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

going to be together forever. But then Bali happened -’ At this point Alana and her mother both burst into tears.

‘I know it’s painful for you,’ says the presenter. ‘Do you need a drink of water?’

Gloria snorts. ‘Ha! Vodka more like it.’

‘I’m okay,’ Alana says. ‘After seeing the destruction on that beautiful island -’ she gulps, ‘- Max made the heartbreaking decision to do the honourable thing and come home to his wife for the sake of the kids.’

I can almost see Alana’s halo shining.

‘He didn’t want to, mind you,’ says Trish, ‘because he loves my Alana, dearly loves her, but Max is a man of honour.’

‘This is crap!’ I screech. ‘It’s all garbage.’

‘These people are whack jobs,’ says Gloria. ‘Nuts.’

When I can hardly bear any more, Alana finishes with: ‘I really hope Max and I get back together after his children have grown up. In the meantime, I’m going back to university to study social work to help those less fortunate than me because I’m really good at that.’

I switch the TV off. ‘Well, that was enlightening.’

‘We’ll need to go into serious damage control after that little performance. Because it looks like Trish is going to be the ruin of us all.’ Gloria’s rattled . . . and she never gets rattled.

‘Don’t answer it,’ she barks when the phone starts ringing.

I have absolutely no intention of answering it.

After Gloria’s left and the kids have gone to bed, I check the answering machine. Most are hang-ups but there’s one from Mum (of course), sobbing. ‘My heart, Lucy, my heart. I can’t take anymore.’

Even though it keeps ringing all through the night.

Eventually, I unplug it.

Day 60

This morning, the last of the kitchen is installed, the power’s connected to the oven, and the black granite benchtops are secured. They complement the walnut parquetry perfectly. While I would have preferred Carrara marble, let’s not quibble. My new kitchen is stunning and I’m thrilled. I say so to Rock when he interviews me on camera.

‘It’s a dream come true,’ I gush, focusing on the task at hand, refusing to mope over last night’s interview.

‘Tonight the kids and I will be having a lamb roast, that’s for sure.’

‘Why is that?’ Rock asks blandly.

‘Because tonight I will cook on my new stovetop, bake in my new oven. I also have a new stainless-steel fridge. Look.’

Rock barely glances at the appliances.

‘Do you know how long I’ve been without a kitchen?’

I go on. ‘Ten weeks; that’s seventy days and nights. But it’s all over now. I’m the happiest woman in the world.’

Beside us, the twins are sweeping the new parquetry floor. I can’t see any rising dust but Rock starts to shake.

‘Sorry -’

‘About -’

‘That -’

‘Mate -’ the twins say as they sweep past Rock, myself, Digger and Patch.

‘Don’t you just love them?’ I say, and smile at them.

‘You’re both hilarious.’

‘Too -’

‘Right.’

‘Bummer about Today Tonight,’ says Patch. ‘Can’t believe people buy into that shit. Doesn’t anyone think the little tart had it coming?’

I give him the thumbs up. ‘I like your take on the situation.’

‘She’s nineteen,’ he goes on. ‘You can’t tell me she didn’t know what she was getting into with the old bugger.’

‘Too right,’ says Twin One.

‘Yeah,’ says Twin Two.

‘Still, I’d do her,’ says Joel as he walks by.

A burly overweight guy with a shabby beard interrupts. ‘You Lucy Springer?’

I nod.

‘Got a delivery for you.’

‘Just pop it over there,’ I say, pointing to the kitchen bench. It’s about bloody time the knobs for the cupboards turned up. I ordered them several weeks ago. Finally, my nagging and name-calling has paid off.

The delivery guy looks at me strangely. Obviously he watches bad TV and reads the weekly trash magazines.

‘It’s a bit large to go there, love.’

‘Why? What is it?’

‘Dining table, eight chairs.’

‘But I haven’t ordered -’

‘Says here it’s from a Dominic Delahunty. You know ’im?’

I nod again, bewildered. ‘I guess here then, in front of the kitchen.’

‘I’ll round up the boys,’ he says.

Several minutes later, a beautiful recycled hardwood timber dining table and eight hand-carved hardwood chairs are sitting in the room in front of my kitchen, which will henceforth be known as the dining room. How posh!

‘Dominic, they’re truly gorgeous,’ I tell him on the phone later. ‘But I can’t accept them. They must have cost you a fortune. They’re beautiful, original, unique.’

‘I’m glad you like them.’

‘Like them? I love them. They’re exquisite.’

‘Well, you said you didn’t have a dining suite. I saw that piece of wood and thought it’d be perfect. It reminded me of you.’

‘Really? Which part? Recycled? Aged? Hardwood?’

‘I was thinking more about its natural character and charm. So, you like?’

‘I love.’

‘Then it’s my gift to you.’

‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Thank you would be a good start.’

‘Of course, Dom. Thank you. It’s the most beautiful piece of furniture -’

‘Then it deserves to belong to you.’

‘Don’t . . . I insist on paying for it. At least for the divine chairs, something.’

‘I vill not accept zee payment.’

‘Are you doing a really bad German accent?’

‘I guess . . . just trying to lighten the mood. Terrible?’

‘Dreadful.’

‘Just for that, I insist you do pay.’

‘Good, I’ll write you a cheque.’

‘I don’t want your money. I want you and your children to hop in your car - you still have a car, don’t you?’

‘Yes, of course, a little beaten up but it works.’

‘Okay then. Get in your car and drive down to the country for a couple of days as my guests, this weekend.’

‘This weekend! I couldn’t possibly -’

‘You need some time out from all the shitty people crawling out of the woodwork giving shitty interviews and saying shitty untruths about you.’

‘So you saw the interview?’

‘Afraid so. In fact, I’d like your permission to join the parade, go on TV and tell even more outrageous tales about you - like how you used to hide spliffs under your bed, and prance around nude doing unspeakable tricks with ping-pong balls and bananas at all hours of the day and night. Come on, Luce. Throw a few clothes