Lisa Heidke by Lucy (mobi) (book club reads TXT) 📗

‘Oh, shut up.’

‘You don’t have the MASBs, do you?’

‘The what?’

‘The Morning After Shagging Blues. C’mon, Lucy, tell me, was he a good fuck?’

‘Shut. Up.’

‘Ah, so he was. You did well. I could tell from the way he was gyrating on the dance floor.’

‘He’s so young -’

‘Who cares? Anyway, it’s only natural you’d be feeling a bit -’

‘A bit what? Ashamed? Embarrassed?’ I launch, ready to defend myself.

‘I was going to say, emotional.’

Patch tells me we’re over-budget.

‘How can you be over-budget? You haven’t done anything.’

‘I’m working through the list, like you asked me,’ he says, waving several sheets of paper in the air. ‘There’s the trouble with the cabinet-maker, the extra excavation we needed to do in the garden, replacement of the sewer pipes -’

‘How much over-budget?’ I’m trying to remain professional, despite my overwhelming urge to throttle him.

‘About fifty per cent, give or take.’

‘Give or take what?’

‘It all depends on the next stage, Lucy. Appliances, fittings . . .’

I want to take his little head and ram it through the glass door. Instead, I say, ‘I need a breakdown of the costs, including what you’ve already spent and future projections, including extras.’ I’m getting fired up now. ‘And, Patch, I think the contractors are harassing my cat. He turned up the other day in a tizz because bits of concrete were stuck to his tail. I had to cut the fur out.’

Patch puts him arm around me. ‘Have you thought about taking anger-management classes? They’re really very helpful. A client of mine -’

‘For your information, I don’t need anger-management classes,’ I say, removing his arm. ‘What I need are builders who turn up when they say they are going to. What I need is my house back. I’m living with constant dust - on the floor, the furniture, in my hair, my clothes, the breakfast cereal . . .’

‘I like the new forceful Lucy, it suits you.’

I want to go on but Patch’s good eye glazes over with something suspiciously resembling desire. I make a hasty retreat.

Nadia phones and invites the children and me over for dinner.

‘How’s it going?’ she asks, looking totally gorgeous in a white cotton empire-line dress, her magnificent bosom on display.

‘Fine, great,’ I say.

‘Haven’t seen you at school this week.’

‘No, the children don’t like me stopping by unless it’s absolutely necessary.’

Especially after what Sam told his class, the incident with the bus driver, and then Sam’s concert where I wore a see-through shirt, smelt of dog and accidentally sat in the principal’s chair.

‘Don’t take it to heart,’ she says. ‘No one blames you for Max running off with Alana.’

‘Really? I can only imagine what people must be saying about me.’

Nadia looks away for a moment and shrugs. ‘Every family has its ups and downs - you can’t get by in this life without messing up. Shit happens, and it happens to everyone. People who say their lives are perfect are lying . . . or drinking heavily. Speaking of which, here.’ She hands me a glass of wine.

‘Maybe some people are better at hiding it,’ I say, hopefully.

‘That’s the spirit. Just remember, everyone’s fucked up about something. Now, have you rung my lawyer?’

I shake my head. ‘I can’t. It’s too soon.’

‘There’s plenty of time. On the bright side, being single you get to have the whole bed to yourself, don’t have to share the remote control or shave your legs - and you’ve got those cute builders crawling all over your house. Who was the one I saw the other day - had a patch over one eye?’

‘That would be Patch.’

Nadia smirks as if to say, of course, how silly of me. ‘He’s cute.’

‘You think?’

‘Honey, up here anyone who can walk and talk and doesn’t have a hunchback is considered fair game. He’s on the money. I couldn’t stop staring at his biceps. Man, oh man.’

‘Don’t you get lonely?’ I ask, trying not to think about Patch’s cuteness or his bulging biceps.

‘Sure, sometimes. But I have the kids, my trusty vibrator . . .’ Nadia laughs. ‘Seriously, you know Jack’s mum, Andrea? She hosts lingerie parties, husband’s a doctor? I bought a couple from her. She has a handcuff fetish. I’ll introduce you. And occasionally I go out on dates.’

I shake my head, thinking back to last night.

‘I know you can’t imagine it now, Lucy, but the time will come.’

‘No, I -’

‘I’ve been out on some doozies. Once, I even had dinner with a toothless man. Of course, I didn’t realise he was toothless until we kissed.’

‘And?’

‘His denture dislodged and I ended up with a molar entwined with my tongue. True story.’

I arrive home two hours later to the sound of the telephone ringing. Bloody Gloria!

‘Yes, Gloria.’

‘Yes, yourself.’

It’s not Gloria. My stomach lurches. I feel twenty years old again.

‘Dom,’ I squeak. ‘How are you?’

‘Not bad. You’re a difficult one to track down. After I called and you didn’t phone me back -’

‘I can explain.’

‘I’m sure you can. I sent you a couple of emails, three, but you didn’t answer any.’

‘But -’

‘I was starting to think that either you were dead, you hated me, or you thought I was stalking you like one of your lovesick fans.’

‘I don’t have any lovesick fans.’

‘I’ve always been a fan.’

‘Hmm,’ I murmur, lost for words. ‘So . . .’

‘Why am I calling? Thought it was about time I tried again. I know things haven’t been easy for you lately . . . You weren’t going to call me, were you, Luce?’

I hesitate. ‘Of course I was.’

‘Liar, liar.’

‘Okay . . . maybe not right away.’

‘Aha! So how you holding up?’

‘Fine . . .’

‘Except you’re living in a dump. Am I right?’ He sounds exactly like the straightforward Dom of old. I almost forget to be nervous.

‘I wouldn’t exactly call it a dump,’ I say, looking around the dump I’m standing in. For the next forty minutes I tell him everything about the renovation, and Max and Alana. On and on. The more we talk, the more I realise