Chapter Forty-Five Netta
Chapter Forty-Five
NETTA
Netta stared through the tiny window as Melbourne came into view, the clouds above her once again and reality waiting below.
Saying goodbye to Audrey and Fletcher had been harder than she’d expected, and the flight had been excruciating—too many hours of no personal space, trapped in claustrophobic hell between the window and a couple with a baby who’d barely stopped crying for the entire flight.
Knowing what she was going home to hadn’t helped either.
Nor what she had left behind. She felt like the cheese between two slices of mouldy bread, and her edges were curling.
Miserably, she replayed the airport scene in her mind again, torturing herself with the humiliation of it.
She’d waited until the final second to get on the plane, a part of her convinced that Mo would turn up.
That he would blaze in, declaring his love and telling her she couldn’t leave.
That the crowd would erupt into cheers and whoops as he pulled her to him and kissed her with the passion of a thousand Mills and Boon novels.
But none of that had happened. And, naturally, it had crushed her all over again.
And then, of course, there was the awful unknown—the interview.
It was being released in a couple of days.
Her only comfort was that Mitch Carlton was a nobody in Australia, so, fingers crossed, the fallout mightn’t follow her home.
The seatbelt sign dinged and Netta clipped herself in, ready to be delivered from one gigantic mess to another.
The baby chose the same moment to stop crying, finally worn out.
The sudden quiet was both welcome and confronting.
Without the intrusion, Netta’s thoughts were free to strip off and stroll around her brain like they owned the place.
Freya was there to meet her when she came through the arrivals gate at the airport. She scooped Netta into a huge hug. ‘I’ve missed you,’ she said into her hair. ‘Never leave me for a rock star again, okay?’
Netta hugged her friend hard and together they rocked in the embrace, travellers milling around them, totally unaware that Netta had gone to London as one thing and come back another. Repaired, but newly broken.
‘Let’s get you home, shall we?’
‘I don’t even know where that is anymore,’ said Netta miserably.
‘Rubbish,’ comforted Freya. ‘Mi casa, su casa until su casa is vacated—which I believe will be in about a week and a half?’
Netta nodded, wiping tears from her cheeks. ‘Are you sure it’s okay with Matt if I stay with you until then?’
‘He’s fine with it.’
Netta gave her a disbelieving look.
‘More than fine with it,’ Freya said. ‘He cleared all his snowboarding shit out of the study and we found a sofa bed fossilising underneath. It’s yours for as long as you need it.’
Netta squeezed her friend’s hand as they walked towards the exit. ‘Thanks, Frey.’
‘You must be looking forward to being back in your own place, though,’ said Freya.
Netta thought about her apartment, with its high ceilings and pale floorboards.
Her bedroom’s twin windows looked out over the street below through the branches of a giant oak tree and her bed lay between them, surrounded by potted plants and books.
‘I can’t wait. Pete’s place was never really me, if you know what I mean.
I’m just hoping the tenant took care of my furniture.
I can’t wait to unpack all my bits and pieces and set the place up again.
’ She smiled. Maybe she did have something to look forward to after all.
‘When does school go back?’ asked Freya as they neared the carpark.
‘I’ve still got four more weeks of holidays, give or take. And then, three and a bit weeks after that—’ she turned to Freya with comically widened eyes, ‘—I turn forty.’
Freya clutched at her chest. ‘No, Netta! It’s not possible. You can’t be forty! We were only twenty-five and drinking shots at Boutique last week!’
‘I don’t want to alarm you—’ Netta’s voice was solemn, ‘—but three months after I turn forty, you will also turn forty.’
Freya grinned and hooked her arm through Netta’s. ‘Okay, now I know you’re talking shit.’
The drive home was quiet—every kilometre down, every landmark they passed, a reminder of the growing distance between Netta and Mo.
Netta was bone-tired from the flight and Freya drove wordlessly, seeming to understand that she needed some time to process the events of the last week.
How could it only have been a week? It seemed impossible to Netta that she could feel so profoundly changed in such a short amount of time.
As they neared Freya’s house in Newport, Netta absentmindedly scrolled through the emails that had piled up in her inbox while she’d been away, finding one from Rhona among them.
PAYMENT
Rhona van der Wilden
To: Netta Phillips
Dear Netta,
Firstly, I hope you had a good flight home.
It was so lovely having you here and I wish you’d been able to stay a little longer.
Mo hasn’t told me what happened between the two of you in much detail—just that he told you something he shouldn’t have—but he’s in a major rut right now and I hope you haven’t taken any of it personally.
I can assure you none of it is about you.
He’s a clam and it seems forcing his own shell open hasn’t really worked out the way he’d hoped.
In terms of the money, he’s made it abundantly clear to me that it is not to be returned. It’s yours, honey. It was promised well before anything between the two of you happened and it’s important to him that you have it.
Yours,
Rhona
Netta threw the phone over her shoulder, letting it land with a thud in Jed’s empty baby capsule.
‘Okay …’ said Freya, shooting her friend a sidelong glance.
‘An email.’ Netta rubbed at her eyes. ‘From Rhona.’
‘What did she say?’
‘That Mo won’t take the money back.’
‘Anything else?’ Freya changed gear as she rounded the corner into her street. ‘You were reading for longer than that.’
‘She said Mo’s messed up and I shouldn’t take it personally.’
Freya pulled the car to a halt, its nose coming to rest behind Netta’s bug, which had camped out the front of her house while Netta had been away. ‘Right.’
‘Easier said than done.’ Netta unclicked her seatbelt and opened the door. Before she could slide out into the warmth of the afternoon, Freya put her hand on her arm.
‘You don’t know what’s going to happen, Netta,’ said Freya. ‘He could well prove to be your chocolate yet. And it’s good about the money.’
‘No, it’s not,’ groaned Netta. ‘It just means he feels guilty for leading me on and then ditching me as soon as things got real.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Freya. ‘But even if that is the case, it’s still a gift. Without it, you’d have to save for ages to be able to try for a baby on your own. This isn’t about him or anyone else. It’s about you being able to move forward. It’s a little hand up, that’s all.’
As they got out of the car, Netta considered Freya’s advice, picturing herself sitting in the pool of sunshine that hit the couch in her apartment every morning, holding a wrapped-up baby in her arms. Her heart contracted.
That’s what she wanted. She wanted it so badly she could practically feel her uterus pulsing with the need for it.
She looked at Freya and nodded. ‘You’re right. It’s time I put myself first for once.’
‘You won’t be alone, Netts. I’ll be with you every step of the way,’ said Freya. ‘Every step.’ She gave Netta’s hand a squeeze. ‘Well, maybe not for the turkey baster bit. But everything else.’
Netta pulled Freya into a hug. ‘I’m so lucky to have you.’
‘Likewise,’ Freya said. ‘Now, let’s get you inside for a nice hot shower. You smell like plane.’