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

know that,’ Gloria says. ‘And, more’s the point, they don’t care. All they want to know is that you were in Bali and you survived. You’re a survivor, girlfriend.’

‘I’m not a survivor, and please don’t call me girlfriend. You know I hate it. I had nothing to survive and I’m not going to lie about it.’

Gloria sighs. ‘We’ve talked about lies before, and clearly this particular tale falls into the category of white lie. The truth is, you were in Bali, you were at Jimbaran the night of the explosion, and you were eating dinner barely twenty metres away from where the bomb blew up. No one need know the finer details.’

‘Like the timing, and the fact that my kids were watching Evan Almighty and I was consoling myself with an outrageously expensive bottle of cheap Australian white wine when the bomb went off?’

‘Exactly. And not only are you a survivor, but you spent the whole day afterwards looking for your husband and his mistress.’

‘Shh.’ I glance back to the kids. Nothing, not even a flicker of the eyelids, suggests they hear us.

‘They were presumed dead,’ Gloria goes on.

‘Only by me.’

‘Again, Lucy, mere details. We can spin it - you searched, you found, you were reunited.’

‘This story doesn’t have a happy ending,’ I whisper. ‘Max was with Alana the whole time, in another hotel. I could have killed them both.’

‘Of course you could have, and no doubt you’d get widespread publicity and sympathy for your trouble, but it’s probably not an angle we should pursue, hey?’ Gloria pats my thigh. ‘Max is a fucker, always has been, so let’s just use him to your advantage and move on. What do you say?’

‘I’m not giving an interview, that’s what I say.’

‘You’ll regret it. The media’s desperate to talk about Bali. It’s your big opportunity . . .’

‘Funnily enough, I don’t feel like using Bali’s tragedy to advance my career.’

There’s silence for the next four minutes, which is somewhat of a record for Gloria. She has an insatiable need to speak. It must be killing her. So she’s pissed off.

She’ll come around. I’m not going to talk about Bali. End of story.

‘Thanks for the lift, you shouldn’t have,’ I say when she pulls up in our driveway. ‘You really shouldn’t have.’

‘I know that . . . now. There’s just one more tiny thing,’ she says, snapping back to her usual effervescent self.

‘Gloria -’

‘Hear me out. I know you don’t want to give any interviews -’

‘That’s right.’

‘Okay, but I’ve done something I think you’ll be really excited about.’

This is troubling. I’ve only been away eight days.

‘There’s this new show - Celebrity Renovation Rescue.’

‘Yeah. You’ve told me about it. No, thanks.’

‘But, Lucy, the most exciting opportunity has come up. Your house has been chosen out of hundreds for the first episode - the pilot. Isn’t it thrilling?’

Standing in my driveway, with exhausted kids and too much luggage, feeling jet-lagged and haggard, I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall. ‘Please, I really don’t want to be involved,’ I say. ‘I just want to have a shower, unpack my bags and go to sleep.’

I’m also keen to see what progress, if any, has been made on the renovation in my absence.

‘Think about it,’ Gloria calls from her car before speeding off.

I don’t want to think about it. How many times have I told her: no reality programs! I’m an actress. Next she’ll be putting me up for I’m a Celebrity . . . Get Me Out of Here! Besides, why would any network be interested in my luckless building work?

Speaking of which, the front yard is an absolute pit.

There’s an overflowing skip full of rubbish, half-empty pallets of bricks, lengths of wood with nails sticking out of them thrown against mangled hedges . . . Welcome home!

* * *

As soon as I’ve unlocked the front door, the kids bolt past me to their bedrooms.

‘I’ve missed you,’ I hear Sam telling his menagerie of stuffed animals.

It’s a relief to be home, despite the building debris outside. But I’ve barely had time to bring all the bags inside when the phone starts ringing.

‘Mum,’ says Bella, ‘some woman for you.’

‘Prue Hamilton from the Daily Telegraph, Ms Springer.

How are you?’

‘Fine . . . I think.’

‘Just wanting to talk about your escape from Bali. Do you have any comment?’

‘I’m sorry but we were nowhere near the explosions.’

‘You stayed on regardless, didn’t you? In Bali? Despite dozens of fatalities, you thought, bugger the dead. I’m on holidays enjoying myself. Isn’t that right?’

‘I’m sorry, I have to go.’ I slam the phone down.

Prue’s is the first of four calls from the media. Hers is the worst, though. I direct all their questions to Gloria, then wonder if that’s such a smart idea. Bloody Gloria. I’m going to kill her.

I quickly check my messages. There are calls from Nadia and Dom, as well as a couple of hang-ups.

Dom: ‘Hey, trust you to get caught up in disaster under the pretence of going on holiday! Between you and me, I was a little rattled when I heard about the bombs, but then I know you and knew you could handle it. You’re a trouper, Luce. I want to see you. Call me.’

I panic and delete the message. My life’s complicated enough without adding Clark Kent to the mix.

Nadia says she’ll pop in tomorrow with scones. I assume she’s joking about the scones.

By early afternoon, Bella, Sam and I are so tired we’re almost delirious. I can hardly speak. It doesn’t help that Mum and Dad have been here for two hours forcing me to go over the holiday in minute detail.

‘We’d given you up for dead,’ Mum says, the second she’s in the front door.

‘Stop being dramatic. You spoke to me straightaway.’

‘But the shock . . . I knew no good could come of you going there,’ she replies with a dramatic flurry of arm movements.

‘A monkey bit me, Nanna,’ says Sam.

‘Dear God! Did you see a doctor? Where did it bite you?