The smell of the Falcon’s interior irritated the hairs up Lyn’s nose. She sniffed deeply regardless, as though savouring a freshly poured glass of her favourite sauvignon blanc. Twice-worn socks, stale sandwiches and was that a hint of actual cat’s piss she detected? Lyn wasn’t surprised. The seller had been a twenty-five-year-old tradie. The orange-and-grey hi-vis shirt streaked with grease gave it away when she and Cody had pulled up to take the car for a test drive. It wasn’t her idea of a first set of wheels but her son had done all the research online and as far…