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

Thank goodness this morning’s activity is handfeeding the fish in the hotel’s many ponds, so there are no protests from either of them. I need some time alone to get my head together, to figure out what the hell is going on with Max. I’ve left several messages for him.

Minutes after I get back to our room, he turns up.

‘Luce, don’t be angry,’ he begins.

I want to kick myself. I want to gouge out both my eyes with my bare hands because I know Max well enough to predict what he’s going to say next.

‘Alana needs me.’

Bingo!

‘You told me you loved me,’ I say, without conviction. I’m so angry with myself. Did I really think this story could possibly have a happy ending? You can’t fix something that’s beyond repair. If I wasn’t so furious, it would be funny. Hysterical.

‘I do love you,’ he says.

‘Just not the way you love her,’ I finish for him.

I hate him. I hate myself. I’m an idiot and I deserve to be treated this way.

‘Lucy, I’m sorry. I still love you, but it is what it is.’

‘What does that mean? What are you telling me?’

‘Alana and I happened. I can’t deny it.’ Max shows no remorse. His face is devoid of expression and he speaks without passion, anger or sadness.

‘Do you love her?’ I demand.

‘She’s so young.’

‘That’s not an answer, Max. Do you love her?’

‘I love you too.’

‘But not enough to stay with me? With the kids?’ I’m furiously wiping away tears.

‘I’ve never felt like this before.’

‘That makes me feel so good.’

‘You know what I mean . . . Alana is my soul mate. I’m sorry, Lucy, really . . . This is a really difficult time for her. You understand.’

I understand? Who am I? Bloody Mother Teresa? Yes, I understand, you C-U-Next-Tuesday arsehole. I feel the roller-coaster of my emotions threatening to derail. Where are my Omega-3 fish oil capsules when I need them?

Max looks over to the buddha statue less than five metres away and I see that Alana’s standing there. Max gestures to her and she starts walking over.

Shit!

‘Why the hell is she here, Max? Tell her to go away. She’s not part of our family.’

‘Maxie,’ says Alana in a bored voice, staring at me like I’m some neurotic over-exaggerating hausfrau, ‘you said we’d go back to the Four Seasons today.’

‘Four Seasons?’ I say. ‘At Jimbaran Bay?’

Max shoots Alana a warning glance then looks away from both of us.

‘Yeah, we stayed there the other night,’ Alana says.

‘I beg your pardon?’ I force the words out through clenched teeth. Surely, I haven’t heard right.

‘That’s enough, Lani,’ Max says.

‘No, no,’ I say, feeling sicker by the second. I think I’m going to faint. ‘That’s why we couldn’t reach you at the Sheraton. You were at another hotel. While I was going crazy with worry, ringing the embassy and searching hospitals looking for the pair of you, fearing the worst, you couldn’t have cared less. You were completely clueless. Have you any idea what you’ve put me through? And Trish too.’

I’m seething with rage but neither of them says anything. It’s like they haven’t heard a word I’ve said.

I have an overwhelming desire to push Max into the pond. I imagine him losing his balance, totally unprepared for my shove, and hitting the sandstone edge, his head cracking open, his face sinking below the water’s surface, his ridiculous puffy white linen shirt turning pink as the blood gushes from his wound.

‘Max, haven’t you got anything to say?’ I ask with as much control as I can muster. ‘And, as for you,’ I turn to Alana, who’s started walking back towards the foyer, ‘what the hell do you think you’re doing with a man more than twice your age?’

She doesn’t look back or answer.

‘Lucy, Alana and I are moving on with our lives. You need to as well,’ Max says matter-of-factly.

I’m lost for words.

He hesitates before putting his hand on my shoulder.

‘I really do love you, Lucy.’

When I shake free, he looks wounded and confused - as though I’m the one who’s had the affair and broken his heart.

I rush back to my room, slam the door and run into the bathroom where I destroy a full box of tissues mopping up my tears. I can’t stop crying. This is my own fault. I have no one to blame but myself. I have wasted years of my life on an emotional fucking cripple who clearly doesn’t give a damn about me.

I glance into the bathroom mirror. My face is blotchy, wrinkled and sad. How could I ever have had any hope against the youthful Alana?

I’m shaking . . . numb. Somewhere deep inside I’m howling. Completely broken. Crying for Max, for the life that we had together, a life which is over. Finished. I want to hate him but right now I’m too sad. Some day, months from now, I’ll look back on this and realise it was a turning point: the end of an era, a new beginning. But right now it’s too raw. I can’t open my eyes without crying.

My marriage is over. Max isn’t coming back. Why would he? I’m old. Old and wrinkled. It’s over. It’s one hundred per cent completely over. I wonder if Alana has seen the real Max yet. Or is he still on his best behaviour with her? Does he pick his nose in front of her? Belch? Fart? Become an inarticulate slug after three drinks? Wait till she finds out what he’s really like. She might find out that shacking up with a middle-aged man is not all it’s cracked up to be.

I twist off my wedding ring. There’s a white band of skin on my finger where it’s lived for eleven years. I should take the ring down to the beach and throw it into the sea forever, or better yet, give it to poor Betty, but I can’t bring myself to. Instead, I throw it into my make-up bag.

I agonise over the ‘could haves’,