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“Sorry if that’s hard to hear, but you are heading back to the UK in two weeks, aren’t you?” Perfectly manicured hands did a balancing act in the air. “So, it’s kind of obvious really, which way it’s weighted.”
“Got it.” Still cold all over, Felicity stood up. Scarlet screamed in protest.Well, sod Scarlet, she was going to lie through her teeth.“Actually, it’s fortuitous we met. I came back early to pack my things and ship out. Wasn’t sure how I was going to explain that to Oliver, but sounds like it won’t be a problem. I want some time back home before term starts. Jet lag and wrangling five-year-olds—not good.” She made a mock gagging motion and then wanted to kick her sodding self in the backside.
Leonie smirked. “Can’t be worse than organising weddings. Eek—bridezillas. Worse than little kids.”
Did she realise how ironic that was? Felicity almost laughed hysterically. Instead, she gaffer taped the smile to her mouth and grabbed her bag.
“I’ll just need to retrieve the rest of my belonging from the apartment, then I’ll leave you to…” she gulped down the rock in her throat, “—sort things out between you. Nice to meet you, Leonie.”
Leonie smirked. “I guess he’s talked about me quite a lot?”
It still hurt to smile, but this one had a tiny morsel of revenge attached. “No, not at all actually.”
* * *
Why wasn’t Felicity answering?
Last night, when Oliver had got home, she’d finally texted saying,sorry I’ve had a hideous migraine. Call you tomorrow.His relief had been tangible. It offset his disgust that Leonie had clearly been trying to placate him by leaving gourmet cheeses and meats in the fridge.
He dumped them in the bin and went and bought a kebab.
That night the dreams were back with a vengeance. Felicity’s pink hat went dipping and diving over the edge of the Great Australian Bight as he tried to hammer down his tent pegs. He’d hesitated, not knowing whether to stay with his tent or chase the hat, only to have the tent poles rip out of the ground and to watch, helpless and bereft, as his tent flew after her hat and disappeared over the horizon.
As soon as he woke, he grabbed his phone. No message. An icy feeling invaded his body and refused to leave, even after he’d run like a man possessed to Bondi surf club and back.
Before his shower, he phoned her.
Then again straight after.
When his phone finally beeped with a message, he grabbed it and read it, forgetting to turn off the coffee grinder until the grounds overflowed all over the white bench top.
Felicity:Are you home? Alone?
Strange.
Oliver:Yes, where are you? Been really worried.
Felicity:Coming round now.
Oliver:You’re in Sydney???
No answer.
Fuck.
It wasn’t until he’d walked around in circles for ten minutes (circles ensured he didn’t stop and count) that he heard the lift door open ping and in she walked with her pink hat on her head, and his heart leapt—then plummeted. She was wearing the—something sliced through his chest like an omen—the same spotted turquoise dress she’d worn the day he met her at the airport. That wide orange belt and stockings, hiding her scar.
And he realised something was terribly, terribly wrong.
Her face was pale. Her nose a little sunburnt, her eyes dull.
“Thank god you’re okay.” He strode towards her. “I thought you were sick. Or had an accident. Christ, it’s so good to see you.” He enveloped her in a hug, kissed her. Her body stayed ramrod still, arms at her sides, her lips unresponsive.
Slowly he pulled back. “Felicity, what’s the matter?”
Why wouldn’t she meet his eyes? “I actually got back yesterday. I came here, brought some cheese and salami and olives, did you find them in the fridge?”
“You left those?” His gut twisted, hoping she wouldn’t check the bin.
