she’d been leading a double life.
The ping of an elevator roused Ferne from her mopey thoughts, and she waited until a mother and toddler exited before stepping in and jabbing at the button for the third floor.
The mother and child barely glanced at her but, for a moment, Ferne second-guessed her quest for freedom.
Back in Rosevale Grove, everyone knew her.
Walking down Main Street, locals would acknowledge her with a smile or greeting.
People took the time to ask about her day.
They were there in a crisis, like the time she broke her ankle after toppling off a ladder during picking season, dropping off copious casseroles, apple crumbles and books.
And she’d volunteered extensively in her limited downtime—mostly to get out of the homestead and away from Mac’s moods—becoming a prominent figure in the local community.
Ferne knew life in the city would be different, and while she didn’t regret leaving her past behind, she hoped her new life would be all she dreamed of and more.
As she stepped out of the elevator and headed down the third floor corridor, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of apartment 303, her hand trembling as she tapped the key card against the sensor.
She had no idea what she’d find inside Mac’s apartment.
The photos she’d discovered on his second phone had been more focussed on the person draped all over him than the background.
They’d appeared so in love, her husband beaming in a way she’d never seen.
Sorrow sat like a heavy weight on her chest as she pushed open the door and dragged her suitcases inside.
The faintest hint of Mac’s aftershave hung in the air, a blend of bergamot, vetiver and sandalwood that she’d been addicted to when they’d first met at the Grand Hotel in Wodonga.
She’d been on her way from Sydney to Melbourne in search of adventure and a new job; he’d been meeting a mate.
With his tousled black curls, caramel eyes and the dimple when he smiled, he’d been the handsomest bloke in the pub.
To this day, Ferne had no idea why Mac had offered to buy her a drink that night.
Had she seemed gullible? An easy target?
Someone who would buy into his bullshit?
Because, as she later discovered, Mac had no interest in her as a wife.
Once she’d had Cruz, an heir to the farm, Mac didn’t come near her.
If she initiated sex on special occasions, like his birthday and their anniversary, he’d acquiesce, but his heart—and the rest of him—hadn’t been in it.
Their sex life became rote, then non-existent, but never in a million years had she suspected that what occurred in this apartment had been the reason.
Leaving her bags at the door, she flicked on a light switch and held her breath, not sure what to expect. Would there be framed photos of Mac’s other life? Would the love of his life be evident in small touches, like coffee table books and favourite flowers?
Thankfully, the apartment appeared bare, as though someone had come through and stripped the place of everything bar the furniture: a black leather two-seater sofa with matching recliners, glass side table and a vinyl turntable with small speakers perched on a modular display cabinet.
The Mac she knew never listened to music, so discovering albums by Dire Straits, Cold Chisel, the Doors, Van Morrison and Joe Jackson floored her.
She’d loved bopping around the homestead, cleaning with ABBA on full blast, and he’d always chastise her for it.
Discovering this stash reinforced how much of a hypocrite the man she married had been.
A pristine kitchenette—white cupboards and a two-burner induction stovetop—appeared untouched, so with trepidation, she opened the door that led to the bedroom.
Standing on the threshold to the room where her husband had conducted a longstanding affair, unexpected bile rose in her throat and she rushed to the adjoining ensuite to vomit.
She fell to her knees and clutched the toilet, but nothing came up, and she dry-retched until her throat ached and her nose streamed.
Annoyed by her weakness, she blew her nose with toilet paper and flushed before washing her hands and splashing water on her face, belatedly realising there was no hand towel.
In fact, the bathroom, like the rest of the apartment, showed no semblance of use.
That’s when she realised that Mac’s lover must’ve come through and cleaned the place out, except for the vinyls.
Of course his lover would have a key card. Which meant she needed to get it back.
‘Fuck you, Mac Wardlow!’ she yelled, hating the life she’d led with him and resenting every wasted moment of their pathetic marriage.
Walking back into the bedroom, she averted her eyes from the bed, knowing in that moment that this entire place needed a makeover before she could stay here. Using her phone to find the nearest 24-hour Kmart, she grabbed her bag and keys and headed back out.
It took her thirty minutes to reach Burwood, but she didn’t care.
She had a mission to complete: obliterate all traces of Mac and his lover from her apartment.
That had to be her mindset moving forward.
Everything Mac owned was now hers, and while her memories may take a lifetime to erase, she could change her surroundings to enjoy the rest of her life rather than dwell on her bastard of an ex.
After parking, she chose the largest trolley she could find and entered the brightly lit store.
It had been years since she’d shopped in the city and the sheer size of the place had her goggle-eyed.
She thought it would be deserted because of the late hour, but it looked like shift workers were fond of all-night Kmarts.
She headed straight for the homewares section, amazed by the choice.
She didn’t dither over the essential items, adding a matching sheet and doona cover combo in pretty pastels to the trolley, followed by a plethora of plump cushions in seagrass and ivory.
In the bathroom section, she chose a funky flamingo bathmat edged in bright pink and matching pink towels, along with shell-shaped soap dishes and revolving makeup caddies.
She hadn’t checked the kitchen cabinets but assumed there’d be crockery and cutlery.
If not, she could stock up tomorrow, but for now she needed to focus on the bedroom, bathroom and living room, and make them as liveable as possible.
For the living room, she chose furry throw blankets in deep purple, eight lilac gingham cushions, bubble side tables, and several reed diffusers in crisp citrus and mojito mint to add a new scent to the place.
At the self-serve checkout, she added four blocks of chocolate to her overflowing trolley, because she intended on treating herself once she got the place set up with the new decor.
Banishing the bad karma left by Mac had to be her number one priority, but by the time she made it back to the apartment, unloaded everything and set up the new bedding, she couldn’t do much more than collapse onto the bed fully clothed, her muscles aching with exhaustion and her eyelids heavy.
Time enough to revamp the apartment and start her new life tomorrow.