Lisa Heidke Lucy (mobi) (little red riding hood ebook free TXT) 📖

then 1.15 . . . Basically, I don’t sleep. My mind’s too busy ticking off potential disasters. Not the plane crashing or even that I’ll get falsely nabbed for drug smuggling, but really stupid thoughts like: Is the iron turned off? Is my passport up-to-date? Where is my passport? What the bloody hell was Patch thinking? Did he really think I was coming on to him on the ramp? Where are Bella’s and Sam’s passports? Have I packed enough clothes? Will the airline lose my luggage? A distinct possibility, I figure.

All of which brings me to now: ten past four in the morning and agonising over what to wear on the plane. When you spend the best part of two hours worrying about travelling clothes, your brain begins to fry.

I get up and clean the fridge, even though I cleaned it twice last night. The potatoes and mayonnaise I decided were keepers twelve hours ago are now booted out. Same with the open packets of water crackers and cat biscuits.

Oscar’s been sent to the cattery. I wonder if he likes it there. Cramped, alone, cold and dark in a tiny wire cat cage. Mustn’t think like that. He’s tough. I’ll buy him new biscuits when he comes home.

I start tidying the house - what there is of it - but it’s already tidy. Something else I did last night. A complete waste of time because the builders will make a mess of it within minutes of arriving. After the instructions I left with Patch yesterday, I’m cautiously optimistic that (assuming he returns to work after our little incident) we could almost have a brand-new kitchen and bathroom by the time we get back. Almost.

For the next two hours, I fluff around, move cushions, tear sheets off my bed, scrub the spotless bathroom. Put a wash on, then curse myself because it won’t be dry before we leave. I don’t want clothes hanging on an aerator for eight days, especially with the dust.

Finally, the kids wake up and I occupy myself with other activities, like screaming at them. ‘Have you packed your swimmers? Goggles? Toothbrushes?’ I know I’m nagging. I’m nervous. Very nervous.

Dom rings. ‘Good luck, Luce. I hope everything works out . . . and remember to take time out for yourself. Sounds like you could do with a holiday.’

I’m too jumpy to chat, but after I hang up I remember the trip Dom, Gloria and I took to Hayman Island on a break from NIDA years ago - a spur-of-the-moment adventure. It still seems like yesterday - the sun, the surfing, my ill-conceived white bikini that, unbeknownst to me when I bought it, turned transparent when wet. I spent most of my time hiding from view in the water or walking up and down the beach alone, willing it to dry. In hindsight, I guess I could have gone and bought another one in a different colour . . .

More Dom memories flood back. It’s terrifying because they’re all good. Too good. And I know that can’t possibly be true. Perhaps what I’m remembering isn’t true. You know how your memory distorts things, makes them seem better or worse than they really were? Were Dom and I really such good friends?

I glance at the photo of Max, Bella, Sam and me on my bedside table. In years to come when I look at that photo, will I remember it as a fantastic family day because I was so happy that Bella learnt to boogie-board, and for the first time Sam ducked his head under a wave without being prompted, and the four of us sat on the beach eating the best fish and chips in the history of fish and chips? Or will I remember how I felt frumpy in my navy sarong and distraught because Max was ogling a young adult (let’s give him the benefit of the doubt) in a revealing red bikini? All those things happened that day and I distinctly remember feeling both elated and distressed. Which feeling will eventually become the dominant memory?

It feels really good to walk out of the house and close the door, even if it’s only for eight days. For the first time in ages, the kids are excited and bursting with happiness.

As Mum drives us to the airport, Bella squeals, ‘Faster, Nanna, please drive faster. We don’t want to miss it.’ It’s only her second time on a plane.

‘Bella, we don’t leave for another three hours,’ I tell her.

‘What if they’re running ahead of schedule and the plane takes off an hour early or something?’

‘It’s never happened in the history of aviation and somehow I doubt it’ll happen today.’

Bella sighs and stares out the window.

‘I can’t wait,’ I say, playfully squeezing Sam on the arm.

‘We’re going to be staying at a resort with bathrooms and restaurants.’

‘We can eat whatever we want and we don’t have to make our beds,’ says Sam.

‘Dust-free for days,’ says Bella, clapping.

‘And Daddy will be there,’ they say together.

As we’re standing in the check-in line for our flight to Denpasar, Mum nudges me and points to passengers whose bags are suffocating in shrink wrap.

‘You should have done that,’ she says.

‘Shrink wrap? Yeah, that’ll stop smugglers messing with my stuff.’

‘I’m not worried about you,’ she whispers. ‘No more than usual anyway. It’s Bella and Sam - they’re innocents in all of this.’

I ignore her. After our nude shrink-wrapless bags have disappeared down the conveyor belt, and I’ve given the check-in assistant the evil eye to let her know I’m wise to her drug-smuggling game, I take the children duty-free shopping. They each buy a one-foot Toblerone, but I don’t mind. They’re on holiday. I’ll worry about their teeth in two weeks’ time.

I buy Gloria the latest Paris Hilton fragrance and giggle. Serves her right.

Finally, it’s time to say goodbye to Mum. She’s blinking back tears and hugging the children tightly. ‘Watch out for jaundice,’ are her final words as the kids and I disappear through the