Lisa Heidke by Lucy (mobi) (rosie project .TXT) 📕

find my voice. ‘What if we hadn’t come looking for you? Would you still be glad to see us?’

He looks anxious. ‘How can you ask that? I’m really glad you’re here.’

I’m not convinced. At the back of my mind I’m still thinking that he doesn’t want to create a scene. He’ll do the usual Max thing: charm me so I forgive him and don’t ask hard questions.

‘I love your hair by the way,’ he says, and smiles. ‘It really suits you.’

He sounds as though he really means it. Does that mean he still likes me? Finds me attractive? Maybe even loves me again? Or is he just commenting on the new style, much the way a neighbour I haven’t seen for a few weeks would?

He’s not exactly asking for forgiveness, is he? He’s just talking about my hair.

Before I can confront him with this, Bella and Sam return. We eat grilled fish and chips, as though it’s a normal family meal. Until something that’s definitely not normal happens.

‘Max, darling! You said you’d only be half an hour.’ It’s Alana and she’s standing barely a metre away from us.

‘Max, darling?’ In front of me? Worse - in front of Bella and Sam! I want to kill her. Insensitive skinny bitch.

She’s wearing a short, revealing lime caftan with sparkly diamantés sewn around the low neckline to accentuate her tanned breasts. Her perfectly pedicured toes rest on dazzling pink-beaded thongs. Her hair’s loosely tied back in a messy ponytail and her only make-up seems to be the slash of pink across her teenage lips. She’s tanned, blonde and pretty. Which I’m not. She’s also young. Which I’m definitely not. Even in a disco with the lights dimmed, I couldn’t pass for twenty-eight anymore. I’m fading away while my husband’s lover - a girl who’s a mere nine years older than my daughter - is brimming with youth and vitality.

‘Alana,’ says Bella, surprised. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Holidays, sweetie,’ Alana replies brightly. ‘Don’t you just love Bali?’

‘Lani, Lani,’ squeals Sam. ‘You’re here too!’

Yeah, we’re all here. Me, Max, our children and Alana. Surely there’s something wrong with this picture?

‘Just another ten minutes,’ Max says, his voice silky and soothing.

Alana pouts, then reluctantly turns away, but not before giving Max a come-hither look full of promise. I want to punch her - and him.

‘What the hell is this, Max?’ I demand as the children happily follow Alana down to the water’s edge. ‘You bring her with you to see us?’

He frowns. ‘Alana’s fragile,’ he says. ‘She’s not like you.’

Fragile, my arse, I want to scream but the words don’t come out.

‘We’ll talk later on,’ he says. ‘In private.’

‘When?’ I ask, suddenly feeling very tired.

‘Tomorrow morning at your hotel, after breakfast. We’ll go over everything then. I want to do the right thing by you and the kids, I promise.’

He’s in a hurry to leave. His eyes are on Alana, who, despite giving piggybacks to Sam and Bella, is being chatted up by several Indonesian lads. It’s too much. I push my chair back and call the kids, needing to get away from him, from them. I wait while they run up to Max and kiss him goodbye. They don’t seem distressed about leaving their father and that makes me very sad. But I will myself not to cry. I refuse to break down until I’m back at the hotel and can lock myself in the bathroom.

We head back along the beach and my anger almost consumes me. Why should I wait for him again, I tell myself. Why does everything have to be played Max’s way?

‘Stay here a minute,’ I say to Bella, and jog back towards the restaurant where Max is still sitting. I’m not waiting another minute. We need to talk now.

The sight of Alana sitting with him stops me abruptly. I hide from view behind a cart loaded with barbecued corn on the cob. I creep closer to listen but can’t hear a word because three Elvises (complete with white jumpsuits and silver vinyl capes) are serenading diners close by with ‘It’s Now or Never’. So I stay where I am, rigid and straining my neck and ears as far as I can.

They’re laughing and touching each other, holding hands over the candle-lit table. The table where Bella, Sam, Max and I were sitting barely ten minutes ago. Our table, where now, Max and Alana thumb-wrestle and giggle.

I slowly walk back towards the children. They’re further along the beach than where I left them and I’m overcome by irrational fear until I spot them.

‘Why is Alana here?’ Sam asks as Wayan drives us back to our hotel.

‘She’s on holidays too,’ says Bella.

I don’t say anything. My mind is back at the restaurant - where Alana and Max have their heads together, whispering as lovers do, and laughing. No doubt laughing at me, his sucker of a wife. Max isn’t coming home. He’s clearly happy with Alana.

Day 43

It’s 1.15 am and I’m lying awake in bed. Did I really expect Max to turn up last night and tell me that the nightmare of the past six weeks was over? To beg me to take him back? To tell me he’s sorry for making the worst mistake of his life? Sadly, yes. Part of me - the part that’s been hoping against hope for the sake of the way we used to love each other, for our children - wants him to tell me he can’t live without me, that he’ll say goodbye to Alana forever and spend the rest of his days making it up to me, to us, till death do us part.

But if he did say all those things - and, let’s face it, it’s unlikely - could I really forgive the lies, the betrayal, the humiliation . . . again? Am I really so wretched that I’d accept him back into my life on his terms?

The sudden ring of the telephone shocks me.

It’s not Max, it’s Mum. I