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

Photo three: an ancient picture of me smoking, with what appear to be tomato sauce stains down the front of my shirt. Charming. I bet they really had to search the archives for that beauty.

In all of them I look like an old, fat, dishevelled red setter dog. There’s none of me with my new hair colour.

Of course, there’s also a picture of Max - looking every bit the responsible doting father. He’s playing on the beach at Jimbaran with Bella and Sam - the three of them are laughing and glowing with health and vitality. Bloody Alana! She must have snapped it.

Then I see the little red box with the huge yellow question mark painted inside it and the words: Who is Lucy’s new man? Could it be the gorgeous Rock Hardy? Will he be able to keep up with her reckless ways? We’ll keep you posted.

The good news? New Idea only has a readership of two million. Barely a drop in the ocean! To think that only yesterday I was gloating over Gracie’s career setback. Now I figure gluing an adulterous husband’s dick to his tummy is actually quite clever.

Mum’s waiting for me with a strong vat of coffee when I arrive home.

‘So you’ve read it?’ she says.

‘Of course I have.’ I bang my elbows on the table and allow my head to slump into my hands. ‘This is going to destroy me.’

‘It’s not that bad.’

‘Not that bad? Which planet are you living on?’

‘Gloria called. She’s coming straight over. Wants to know if you’re okay.’

‘I’m just dandy. Friggin’ dandy.’

‘You don’t have any more wine in the cellar do you?’ Mum asks.

‘As much as I’d love to guzzle a bottle of wine or ten, Mother, I can’t. I still have a film crew here. Besides, I’m not giving Max any more ammunition against me.’

‘Just checking,’ replies Mum, relieved. ‘I see the renovation’s coming along nicely.’

Shaking my head, I stare at the ceiling.

Minutes later, the phone rings. ‘Take a message,’ I tell Mum.

It’s the Daily Telegraph wanting to know if I have any comment on the magazine article. They want to do a ‘he says, she says’ piece for their social pages.

The phone rings again. I let the answering machine take it.

‘Hey Luce, it’s Dom. I know you’re there. Where else would you be? I bet you’re huddled over the answering machine as I speak. Pick up. One, two, three . . . So you’re not picking up? Okay. Call me when you can.’

The phone rings barely three minutes later. It’s Dom again.

‘Lucy, no matter what anyone says, I’m sure you’re still as gorgeous as the last time I saw you. Those photos in New Idea don’t do you justice. Do they? No, of course they don’t. They’re hideous. Absolutely bloody atrocious. Okay, so I’m totally out of line saying the photos are atrocious. Understandably, it’s been a difficult time for you. Besides, I don’t care what you look like -’

‘Excuse me,’ I say, picking up the phone. ‘The photos are atrocious, and no, I don’t look anything like them.’

‘So you were huddled over the answering machine!’

‘I told you - you should have got in first and written your autobiography,’ Gloria says when she arrives with chocolate muffins and super-strength coffee in hand. ‘The public love a scandal. Love. It.’

‘You don’t say. My life’s over, isn’t it? I can never show my face in public again.’

‘You can and you will,’ says Gloria.

I don’t mention Dom phoning. He’s just being a supportive friend, but Gloria will make a bigger deal out of it than is warranted and I can’t be bothered humouring her. My heart’s not in it.

‘Hey,’ Gloria says in a surprisingly cheery tone, ‘I’ve got some news that’ll make you feel better. The first reviews are in about Gracie Gardener in Seasons.’

‘The role she stole from me!’

‘Exactly. Want to hear?’

I nod.

‘Gracie Gardener’s new role as a flaming redhead femme fatale is a cinematic train wreck,’ Gloria quotes. ‘Hopelessly miscast, says another. That’s got to give you some hope, Lucy-Lou. And I’ve saved the best for last.’ Gloria clears her throat. ‘Is Gracie Gardener the world’s worst living actress? Evidence continues to mount.’

I don’t mention anything to the kids about the New Idea piece. We eat sushi for dinner and complete the following homework tasks:

• Sam - mastering the eight times table; summarising ‘Captain Cook’s Amazing Adventure’ from the latest School Magazine; drawing the detailed life cycle of a carnivorous plant.

• Bella - algorithms; mapping Skull Island; sequencing in a bullet list the main points of The Story of Camels in Australia.

Day 58

Because my name is mud and I can never show my face in public again, suddenly, I become Miss Popular.

By ten o’clock in the morning two huge bouquets of gorgeous flowers have arrived - one from the school mothers with kids in Bella’s grade, the other from Sam’s classmates’ mums. And the phone’s been ringing off the hook. Not that I am answering. There are messages inviting me to dinner, lunch, brunch, coffee - all from eager women wanting to dissect my misery. It’s funny, I didn’t hear from anyone except Nadia when I got back from Bali, but now I’m tabloid fodder - public humiliation is much more interesting.

‘Come out to lunch with us,’ Nadia says. ‘It’ll be fun, I promise, and I’ll protect you.’

‘I really don’t want to lunch with the Subservient Wives Club,’ I tell her. ‘Besides, I’ve got nothing to talk about.’

‘Really? You could have fooled me.’

‘Well, nothing that doesn’t cast me in a bad light.’

But Nadia’s right. I need to get out. Patch, Joel and the rest of them are giving me funny looks, and I don’t want to be here if and when Rock turns up. Besides, I have to show my face sooner or later. It may as well be now. After all, my life’s one huge scandal. And let’s face it: I may be humiliated but I still have to