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

Perhaps this isn’t a renovation program they’re filming, I think. Maybe it’s really an Aussie Punk’d or a reworking of Candid Camera. Surely this can’t be real life? Max can’t be serious about coming back. Or about the hypocritical rubbish spouting from his mouth.

His voice softens. ‘I’m sorry. I went crazy for a while - mid-life crisis and all that. But I want to come home. What am I saying? I am home. For good this time. We can make it work.’

I glance at my left hand - it has an even light-brown tan. There’s absolutely no evidence I’ve worn a wedding ring for eleven years. Which makes me smile. I’m no longer branded; no longer Max’s wife.

‘I’m sorry, Max, I really am,’ I tell him.

‘What do you mean? Why are you smiling? You’re still angry, is that it?’

Granted, I have lots of things to be angry about. The humiliation of finding out about Max and Alana, Poppy before that; his silly hair dye; his silly shoes . . . He just doesn’t get it.

‘The question is, why am I not more angry, Max?’

‘Is it that time of the month? Have you got PMS?’

Yes, I want to scream. Pass My Shotgun. Plainly Max Sucks. Pardon My Smirk.

‘I think I’m ready to move on from you, Max,’ I say graciously, refusing to bite at his previous comment.

‘Is this about the dead people?’

That’s Max. Insensitive and an idiot.

‘No, it’s not about the “dead people” as you so delicately put it; it’s about our lives, the kids. It’s about me moving on from you. You weren’t happy being married to me -’

‘Yes, I was. I mean, I am happy being married -’

‘Max, please don’t. I need you to leave now. Go back to Alana . . . Where is Alana, by the way?’

‘I don’t want to talk about Alana. She’s at home with her mother. They’re both crying, hysterical. I think Alana might be a little fragile. She’s upset about this whole Bali bomb business.’

‘Just go, Max.’ Because I have Pissy Max Syndrome and I don’t want to hurt you. But I will if I have to.

Max goes to speak but stops himself. He seems to realise that I mean what I’m saying. Also, that I will gladly continue this discussion on camera. In fact, the cameras are giving me courage to speak my mind. The way I’m feeling at the moment, I’ll happily tell the world, or at least Channel Seven viewers, exactly what I think of Max and his ‘fragile’ teenage girlfriend. I’m not worried about my own dignity anymore. I gave that up weeks ago.

‘If I leave,’ he says calmly, ‘I’m not paying for any more of the renovation, the household expenses, nothing. You’ll be on your own, Lucy. Do you want that? And I’m taking my car. Where are the rest of my clothes, by the way?’

I throw the car keys at him. Wait until he realises there are no more clothes, and sees the ding on his car’s rear passenger door that materialised on Saturday at the Woolies car park. He’ll be the one with PMS. Psychotic Max Sobbing.

After several minutes of huffing and puffing and declaring ‘You’ll pay for this, Lucy’, and ‘You’re not fit to be a mother’, and, my personal favourite, ‘You don’t have MY permission to film in MY house’, Max drives away and I allow myself to exhale.

The twins come over.

‘You’re -’

‘Not to -’

‘Worry -’

‘Love -’

My head darts from one to the other.

‘Your hus -’

‘- band’s a right -’

‘Bastard!’ they finish together.

‘You can say that again,’ I reply. Then walk away before they do.

As I stand in my almost-completed kitchen, cold harsh reality slowly dawns. There’s no way I can keep up with the renovation payments if Max pulls out - and I have no doubt he will. My only hope is that this pilot goes ahead and I get paid three hundred thousand dollars. The sooner, the better. Because what are the alternatives? I put the house on the market after completion, or take out a second mortgage to pay for it? But what bank in their right mind is going to give me a second mortgage when I don’t have a job? I’ve got to get a job. And ring Nadia’s lawyer, and her financial advisor.

‘You okay?’ Patch asks me.

‘Fine,’ I tell him. ‘Don’t worry about Max. He’s all talk.’

Patch doesn’t look convinced.

‘I managed to source a new gas fireplace for you, even better than the one you ordered,’ he says. ‘This one heats up to eighty-five square metres and includes a ceramic mat that diffuses the flame pattern to create an unparalleled flame picture.’ He’s reading from a brochure. ‘And it comes with a remote control. Same dimensions, which means we won’t have to do extra prep work. Costs an extra thousand dollars though.’

‘I really don’t think I should -’ I begin.

‘It was our fault. We’ll pay the difference,’ he cuts in.

‘It’ll be here in a couple of days.’

I’m stunned by the offer, then notice the camera pointing our way.

I’m reading over the contract and contemplating my financial ruin when Trish rings.

‘Max and Alana have split!’ she screams down the phone.

‘That’s a good thing, isn’t it?’

‘My Lani’s devastated. Crushed. Doesn’t know what she’s done wrong to be treated this way.’

‘I could give her a list,’ I start, then shut my mouth.

‘How can you say that? Lani’s very depressed. When she was with Max she felt cared for, protected. Now what is she going to do?’

‘Alana can have Max,’ I say. ‘I don’t want him.’

‘What are you talking about? Max told my Lani you’d begged him to come home, said you were going to kill yourself. It’s your fault he’s left my beautiful Alana. She’s fragile, you know, a delicate flower.’

‘I’m sure Alana can look after herself,’ I say.

‘You would say that, wouldn’t you. I bet you wish -’

I cut her off. ‘The truth is, Max and Alana can drive off into the sunset and live happily