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

have to keep some thoughts private. Plus, I don’t need her ripping my plan to shreds and telling me I’m going to fail. I hear enough of that kind of talk from Gloria.

‘I’ll figure something out,’ I say. ‘In five days’ time I’ll be zipping through duty-free, buying a new pair of hip black sunglasses and several international magazines, and zooming off on that big white bird into the sky.’

Several storage boxes later, I find the kids’ passports. They were done when we almost took a family vacation to Fiji with Max’s secretary/mistress, Poppy. The fucker.

Despite those unhappy memories, I’m feeling rather optimistic about life when I pick up Bella from netball and Sam from soccer. Am singing ‘Walking on Sunshine’, and feeling light on my feet for the first time in weeks. Actually, I feel kind of floaty, like I’m walking on air. I think for a moment and the penny drops. Maybe it’s the antidepressants kicking in. Whatever it is, I’m thankful to be having a good day. To make sure the mood lasts, I take special care not to engage any of the parents in conversation, confining myself to the obligatory nod.

‘Are we still going to Bali?’ Bella asks in the car.

I nod.

‘You’ll get arrested for sure,’ says Sam.

I swing my head around. ‘What? Why would you say that?’

‘That’s what Toby’s mum said. I heard her talking to Oliver’s mum.’

‘When’s your hair going to be normal again?’ Bella asks.

Day 35

‘How can you go away and leave all this?’ Gloria asks on Sunday evening as we huddle in the makeshift family room/kitchen/laundry and I feed her takeaway roast chicken. At least I made the salad myself because we still have a fridge that’s accessible. Just. The room, though, is rather smelly and grubby, and washing dishes in the laundry trough is wearing mighty thin. Gloria looks particularly unimpressed.

‘Aren’t you terrified the builders will disappear while you’re away?’

‘There’s been progress,’ I tell her, poking my head into the new extension and glancing at the junk strewn around the floor. ‘The brickwork’s completed, the gyprock replacing the buckled walls has been started.’ I breathe deeply. ‘The place is really starting to take shape, don’t you think? The stairs have gone. We now have a ramp to access the top floor.’

‘You call that progress?’

I take Gloria on a tour of the new part of the house. ‘See, the electrics and wiring for the kitchen and family room have been started.’

‘Several times, by the looks of all the holes in the walls,’ she sniffs.

‘Sure the electricians have made mistakes with power-point positions but it’s nothing a bit of money and time can’t fix,’ I say, knowing I’m fast running out of both.

‘What happened there?’ Gloria points to some dodgy floor tiles at the entrance to the laundry.

‘They were laid so excess water flows towards the doorway rather than the drain, so they have to be re-laid.’

‘I see.’

‘One day, in the near future,’ I say excitedly, ‘we’ll have a brand-new kitchen and a family room where we won’t have to huddle alongside the washing machine to watch TV.’

‘You keep telling me that, Luce, but I still don’t see any tradesmen. You’ve got to get tough, even if Patch is a potential love interest. Show him who’s boss. Tell him and his lackeys to get on with it.

‘Your hair’s starting to grow on me, by the way. I was a bit frightened at first, but I think it’ll be okay - combine it with a high-protein, no-carb diet and you’ll be back in the big game in no time.’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence -’

‘Baby steps, darl. Now, what exactly do you need to do before you head off on this ridiculous search-and-destroy mission?’

‘Well, I’ve ordered more tiles . . . the oven . . . I’ve given Patch a timeline of when things need to be completed by, and he’s agreed. The timber floors need to be laid, kitchen installed, then the painting. I guess there’s a fair bit to do.’ I look around. ‘Except I’m not sure about timber floorboards anymore. Maybe vinyl or cork tiles will be okay.’

I can’t afford timber. It’s as simple as that. It’s just taken me a while to realise I have to lower my expectations.

Gloria rolls her eyes. ‘Cork tiles? You’re joking, right?’

‘I’m going to run out of money soon. I need to economise. And there’s no way I can have marble benchtops in the kitchen. I’ll have to settle for laminex.’

‘Stainless-steel splashbacks, at least?’

I shake my head. ‘I don’t think so.’

To distract Gloria from making any more disparaging comments, I tell her about my secret Bali plan.

‘I’ll stake out the surfing beaches, and just happen to be standing nearby as Max walks out of the surf. I’ll be looking glamorous in my batik sarong and windswept hair, and as he saunters past I’ll nonchalantly say, “Max, hi . . . I didn’t realise you were still in Bali.” What d’you think?’

I needn’t have asked because Gloria is doubled over laughing.

‘One,’ she says, holding her index finger in the air, ‘please don’t wear a sarong, batik or otherwise. You’ll look positively frumpy. And two,’ she’s actually snorting now, ‘two, there is no such thing as windswept hair when you’re smack bang on the equator. It’ll be so hot and humid, your hair will be constantly stuck to your face and you’ll be begging strangers to shave it off.’

‘I might get it braided,’ I start, but am cut off by more annoying laughter.

‘Don’t. Please, stop. You’re killing me. You and braids?

I’d like to see that! Yeah, go for it.’

‘I might.’

‘Dear Lord above, just say no, Lucy. If the only reason you’re dragging your kids to Bali is to spy on your adulterous husband, forget it.’

‘The kids will have fun.’

‘Not if you’re going to force them to spy on their father. Do the adult thing. Find out where he’s staying, sneak into his room when he’s out with his lady love and put scorpions in his