A week from hell. She had heard people say that and sympathised, but never thought about what it might mean. That was until now.
Louisa Crothers stirred her coffee, staring out at the lush, green garden. A butterfly tapped the outside of the window before floating upwards, caught in the gentle winter breeze. Watching it disappear, she envied that butterfly. Why was it here? It was winter and butterflies weren’t normally around at this time of the year. Okay, the weather had been drier and warmer than normal … and there had been nothing normal about this year.
Her heart ached and she swallowed a mouthful of coffee, hoping to dissolve the lump in her throat.
The phone danced frantically on the table, its melody shattering her thoughts. Coffee sloshed onto the polished floorboards and she cursed as her sister’s name lit up the screen. She hesitated before swiping the green icon.
“Hi Meg.” She wiped up the spilt coffee and slumped on the chair, ready for what she knew would be a barrage of questions.
“Hi Lou. How are you feeling today?”
“Fine. A bit tired.” Neither fine nor tired were quite the right words but she wasn’t going to elaborate. She took a deep breath and waited.
“Well, maybe now we’ve finished cleaning out Mum’s house, you could have a holiday.”
Lou sighed, grimacing at Meg’s use of the word we. Yes, Meg had flitted in for a day and chosen all the items she’d wanted from their mother’s jewellery, china and antique furniture, and left the cleaning to Lou. Her brother, John, had accompanied her to the solicitor and accountant but was very clear about his lack of interest in anything their mother had owned.
“I know you’ll do the right thing by us all,” he’d said. He had given her a quick hug before jumping into the taxi and whizzing back to the airport to catch his flight to Melbourne. Such is the life of a pilot.
She dismissed her brother’s activities and concentrated again on her little sister at the other end of the phone. “Sure. That would be nice. What about my job? And getting everything organised for the house sale? Can you and John help?”
Meg breathed out—but it was more like a soft sigh. It was clear the answer was no. Time stretched out as Lou waited for Meg’s response.
“Well, maybe after all that’s done then. You can take some more holiday leave, can’t you?”
Lou clenched her teeth.
“I don’t have much holiday leave left now as I’ve used most of it caring for Mum.” Her pulse quickened and she lowered her shoulders, quelling her rising frustration. “Thanks for coming up for my birthday, Meg. It was good to see you all.”
“Yeah, it was a lovely evening, wasn’t it?”
Lou waited for what she knew would come next.
“Shame Phillipa couldn’t make it, but I guess London is a bit far away to pop over for your mother’s fiftieth.”
Meg was the only one in the family who insisted on calling Pip Phillipa. It was the name given to her at birth—but since a tiny baby, Lou’s daughter had been known as Pip, and she and Lou had a strong, loving relationship. Lou was proud of both her children and would never dream of insisting they come home for her birthday—but would definitely not let her sister know how disappointed she had been to not have her daughter join them.
“At least Aaron came. He seems happy in Cairns,” Meg prattled on. “I didn’t get to talk to Elliott. He was a bit quiet. Is everything alright between you two?”
Lou froze. She should have known Meg would notice. She never missed anything.
“Yeah. It’s just that with Mum’s funeral and my birthday party within days of each other, it’s been a big week. We’re both a bit tired.” She hated lying and wanted to end this conversation before Meg managed to weaken her resolve. She would tell her when the time was right.
A movement outside distracted her, and she smiled at the perfect timing. The front gate squeaked and Lou’s neighbour struggled up the steps.
“I’ll have to go Meg. Ivy, my neighbour, has just arrived and Elliott’s out on a bike ride this morning. Talk again soon.” She hung up before Meg could interrupt, placed her phone back on the table and walked to the veranda to greet the elderly lady.
Ivy was panting by the time she reached the veranda and Lou smiled at her.
“Let me catch my breath for a minute and I’ll get out of your hair,” she huffed.
“Come and sit down?” Lou pulled the cane chair closer and grasped the woman’s arm.
Ivy clutched a bunch of camellias and she held them up, leaning heavily on Lou as she lowered herself into the seat. “These are for you. I didn’t come over earlier because I knew you were busy. How are you getting on with everything, dear?”
Lou’s heart warmed, and she slumped into the chair next to her. “I’m fine, thanks. Just too much to do at the moment. I’ve worked several night shifts in a row and haven’t had enough sleep. I’m trying to get Mum’s house cleared and prepared for sale, and it’s taking time to sort through seventy-five years of possessions and memories.”
Ivy smiled and patted Lou’s hand. “Well, I’ll let you get on with things. I’m just next door if you need anything.” She grunted, clutching the arm of the chair as she struggled to her feet.
Ivy took Lou’s arm and they descended the stairs, pausing for breath again at the bottom. Ivy’s watery eyes met Lou’s, and she studied her for a minute in silence. Lou squirmed, knowing how little the old woman missed.
“Don’t forget to put those camellias in water now,” Ivy said.
“I won’t.” Lou smiled and her friend hobbled slowly back along the footpath and through her own gate before disappearing inside.
Returning to the kitchen, Lou put the camellias in a vase, made herself a fresh cup of coffee and spread the Sunday newspaper across the table. She scanned the first three pages—all depressing and dramatic, neither of which she could stomach at the moment. Flicking through the travel insert, Lou was uninspired, yet restless and a little melancholic. She turned the last page and a picture caught her eye. A small, white cottage stared at her. Partially hidden by a grove of Pepperina trees, it was surrounded by golden fields, its backdrop a dark ridge of hills and rocky outcrops. She paused and read the advertisement.
“Farm-stay at Pepperina Cottage - situated on a working sheep and cattle station in the beautiful agricultural region of the Western Darling Downs.”
The phone number and email address were in smaller letters below the photo.
Lou stared at the advertisement for a full minute as her tired brain resisted. Vague memories flitted in and out—her grandparents’ farm when she was a child. Happy days and blissful school holidays. She picked up her phone and took a photo of the advertisement.
Her mind circled. Could she? Should she? I need fresh air.
Lou thrust her feet into her joggers. She locked the doors, slapped her cap on her head, and ran down the stairs into the surprisingly warm winter’s day. Walking briskly, she regretted not changing into comfy leggings. Her jeans felt tighter than usual. Had they shrunk? No, surely it’s not middle-aged spread already? She sucked in her stomach and straightened her shoulders as she strode out. An hour later she returned, her mind clear and her resolve stronger than it had been for days. She would confront Elliott and establish the truth. There was no point getting upset if there was no truth in the office gossip.
***
Lou had just stepped out of the shower when the back door banged. Elliott. Her stomach churned as a wave of nausea surged and threatened to rise in her throat. Staring at her face in the mirror, she swallowed hard, practiced a smile and dried her hair. In her thirties she had resented the grey hairs beginning to dominate the dark blonde, but now she was pleased she had never succumbed to the pressures of her hairdresser and friends to colour it. She pulled on clean jeans and a T-shirt and rubbed organic moisturiser into her face. Right, let’s get this over with.
“Is it true then?” Elliott spun around and stared at her. His reluctance to meet her eyes and his jutting chin said it all. “It is, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His tone was belligerent and defensive, and Lou knew.
Once, he had spoken to her soft and low. He worshipped the ground she walked on.
Not anymore.
Now, he probably saved that for someone else.
Anger crept up her body until it reached her face, burning her cheeks. It boiled over and she spat, “You didn’t think I’d find out, did you? You don’t know your staff as well as you think you do.”
He stared at her, his eyes darkening as the muscles in his neck bulged.
“Your friendly office manager saw me in the supermarket car park the day after Mum died and kindly offered her condolences. I’d thought she was talking about Mum, but then she shared the news I bet you thought you’d got away with. ‘Fancy innocent little Frances settling for a man almost twice her age. We think Elliott was flattered.’”
Lou stopped, took a deep breath, and clenched her fists. She would not behave like a fishwife for all the neighbourhood to hear. Continuing more quietly, she said, “I can’t remember what I said to her but it all fell into place. It’s been going on for months, hasn’t it?”
The clock ticked loudly in the silence as Elliott stared at her.
“Look at yourself. You never wear makeup or colour your hair—and you dress like you’re heading off on a camping trip. What do you expect? I’m embarrassed to ask you to come to any of the work functions.”
“If my appearance upsets you so much, why haven’t you discussed it with me? I suppose this Frances is ready to parade down the catwalk, with the stunning and sophisticated Elliott at her side,” Lou retorted. She gritted her teeth, willing her lip to stop quivering. Her stomach cramped again and the bile rose in her throat.
“She makes me happy—and you don’t. Anyway, you’ve always been too busy for me.”
“Oh, you poor boy.” Her fury ramped up a notch, driving her on. “I have been very busy, particularly in these last five years. Working full-time at the hospital, not to mention the shift work in order to pay for the kids’ university fees and the mortgage while your sales were in a slump. Oh, and add to that, caring for my failing mother, while all the time you were working extra hours without pay, supposedly building up your business—and of course, cycling with your friends, because in your line of work, it’s so important to network.”
“Shut your mouth, now!” Elliott stared at her, his eyes dark with anger. As she watched, frozen, his rage appeared to fade and he gave her a smarmy grin.
She spoke in the most pleasant manner she could muster. “You can move your clothes into Aaron’s room until we talk about where we go from here. While I’m at work, I suggest you get the paperwork done for Mum’s house because that had better go on the market this week. Megan and John want it sold as soon as possible.” She turned to retreat to their bedroom—her bedroom—and stopped.
She turned to look back at him. They’d shared so much—could it really be over?
“Do you still have any love for me?”
Elliott glared, said nothing and turned away.
Lou stumbled to the bedroom, her head spinning, and slammed the door behind her. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she sat on the bed and stared out of the window. A tree and the sea of roofs now blocked her view of the Story Bridge, and the roar of traffic penetrated through the glass, exaggerating her despair. What had happened to the devoted, effervescent man she had married?
Lying back on the bed, she closed her eyes and listened to her husband noisily preparing himself a snack. A few minutes later, the sound of running water echoed from the main bathroom. She presumed he would raid Aaron’s drawers and find something to wear. At least they were the same size and shape—no doubt he would feel good wearing something designed for a man half his age.
Lou’s misery festered as she lay, her mind churning over her husband’s cutting remarks. The front door slammed and Elliott’s sports car roared into life. She made no effort to move until long after the growl of the engine had disappeared.
Then, rolling over, she picked up her phone.
Lou sighed and flicked to the gallery of stored photos. She re-read the number and dialled.
