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

may as well finish your holiday. Though I hope you’re keeping a diary so you can write about it when you get back.’

‘No, Gloria.’

‘But I can get you airtime on radio and TV -’

‘No!’ I say, and hang up.

Knowing that we won’t be coming back to this island any time soon, I relent and promise the kids I’ll cancel our flight home. They’re delighted.

Nevertheless, I’m still being swamped by massive waves of fear and sadness. What if the island is unlucky enough to be hit again? We have a chance to escape tonight and I’m turning it down. Am I the most irresponsible mother in the world? People have accused me of such a crime for much lesser incidents. Imagine what they’ll say about me now, putting my children’s lives at risk?

I think about Max’s dismissal of the incident as ‘one of those things’ rather than an ongoing war of terrorism. I bet he wouldn’t be so blasé if he’d been at the hospital with me and seen the mutilated bodies for himself.

As the afternoon eases into early evening, Max still doesn’t come back or call. Bella and Sam don’t seem worried. They’re happy to keep diving into the pool, yelling, ‘Look at me, Mum, look at me!’

It’s a different story when Max doesn’t show for dinner. ‘I thought Daddy was coming back tonight,’ Sam says. We are all hurt and confused. I call Max’s mobile several times but it goes to his message bank. I have a sinking, gut-wrenching feeling and, as the night drags on, I become increasingly agitated.

At eleven o’clock, about the time we would have been boarding our flight home, I turn out the lights.

From Max there is no message, no phone call, nothing. He’s a total no-show.

Day 45

I don’t sleep well, and when I do nod off I dream about Sanglah Hospital. I’m running down endless corridors littered with lifeless, limbless bodies, searching for Max, hoping he won’t be among the dead. People scream but are silent. I shout as well but no sound escapes my mouth. Everything’s completely and eerily noiseless. I turn over countless dead bodies, searching. Finally, I see Max. I can’t see his face, but I know it’s him and I know he’s dead. I inch slowly towards him, knowing I have to face the truth regardless of how terrifying it is. Just as I reach him, he jumps up, turns and smiles. I wake shaking, twisted in the sheets.

When I fall asleep again, I’m in the midst of dozens of weeping, wailing people holding their dead and dying loved ones in their arms. I’m sobbing, hugging Bella and Sam and telling them that their dad has died. It’s horrible and I wake in a sweat.

It’s just a nightmare, I tell myself, but can’t help but get a sick feeling in my stomach about Max and me. He didn’t call last night. Were the dreams my subconscious mind trying to warn me?

I check that the children are safely asleep in their beds, then I doze.

Bella, Sam and I head to the beach for an early morning walk. Again, I eyeball every walker we pass. Any one of them could be a maniacal suicide bomber waiting for his or her opportunity to pounce. Common sense tells me that no one is going to target three scruffy tourists at seven-thirty in the morning, but I still keep the children within safe snatching distance.

We’ve gone only a few metres before an Indonesian woman comes up to us offering sarongs for sale. I wave her away but she tells me I don’t have to buy. ‘I just practise my English.’

She introduces herself as Betty and says, ‘Your name, ma’am?’

‘Lucy.’

‘Loo-see. Very pretty. How many children you have, Loo-see?’

I point to Bella and Sam. They smile and she smiles back.

‘Very beautiful children,’ she says, her eyes wide. She holds up several sarongs. ‘You like, you try, you buy.’ From her bottomless black plastic bag she also pulls out skirts, cotton shirts, pants and trucker caps in different colours and styles. How can I not buy clothes from her after she’s said nice things about my children? Besides, she’s only asking the equivalent of a couple of Australian dollars.

I glance at Bella and Sam, now doing cartwheels in the sand - yes, they are beautiful. I am so relieved and happy. Then I feel guilty because I haven’t always been the most involved parent, but I’m determined to try harder. After all, I did promise God, back when I prayed Max would be found alive.

As Betty lays out the clothing on the beach in front of us, another local, Bob, appears, selling watches, wood carvings and wallets.

‘You here for bomb?’ he asks.

I nod my head. ‘Yes.’

‘Very bad, very bad for Bali. Terrible,’ Betty says. She looks my age but is probably ten years younger. ‘Nobody come here. All tourists go home.’

‘We’re not going home, are we, Mum?’ Bella says, bounding up.

‘Not yet,’ I say quietly.

‘No, silly,’ says Sam, ‘we have another two whole days. I’m having THE best time.’ He manages a spectacular handstand to prove his point. ‘Can I buy a watch?’

‘You like?’ Bob says, his dark brown eyes pleading with me to buy. It works. I buy three watches and six sarongs in different colours. They are so cheap I feel as though I’m stealing.

‘You come back tomorrow, Loo-see, for manicure and massage?’

‘Maybe,’ I tell Betty. ‘Maybe.’

We finish our walk and head up to the hotel for breakfast where we gobble eggs and bacon, followed by coconut pancakes. We spend the day poolside again, and still there’s no word from Max. I’m trying to remain calm but a bigger part of me is trying to signal danger. If he meant all the things he said the other night, then why isn’t he here? With me. With Bella and Sam. Why is it taking so long to break up with Alana?

Day 46

I take Bella and Sam to the kids club soon after breakfast.