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

‘I am devastated.’

‘Of course you are. Then we’ll build a little thatched cabana thingy by the pool, strategically place a few buddhas, a fabulous daybed, some silk -’

‘Plant several hibiscuses and frangipani trees,’ interrupts Sandy.

‘Exactly! It’ll be your tribute and it’ll be fabulous. And we’ll run a toll-free number at the bottom of the screen which the good viewers of Australia can ring to donate money to help the bomb victims. Good?’ I nod, and Gloria turns to Sandy and Rock. ‘Deal?’

‘No mention of the husband and we keep the children’s involvement to a minimum,’ Sandy says. ‘Okay, but Lucy, if you run off and give a tell-all interview to a women’s magazine in the meantime, the deal’s off.’

‘As if,’ I say, shaking my head.

Rock’s got his eye on me, but when I look at him he quickly focuses on Joel, who’s kicking the central heating into action.

‘We’ll talk about your career up to now, things you’ve been doing, plans for the future,’ Sandy says.

‘Not sure I can remember all of this,’ Rock says, dragging himself into the conversation. ‘I’ll need cue cards.’

* * *

After the pep talk from Gloria, I realise I have to change my attitude if I’m going to look at least halfway sane on commercial television. As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. This is my opportunity to prove to viewers I’m not a has-been. My chance to shine.

Given that I still have a hint of a tan and am not looking overly tubby, I head to David Jones to revamp my wardrobe. This time, I use my own credit cards. Life’s good. Max? Max who?

Rock calls me as I’m trying to squeeze into a Leona Edmiston sleeveless black jersey dress. At a certain age, women no longer have upper arms, we have wing spans. We are no longer women in sleeveless dresses; we are flying squirrels in drag. To cut a long story short, I look hideous.

‘When are you coming back?’ Rock asks. There’s a touch of anxiety in his voice.

‘After I pick the children up from school. Oh, and Bella has band practice.’

‘Can I see you tonight then?’

‘Tonight’s tricky. Bella and Sam will be at home.’

‘But I need to see you.’ Rock sounds as clingy as Sam. He breathes into the phone a few moments more before disconnecting.

I really don’t need that little complication in my life, but in another week the renovation will be over and Rock will move on to another woman. I hope.

I reject the jersey dress because it hugs me in all the wrong places and I go for the soft shopping option: black boots and a black bag.

I also buy the kids new bed linen, a beaded purple lamp Bella’s had her eye on for weeks and a new Venus flytrap for Sam. The last one starved to death. They’re thrilled. Sam spends hours after school catching flies and feeding them to his new best friend. I should buy him a dog.

Even Bella is smiling. ‘Mum, you cleaned my room. You actually vacuumed and changed the sheets.’ She peers under the bed. ‘And under here as well!’

‘Don’t look so surprised.’ Anyone would think I never did that sort of thing.

The kids and I celebrate the end of another week by ordering in their favourite pizza. We take three chairs and a small table into our new dining/family room. I light several candles and imagine how it will all look when it’s finished.

‘So, how are Nanna and Poppa?’ I ask them, admiring the new staircase.

‘Nanna says that Dad’s not coming back to live with us,’ Sam replies, tomato and cheese hanging from the corner of his mouth. ‘But when we saw Dad yesterday he said he was coming home on the weekend.’

Time to tell the truth.

‘No, Sam, Daddy’s not going to live with us anymore. He’ll visit, but we won’t all live together. I know it’s very sad for everyone, but we both still love you and Bella very much.’

‘He’ll never live with us again?’ Bella asks.

‘No. Mummy and Daddy have to live apart, so from now on you’ll each have a bedroom at Mummy’s house and one at Daddy’s house.’ (Assuming Max finds himself a house/apartment/caravan.)

‘But what about all my clothes?’ Bella asks, panicking.

‘To tell you the truth, I haven’t thought that far,’ I say. ‘But we’ll work something out. You’ll still see Dad lots, probably even more than you saw him when he was living here.’

‘Does that mean I get to have two Venus flytraps?’ asks Sam.

During dinner, Mum phones. ‘Max tells me you’re having an affair with the presenter from Gateways. What’s his name? Rod . . . Rick . . .’

‘It’s Rock, and I’m not having an affair with him.’

‘Well, Max says that you’re having an affair to punish him and he doesn’t deserve it.’

‘He’s barking mad. I hope you hung up on him.’

‘Of course, darling. The man’s insane.’

I don’t believe for one minute that Max is insane. But it doesn’t surprise me that he’s reaching out to Mum and Dad in his own deluded way. Especially now that he knows I’m serious about separating. Max doesn’t like to lose.

Day 55

This morning we’re filming. My concession to glamour? Black six-centimetre-high slingbacks and a killer black skirt that sits just above the knee. Oh, and a tight black V-neck showing just a hint of cleavage.

Rock’s pieces to camera are woeful, and not only because he speaks with a ridiculous smirk. Since nine o’clock this morning we’ve been shooting a spontaneous (read, heavily scripted and staged) scene where I walk down my new Oregon stairs. It’s now after eleven and most people, including myself, are snappy.

Rock is supposed to ask me what I think of the stairs. In response I’m required to cup my hands to my face and tell him that I never imagined stairs could make me so giddy with excitement. ‘I love them, Rock, I truly do.’ (And yes, I do rather like them. But love them?