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

I tell him that he’ll need to speak with the supplier, something about a wharfies’ strike, and walk away to answer the phone.

It’s a writer from Woman’s Day wanting to do a tie-in with the renovation. ‘Something along the lines of “I survived Bali and came home to a brand-new house”. Sounds great, hey?’ she says in an overly cheery tone.

‘You can’t say no to an interview with Woman’s Day - readership, two point five million,’ Gloria tells me five minutes later, after the editor has rung her about my refusal to participate.

‘I don’t want to talk about Bali or my failed marriage, Gloria.’

‘But you’ve got to. It’s what the common people are after. Excitement in their otherwise dull lives.’

‘So they want to read about my dull life instead?’

‘By comparison, your life is not dull.’

When the kids get home from school, they’re amazed at all the activity and the cameras. They follow Digger around all afternoon.

Patch comes to find me again. ‘We seem to have a slight hiccup with the gas fire,’ he says.

I stare at the hole in the wall where the fire should have been fitted - two weeks ago, but who’s counting?

‘The one you ordered they don’t make any more . . .’

‘And?’

‘The wait for the new model is three months.’

‘No, no, no. I ordered it and paid you for it. This is not my problem,’ I bellow, my good mood disappearing. ‘I want my bloody fireplace - it’s the centrepiece of the living area. Otherwise it’s just a bloody big hole.’

‘I’ll see what I can sort out,’ he says and slips outside.

The kids are playing up near Digger, whacking each other with lengths of timber.

‘Don’t get in the way of anyone,’ I bark at them.

‘We want to stay and look at all the cameras,’ Bella whines.

‘Yeah, it’s fun,’ agrees Sam.

‘Are we really going to be on television?’ Bella asks, the whining tone gone as she flutters her eyelashes towards Digger.

‘Well, not us, but our house and the renovation will be.’

‘Even the mess?’

‘Even the mess, but not for too much longer. The place will be finished soon.’

‘Does this mean you’re not going on Australian Idol?’ Sam asks.

‘She’s way too old,’ Bella says.

‘Hey, I said you weren’t allowed to film the kids,’ I say when I notice Digger going in for a close-up on Bella. ‘They’re off limits.’

He gives me a ‘for fuck’s sake’ look and points the camera towards the tiler, who’s making a huge mess in the downstairs bathroom.

Day 52

I keep out of the camera’s way as much as possible. I don’t want to be caught doing something perverse. Luckily, I’m no longer smuggling Grange into my bedroom at all times of the day and night.

But wherever I go in the house, Rock seems to find me. He kind of sneaks up and wham, he’s in my face, like a cold sore that just won’t disappear. And as much as he tries to be positive about this new show and tells me he doesn’t mind at all that he got pulled off Gateways for it, methinks he doth protest too much.

‘Really, I was getting bored flying to Europe every three weeks,’ he says. ‘Sure, it was first-class all the way, exotic locations and fabulous food. But that’s not really who I am. I like getting down and dirty.’

I can see so clearly that Rock absolutely hates getting down and dirty, as he so eloquently puts it.

‘I’m having fun. I love renovating,’ he lies, and flicks dust from his navy pinstripe jacket.

An hour ago he threw a hissy fit because he got white paint on his navy Ermenegildo Zegna shoes. The whole neighbourhood within a ten-kilometre radius heard his ballistic rant. Now he’s wearing socks over the top of his shoes so he won’t damage them further. And what about the surgical face mask, à la Michael Jackson, and the gloves? He can’t fool me. But perhaps others aren’t as observant.

‘We’re ready for you now, Rock,’ Sandy calls out to him.

‘Good luck,’ I say, and watch him walk over to where Sandy has stuck thick black masking tape in an X on the cement floor just outside where sandstone pavers are about to be laid.

‘Are you going to take those socks off?’ she says. ‘And the mask and gloves?’

‘Give me half a chance.’ He bends over and starts removing his socks. As he stands back up he glances over his left shoulder. ‘Do those flecks of dust look like dandruff to you?’ he asks Sandy.

‘What? I can’t see anything.’

‘Are you blind? The white flecks. They’re multiplying on my arm as we speak.’

Zoe, who’s doubling as the hair and make-up person, attempts to brush him down.

‘You need to tone down his tan, as well,’ Sandy tells Zoe.

‘I don’t need you touching my face!’ Rock yells as Zoe approaches him with a damp face cloth. ‘What I need is a proper studio where there’s no dust. I haven’t even had my double decaf soy latte this morning. I really don’t know how you expect me to work in these Third World conditions.’

‘We’ll try to keep the dust down to a minimum, mon,’ says Joel as he walks past carrying three huge sandstone pavers. Jeez, that guy’s strong.

‘Thanks,’ Rock says. ‘That’s all I’m asking. We’re all professionals here.’

‘Rock is so not suited to hosting this show,’ I tell Gloria. I’m on my mobile in the new bathroom - I’ve locked myself in for some peace and quiet. ‘And I’m not just saying that because I slept with him. He totally hates this gig.’

‘Clearly, Rock has issues,’ says Gloria. ‘But you can work with him, snigger, snigger.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean? I’m mortified. I had no idea he was so fastidious. He’s an old woman and I hate being unkind to old women.’

Outside I hear someone calling me. ‘Are you in there, Lucy?’ It sounds like Max, which is impossible because he’s still in Bali with his teenage love.

‘Gloria, you’re not going to believe