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

‘Luce, it sounds to me like you really need to sort things out with Max. After all, he’s Bella and Sam’s father, and I guess if he can’t be grown-up about it, you have to be.’

‘But -’

‘For the sake of the kids, yourself - c’mon, you deserve more than a lousy postcard. Besides, there’s too much history, too much at stake, for you to throw it all away without at least talking things through, isn’t there?’

When Dom says this, it brings back memories of the history he and I have shared.

‘But he’s in Bali,’ I manage.

‘So?’

I don’t speak because I don’t have an answer.

Finally, Dom says, ‘Promise you’ll call me any time. I mean it. And don’t go stabbing yourself or others and, for God’s sake, do not under any circumstances let Gloria talk you into any more auditions for toilet adverts - with animals or humans.’

‘Okay,’ I say.

He doesn’t suggest we meet up and I’m disappointed. It would have been nice if he’d asked me for coffee, or lunch. Instead, he asks me if I could be any kind of inanimate object for a day, what would I choose.

Day 33

The good news? I think I’m starting to get through to Patch. He’s on my doorstep at 7 am looking alert and holding a piece of paper with a list of completion dates.

‘A month away from finishing, Lucy,’ he says. ‘Five weeks tops.’

I really want to believe him because it sounds so doable when he says it.

‘I don’t foresee any problem with the council inspection this morning, even though we’re not quite finished doing the electrics, and if there is, we can always slip the guy a few bob.’

‘You’re joking, of course.’

‘Of course.’

But I wouldn’t put it past him to bribe people, officials in particular. All I can think is that it’s coming out of my pocket. Next thing I know, I’ll be arrested for aiding and abetting dodgy building practices.

‘So what’s next?’ I ask.

‘The plasterers are in today, and after the electrician finishes, give or take a day, we move on to tiling, laying the floors, installing the kitchen and painting. Voila!

’

‘Has the kitchen actually been built?’

Patch hesitates. ‘It’s on its way, well on its way.’

‘Can I see it?’

‘Soon, very soon.’

‘Five weeks tops?’ I say.

‘Absolutely. Definitely no more than six. We’re pulling down the old stairs tomorrow, so for the next week there’ll be ramp access upstairs until the Oregon timber for the new set arrives. Yeah, it’s all taking shape.’ Patch smiles and looks down at his notes. ‘There’s just one more thing. You know that toilet you ordered?’

Yes, I do. It cost three thousand dollars. Buying a toilet to pay back my cheating husband was perhaps not such a good idea in hindsight. The money situation is escalating out of control. The bills come in, I write the cheques, and while no one’s rung to say their cheque’s bounced, logic tells me that the money has to run out eventually. Especially if Max never comes back. For now, at least, his salary is being paid directly into our bank account, and we had money set aside for the renovation, but the costs . . . Who knew something as trivial as waterproofing could be so expensive?

‘It seems to have disappeared,’ Patch goes on. ‘The boys have looked everywhere but there’s no sign of the Magic Flush 4000. Don’t worry, though. Insurance should cover it. Most of it, anyway.’

Despite the disappearance of my overpriced loo and the sick feeling I have regarding spiralling renovation costs, I feel strangely comforted now that Patch has given me a completion schedule. I know he won’t stick to it, but having a piece of paper at least gives me hope.

Patch shows me a Villeroy & Boch bathroom brochure. ‘This one’s a back-to-wall model with a soft-close seat,’ he says, pointing at a black-and-white photo of an ordinary-looking toilet. ‘And it has a built-in auto-flush so you don’t even have to push a button when you’re finished doing your business.’

‘Great . . . I think.’

‘Yeah, it’s so much better than the Magic Flush 4000. It even has an in-built air-freshener. Best of all, it’s a third of the price.’

‘Go for it,’ I say, and fling my red rabbit-furred pom-pom poncho over my shoulders. Why didn’t he show me that one in the first place?

Flowers arrive at the front door with a gift-wrapped little package. My heart jumps. Could they be from Max? Dom, even?

No, they’re from Rock. He must have asked Gloria for my address. I open the package. My knickers. I wondered what had happened to them. I was kind of hoping they’d disappear, never to be seen or spoken of again. Alas . . . At least they’ve been washed.

I do my rounds of the building work and my top lip curls automatically as I watch the plasterers. Don’t get me wrong, it’s progress. The more noise, filth and general disorder, the closer we move towards the logical conclusion of a new kitchen, living area and bathroom. And I really want these things. I do. It’s just that these guys are too loud, too filthy and far too messy for my liking. Today, I can’t even get my big toe inside the laundry/kitchen/family room.

After lunch, the plasterers leave empty Coke cans, half-eaten pies and a mound of cigarette butts. But I don’t say anything. The last thing I want is for them to walk off the job, the way the tiler did three days ago when I made a tiny comment about the tiles not being the right colour.

Afterwards, Patch told me it would take him forever to find another tiler.

‘But there must be dozens of them,’ I said.

‘Yeah, but tilers talk and word is you’re one difficult customer.’

‘I wouldn’t be difficult if my job had been finished on time. In fact, by my reckoning, you guys should have been out of here three and a half months ago.’

‘You can’t rush perfection.’

‘My point exactly. If