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

are now dried, folded, ironed and in their rightful drawers and wardrobes. She has also cleaned the pool, changed several blown light bulbs and cooked a microwave lasagne and microwave chocolate cake for tonight’s dinner. Who knew you could do all that in a microwave?

‘Is Dad at a conference?’ Bella asks after Mum leaves.

A conference! I hadn’t thought of that.

‘Yes,’ I say, clutching at straws, ‘and it’s going for a couple of weeks . . . at least.’

That seems to satisfy her - or at least shut her up - for the moment.

As Bella and Sam rummage through their pencil cases and squabble over rubbers, textas and pencil sharpeners in readiness for school tomorrow, I feel like crying. It’s been almost a week since Max put down his fork and calmly said he’d had enough. Enough of what? And what sane person could walk out on his kids without even saying goodbye? We’ve heard diddly-squat from him.

I’m struck by a terrible thought. Maybe something has happened to him.

I call the police and speak to a Constable Peacock, retelling the whole sorry story of Max’s disappearance. Constable Peacock, who sounds all of twelve, isn’t keen about my suggestion of filing a missing person’s report.

‘Given your husband informed his work that he was taking two months’ leave, I seriously doubt he is a missing person,’ he says.

‘Well, he’s missing from his family,’ I insist.

He tells me it’s not a crime for a grown man to leave home.

‘It bloody well should be!’ I start, then stop and think.

‘What about Max’s car?’ I ask. ‘Can I report his car missing?’

‘Sure,’ he replies patiently. ‘You can do that.’

So I do.

Later that night, as Sam, Bella and I huddle over Mum’s lasagne in front of the telly, I tell them about Gloria’s ludicrous pitch about the celebrity archery tournament.

‘Why don’t you go on Celebrity Overhaul instead, Mum?’ asks Sam.

‘Or The Biggest Loser?’ says Bella.

‘Because I’m not fat,’ I reply to their giggles.

But after they go to bed, I check myself out in the full-length bedroom mirror. Okay, so I’m no Angelina Jolie. But it’s not like I weigh fifteen stone and have cottage cheese thighs either. As I examine my crow’s-feet I wonder if Max might have left me for a younger woman. Max and I certainly have been drifting apart. When we first met, we shared a lumpy double futon and slept huddled together to avoid the uncomfortable bumps and bulges. After Sam was born, we bought a King - some nights it wasn’t nearly big enough.

Day 8

After yet another day of maddening, circular thoughts, I venture outdoors to pick up the children from school. I almost get lost on the way, what with roadworks, detours and crazy people doing U-turns. Following the lead of those before me, I attempt an outrageously illegal three-point turn near some nasty trenches and get rear-ended by an enormous silver Land Cruiser.

‘What the fuck,’ I say, climbing out of my mangled car.

‘Whoops,’ says the more painfully thin of two emaciated teenage girls.

‘Sorry about that,’ says the taller, almost-brunette one.

‘Look at this,’ I shriek, pointing at my crumpled bumper, dented boot and broken rear lights.

‘Aren’t you someone famous?’ the almost-brunette asks, staring at me, trying to figure it out.

‘I know! You’re in that broccoli commercial: “Make mine broccoli, please, Mum,”’ says the stick, who looks like she lives on broccoli and not much else.

‘Yes, yes,’ I say, enjoying the recognition but not willing to be generous. ‘Have you got insurance?’

‘Sure, like, Dad’s insurance will cover it.’

I roll my eyes. Of course it will.

We exchange information and I get back in my car and limp off to the sound of: ‘Holy moley, Mum’s made broccoli.

Hot and steaming, now we’re beaming.’

Little shits.

Bella and Sam are already on the bus by the time I arrive at school and I have to tap on one of the windows several times to get their attention. Bella gives me a look of horror, shooing at me with her hands. There was a time when Bella wouldn’t take one step onto a bus without me. Now she’s reluctant even to look at me.

The rather rotund driver climbs down from his seat and bellows, ‘Lady, step back. We’re moving out.’

‘But I want my children,’ I say.

Bella continues gesticulating with her hands and several other kids make silly faces through the glass.

‘Seems they don’t want you, lady. And don’t tell me this is a custody thing. I just drive the bus. I’m not getting involved in any domestic stuff.’

‘I just want to take my children off the bus,’ I say in the most authoritative tone I can muster. By now, twenty or more kids and a handful of parents and dog-walkers have ventured over to see what the fuss is about.

He blocks my path as I attempt to get past him. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ I say, bumping into him slightly.

It’s crazy how these misunderstandings can escalate so quickly. He says I can’t get on the bus; I politely point out that he’s overweight; he calls me rude (Me? Rude?) and mumbles about reporting me to the principal; I tell him he’s inarticulate . . . Anyway, the upshot is I’m forbidden from approaching said bus driver ever again, regardless of circumstances.

Still, at least I get the kids! Now we can spend quality time together discussing the day’s activities on the drive home.

‘That was so embarrassing,’ Bella says.

‘What happened to the car?’ Sam asks.

‘Minor accident,’ I reply.

No one speaks for the rest of the trip.

I don’t think the bus incident is a big deal, but clearly the kids do. To make amends, I take them to the local sushi bar for dinner. Sushi’s their favourite. Mind you, once when I dared offer them raw fish at home, there was anarchy.

‘Mum, we can’t possibly eat that!’ Bella had said, almost gagging. ‘That’s why God created Sushi Trains.’

Despite allowing them a Coke each, and a packet of Tim Tams to share, Bella and Sam hardly speak a word to