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.’
Chapter Forty-Six
NETTA
A week and a half later, Netta turned the key in the front door of her apartment for the first time in more than two years. She pushed the door open, a wave of nostalgia surging through her at the sight of the sand-coloured floorboards and milky walls.
Freya bustled up the stairs behind her, huffing and puffing, loaded up with bags. ‘You know what’s great about new apartment buildings?’
‘I don’t know. What’s great about new apartment buildings?’
Freya dumped the bags at her feet and flexed her fingers. ‘Elevators, that’s what.’
Netta laughed as she shuffled inside, weighed down by a box of crockery, and leaned against the door to hold it open for her friend. God, she’d missed this place.
‘You’ve gone all misty,’ said Freya. ‘I’ll go down and get some more stuff so you can have a moment.’
Netta nodded gratefully, unexpectedly overcome with emotion at being back inside her apartment after so long. She put the box down and took a slow walk through to the lounge, where her antique leather couch sat low and inviting on a shaggy rug and the big window let in streams of sunlight. The kitchen was small and needed a little work, but she wasn’t much of a cook so its worn benchtops and simple wooden cupboards had never really bothered her. She loved the leadlight window that sat high above the sink and the little bench that fitted two stools. She and Freya had spent many nights there with a bottle of wine, solving the world’s problems. She went through to the bedroom and was floored by an overwhelming sense of being home. Light filtered through the sheer curtains that hung from the ceiling to the floor, and her bed—stripped and ready to be dressed in her own linen—was like an old friend. A big timber-framed mirror leaned against the wall and a rug she’d bought on a trip to Bali lay at the foot of the bed.
She sat on the edge of the mattress and took a deep breath.
‘Am I interrupting anything?’ Freya appeared in the doorway, clutching a mop and a plastic storage bag full of bedding, the air sucked out of it to make it look like a stiff, lumpen cloud.
‘Only me reuniting with a lost love,’ said Netta, smiling. ‘It’s so good to be back here.’
‘This place definitely suits you. Let’s get her cleaned up, shall we?’
***
Netta leaned on the mop handle, a sheen of sweat lighting her face. ‘Right. It’s as clean as it’s ever been. Thanks, Frey. You’ve stayed for ages. You probably need to get back to your bambinos.’
‘Two very important things still to be done before I take off.’
‘Which are?’
Freya retrieved her handbag from the couch and pulled out a bottle of champagne and a thick bunch of sticks and dried leaves wrapped together with twine. ‘We must cleanse and then christen the apartment, Netta.’
‘I think we’ve just cleansed the life out of it,’ Netta said. ‘I’m going to be smelling disinfectant for a week.’
‘No, no. The smudge stick is to cleanse it of any bad juju, silly. It banishes negative energy.’
Netta rolled her eyes but happily let Freya swirl the smoking stick around the apartment. A little juju cleanse couldn’t go astray, after all, especially after the release of the interview a week ago. It had, predictably, made quite the splash in the UK. Other women whom Mitch had treated poorly had come forward, and he’d seemingly scurried under a rock with his fingers in his ears. Thankfully, the article didn’t even nudge the shores of Australia—and it seemed other ‘news’ had quickly swept her interview out of the spotlight in the UK. Netta was glad to box that particular portion of her history up and dump it off a cliff.
As the air filled with the herby scent of sage and lavender, Netta busied herself finding wine glasses in one of the boxes stacked in the kitchen.
‘There, done. Good vibes only,’ announced Freya, dropping the smoking stump into the sink. ‘I’ll just pop to the loo and then we can crack open the champers.’
Freya disappeared into the bathroom and Netta rinsed the glasses free of the dust they’d collected in storage.
‘Netta!’ Freya shouted from the bathroom after a moment. ‘Have you got any tampons?’
‘Ah, yep. Hang on.’ Netta set the glasses on the rack to drain and swiped her handbag from the bench. She rummaged to find the stash of tampons she always kept in there, and as her fingers found the unopened box, it dawned on her that she hadn’t had a period for ages; she’d been so caught up in the break-up and the trip and Mo to even notice. She knocked lightly on the bathroom and opened it just enough to post the box through to Freya.
