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

wife anymore,’ I hiss. To my horror, I see Digger behind Sandy, his camera taking in everything.

‘How did you find out?’ Rock asks Max.

Thanks, Rock. Thanks a lot.

‘I thought it was a joke when Tina put that stupid red square in the magazine,’ Max says. ‘I know you snogged the guy, but I didn’t think . . . Then again, there has to be a reason you don’t want me back. Now I know. You’re fucking the hired help.’

Everyone stares at Max, then at Rock and lastly at me. I glance at Patch. I can’t read him at all. Briefly, we make eye contact, then he turns and walks back towards the house.

‘Rock is not the hired help,’ I tell Max.

Rock speaks at the same time. ‘I’m paid to host this gig but there’s no way I’m like a maid or anything.’

‘Max, what I do with my life and who I do it with is none of your business,’ I go on. My tone serves as a warning, I hope.

Sandy rubs her hands together and whispers to Digger, ‘This is going to make excellent television.’

I’m just about to tell Digger to stop filming when a gust of wind creates a dust storm and all of us get covered in a blanket of fine powder.

‘Can I have some water here?’ Rock yelps. ‘I’m covered in dirt. I’m choking!’

‘Just go,’ I tell Max and throw the rake towards him. Unfortunately, the camera captures every word and every action.

‘I’ll be back,’ Max says as he limps off as though injured.

‘You can bet on it.’

‘Lucy, it’s not good,’ Gloria says, after Max has driven off, tyres screeching.

‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

‘No, really. Today Tonight has nabbed Trish and Alana. They’re taping now - they’ll be on the show tonight.’

When the kids get home from school, Sam tells me he has two invitations to parties and Bella has three.

‘Also,’ says Sam, waving a certificate in the air and dancing around, ‘I got an award at assembly.’ He hands it to me and I read it: To Sam, an achievement award for your interest in carnivorous plants. ‘Sam, I’m so proud,’ I tell him.

‘And, I gave a talk in front of the whole class and Mrs Taylor said it was excellent.’

‘Great.’ A definite improvement on the divorce talk. ‘Maybe when you’re older, you might want to work with plants, even train to become a botanist,’ I say, concentrating on the positives in life.

‘Nah. I want to be an assassin.’

‘An assassin? What exactly does an assassin do?’

‘Kills people for money and gets to travel all over the world to really cool places like Egypt.’

How does he know all this stuff? ‘How would you kill people, Sam?’

‘Shoot them . . . maybe torture them a bit first.’

‘Wouldn’t you feel bad killing people?’

‘Nah, they’re baddies, otherwise there wouldn’t be a contract out on them in the first place.’

That’s logical. Maybe I could put a contract out on Max.

As the minutes tick slowly towards six-thirty pm, the kids play on their Nintendo DS’s upstairs while Gloria and I drink gin and tonics, very strong ones, and make grotesque faces at each other in a futile attempt to cheer ourselves up.

‘It mightn’t be so bad,’ I say. ‘It just depends.’

‘On what?’

‘On how many Prozacs Trish’s taken and how much vodka she’s drunk.’

‘That’s your trump card. You can tell them she’s an addict.’

‘Yeah, accusing the Christian of being a drug addict and an alcoholic? I’ll be run out of town.’

Fifteen minutes later, tumblers refilled, we turn up the volume on the TV and watch.

‘And finally, the story you have all been waiting for,’ says the presenter. ‘Welcome to the studio, Trish, Alana.’

Trish doesn’t have much style, she always gets her clothes wrong. Thankfully, tonight is no exception. She’s wearing head-to-toe suede - a burnt-orange jacket and matching pants - and her hair’s slicked back in a severe bun.

‘No wonder she’s on the verge of tears,’ quips Gloria.

Alana sits beside her mother, gripping her hand tightly. She’s wearing a flowing white lace dress and has a white Alice band framing her pretty face and hair. She looks young. And virginal.

‘Fuck!’ I scream at the monitor.

‘In your own words, Trish, take your time.’ The presenter speaks softly, almost whispering. I gulp my drink.

Trish squeezes Alana’s hand and says, ‘We . . . we welcomed Lucy Springer and her family into our home and hearts, out of pure, innocent kindness. My Alana babysat regularly for them. My son, Josh, and Lucy’s son are - were - friends.’ Trish wipes her eyes and the presenter raises a concerned eyebrow. ‘Several months ago, Alana and Max started seeing each other,’ Trish goes on.

‘Maxie said that Lucy didn’t care about the family anymore,’ Alana blurts. ‘She was preoccupied with chasing stardom -’

‘Not true!’ I yell at the screen.

‘- and always so busy with vegetable commercials and auditions,’ continues Alana.

‘She didn’t know what was going on in her own home,’ Trish chips in helpfully. ‘I was forever offering Sam homemade carrot cake and freshly squeezed juices . . . I don’t think he was getting many nutritious meals at home.’

‘Fuck! What the hell’s she saying?’ I scream at the TV. ‘That only she shops at the organic health-food store, has a close-knit family and enjoys baking gluten-free almond biscuits daily in a kitchen that’s stocked with eco-friendly whale-saving cleaning products! What? And I don’t? Fuck!’

Gloria pats my arm.

‘And poor Max was so lonely,’ Alana says. ‘Lucy was always off doing something, never looking after him, always making unreasonable demands about the renovation and the children, wanting him to be more involved. I mean, he helps out with Sam’s sport, his soccer on Saturdays -’

‘Yeah,’ I laugh. ‘When he’s not in Bali fucking you.’

‘Shush, I can’t hear,’ Gloria says, waving a hand at me.

‘Max is a very busy man,’ Alana continues. ‘He works in the city, you know. We fell in love quickly. For me, it was love at second sight. Max called me his soul mate. We were