Authors: Lucy Springer Gets Even (mobi)
‘
Selamat Datang
, welcome,’ says the hotel concierge. He leads us into a huge open reception area with beautiful wicker lounges and marble coffee tables. A sandstone terrace overlooks a winding lotus pond. Who would have thought that less than fifty metres away was a noisy world of colour, chaos, crowds and dust. The only sound I can hear now is the trickling water of the hotel’s many ponds and fountains.
A smiling, well-groomed Balinese man takes our luggage and escorts us to our traditional bungalow via meandering stone paths dotted with huge stone buddhas, fish ponds and hibiscus and frangipani trees. Our lovely air-conditioned bungalow has a bathroom overflowing with flowers. We also have a private balcony overlooking a serene garden courtyard. Bliss. I’ve only been here ten minutes but already I feel peaceful and light.
The kids demand to go swimming immediately so we quickly change into our swimmers. Even though my practical side tells me I should unpack our bags and get organised before heading to the pool, I don’t give in to it. We’re on holidays and the three of us almost trip over ourselves to get out the door.
I watch the kids dive into the pool and, minutes later, am ensconced under a palm tree with a strawberry-coloured cocktail, a novel and a smile on my face. Bella and Sam are laughing and playing together. While this might not be a cause for celebration in other households, after the chaos of the past few months it fills me with happiness. No wonder Max chose to escape to this island. It’s heaven on earth.
‘Mum,’ Sam calls to me from the edge of the pool. ‘When are we seeing Dad?’
‘Soon,’ I say vaguely. ‘Soon.’
‘How soon? Where is he?’
‘On the other side of the island.’ Not true, but geography isn’t Sam’s strong point.
‘Can we go see him?’
‘Soon.’
‘That’s what you always say.’
Sam dives back into the pool and swims underwater to the other side without taking a breath.
‘See that?’ he shouts over to me.
I smile and nod.
‘Come for a swim, Mum,’ Bella calls.
I briefly resist, then do a loud belly-flop into the deep end. The water is perfect and the three of us chase each other underwater, splashing and laughing. All of a sudden I’m a normal mother having holiday fun with her two kids. I love it.
Bella taps me on the shoulder. ‘We’re hungry.’ The line isn’t delivered in the whingy tone she’d use at home. It’s presented more as fact. ‘Are you hungry too, Mum?’ she asks.
‘You know what, I think I am.’
An hour later, we’re walking up the main street of Legian. The noise is mind-blowing, what with radios, music videos and live bands competing to be heard over traffic and the general hum of pedestrians laughing and talking loudly in various languages.
‘Come on, hurry up,’ Sam calls, keen to explore. There are endless market stalls selling everything from fresh fruit to T-shirts, children’s clothing, DVDs and beaded jewellery.
Hawkers whisper conspiratorially ‘Chanel’, ‘Billabong’.
‘Can we buy this?’ Bella asks, clutching a pale pink Von Dutch cap.
‘Hey, cool,’ Sam says, picking up a miniature wooden surfboard. ‘Can I have this?’
Every two steps it’s the same questions. The kids are mesmerised by the latest DVDs, toys, Playstation games and branded hats. I’m momentarily taken aback by several T-shirts emblazoned with the words ‘Fuck Terrorists’, but the children don’t notice and we pass briskly by.
The air is heavy and still and there’s a thick layer of dust everywhere. As we wander past brightly coloured restaurants, spruikers implore us to come inside. ‘
Makan malam
, ma’am?’
Sam can’t take his eyes off the crabs, fish and lobsters swimming in tanks, unaware that they’re fated to end up on some hungry tourist’s dinner plate. He quickly gets the idea, overcomes any objections, and decides he wants one.
Bella’s not so sure. ‘They’re overcrowded and living in filthy water. I don’t think so,’ she says.
We’re weighed down with bags of pirated movies, beads and hats, and our legs eventually give out. We stop at a restaurant offering fresh fish, lobster, crab and prawns, all packed in ice displays by the roadside.
‘Come in. Try,’ says a cheery Balinese woman clad in a bright orange and yellow dress. There are several kittens roaming around inside the restaurant.
Bella’s cautious but Sam says he’s starving so we go in. Despite knowing Bella and Sam could never eat a whole fish, I let them order one each. We also get a chilli steamed crab, prawns to share and nasi goreng. We’re on holiday, having fun and I feel happy and at peace. I sip a Bintang beer and watch the world go by while the kids feed the kittens. The colour, the lights, the buzz. Can life get any better than this?
I
have a bubble bath at four-thirty in the morning - blame the time difference. I know Indonesia’s only two hours behind Sydney but I’m wide awake, my mind buzzing. Besides, I haven’t had a bath since Mum forced me, weeks ago. Am soaking peacefully when the children wake up just after five o’clock.
By the time we’ve gorged ourselves at the buffet breakfast and head to the pool, it’s still only 7.30 am. Unbelievably, all the sun lounges are taken, at least the much sought-after poolside ones, draped with striped beach towels. Still, there’s no one around to claim them, so we do some moving around of the lounges themselves and end up with a good spot.
‘I might get my hair plaited,’ says Bella as we watch Sam diving for salek fruit seeds from the bottom of the pool. He never seems to tire of it.
‘When are we seeing Dad?’ he asks when he surfaces for a drink.
‘Have you rung him?’ Bella asks me.
I let her question hang in the heavy humid air. Despite the fun we’re having, Max is never far from my mind. As much as I’d like to forget about him and Alana, I can’t. Every time I see my children, I see him. They both look like him, in different ways. And I can’t forget my children - they’re my life.
Before arriving in Bali, I thought that calling Max would be the very first thing I’d do. We’d go to his hotel, all have dinner together and he and I would try to sort out this mess. So, yes, I called him last night after the kids were asleep. But I was relieved when his voicemail kicked in, because . . . well, the kids are happy, and, for the first time in a long time, I’m relaxed. I can forget about my reality back home for a while, where I’m a deserted wife, there’s homework to be corrected, endless chores to be done and the minor problem of a half-finished renovation. The selfish part of me is enjoying some stress-free time with Bella and Sam. It’s a relief to discover we can still have fun together; that despite the ugliness of the last few months, my relationship with them hasn’t been irreparably damaged. And although I want to - have to - see Max, I’ve no desire to break the magic that’s holding Bella, Sam and me together.
‘Yes, darling,’ I tell Bella. ‘I’ve left a message. I’m sure Dad’ll call very soon.’
‘Why don’t we surprise him?’ Sam says.
For a split second I think it’s a good idea, then shake myself. The kids don’t need to see him with Alana.
Although maybe he’s not with Alana anymore. It’s a possibility. Max gets bored so easily. He might be desperately sad and lonely, thinking he’s made the biggest mistake of his life. Or he could be in Panama with Alana, embarking on a whole new adventure.
Late in the afternoon we order pizza by the pool. It’s so hot that the ice in our lemonade melts less than a minute after the waiter’s placed the glasses in front of us. The kids swim then snooze in the shade. I call Max again, and am relieved when his phone automatically clicks to voicemail. I leave him another short message, then phone the Sheraton to check that he’s still registered. He is but he’s out. I leave a message with the concierge repeating the request to call me back.
By six o’clock, we’re exhausted. The sun sets over the ocean, the temperature drops slightly and the hawkers pack up their bags for the day. The kids are ready to collapse in front of a movie. Even though there are newer ones, Bella and Sam fight over
Wild Child
and
Kung Fu Panda.
‘You’d better decide, guys, otherwise it’s
Mamma Mia!—Sing-Along Edition
,’ I tell them, and don’t hear another word.
Sitting in a comfy chair on our secluded verandah, I read my book in the fading light, daydream and nap. Bliss.
Inevitably, my thoughts turn to Max (I hate him . . . I love him . . . I hate him). Then Rock - he was great for my ego (guilt, guilt, guilt). And Patch. Misguided though he might be, I like Patch. He makes me laugh. Of course, I’d like him a whole lot better if he actually did some work on my house. I hope our little misunderstanding doesn’t cause permanent damage. I want him to finish the job.
And then, of course, I get to Dom. He still sounds incredibly gorgeous with his carefree charm and sexy, throaty laugh. The fact that he was (still is?) tall, dark and striking just adds to his charms. Remembering his tanned, hard physique makes my stomach churn, my nipples hard. We never fought when we were friends and house-mates all those years ago. The closest we ever came to disagreeing was the night before he left for Europe. And then he was gone - all the way to the other side of the world.
A
fter much coaxing, the kids agree to a day trip to Ubud to visit the monkey forest. On the drive, Max calls. He’s surprised to hear that we’re in Bali. That’s the thing about Max. If he doesn’t want to believe what he’s hearing, he’ll make you repeat it again and again, as if he misheard the first time or you’re going to miraculously change your mind.
‘You’re really here, in Bali?’ he asks again.
‘That’s right.’
My heart’s pounding. I’m talking to him and he sounds . . . normal. Suddenly I miss him. I miss our life together; the fantasy of the perfect family playing board games, sharing good times and bad, but ultimately sticking together.
‘Where exactly?’
‘Right now, driving to Ubud.’
After Max finally accepts I’m not joking, he agrees to meet us at Jimbaran Bay for an early dinner.
‘It’s a small fishing village on the peninsula at the southern-most part of the island,’ he explains, as if reading straight from a guidebook. ‘We can eat on the sand and watch the sun set.’
Why doesn’t he want to meet up right now? Why isn’t he desperate to see Bella and Sam? I would be.
I don’t get the chance to ask, because he abruptly disconnects. I’m left feeling unsettled and anxious. And a little scared.
Ubud is charming. It feels secluded and unrushed, even though there are plenty of tourists strolling the streets. It’s also a lot cooler.
At the monkey forest, we watch, amazed, as masses of monkeys, from babies to the old and withered, fight over peanuts, bananas and other food scraps. The children aren’t so enamoured when the monkeys tug on their shorts, begging for food. One lands on Sam’s shoulder, pulls at his ear, steals his chips and stalks away with his red bulbous bottom high in the air. Sam’s not sure whether to be scared or to laugh.
Wayan drives us to Jimbaran Bay well before sunset. The kids race down to the water’s edge to maniacally splash each other. I follow them at a slower pace, amazed by the number of traditional fishing boats bobbing out on the calm water. The beach has dozens of open-air restaurants, with endless rows of tables and chairs on the sand mere metres from water.
I find the restaurant Max and I are meeting at and ask an enthusiastic waiter for a table in the front row on the sand before ordering a Bintang. The beer comes and I sip slowly, watching the kids play a chasing game on the beach with other children. Every so often Sam looks over to the table, then shrugs and goes back to the game. I glance at my watch: Max is late. Some things never change. I wonder if he’ll show.
You know, I never imagined this particular scenario eleven years ago on our wedding day: that one day, I’d be in a foreign country, waiting to meet my adulterous husband to discuss the state of our ambiguous union.
Then again, I guess no one thinks about such things on their wedding day. It’s all sunshine, roses, happiness and sex. Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t think our marriage would be all
Brady Bunch
swell times. I knew there’d be dirty socks, disagreements and the odd dull moment. But I certainly didn’t consider that the road ahead might be paved with frustration, boredom and mutual loathing. Not that I thought our marriage was like that - all of the time. And I definitely didn’t entertain the notion that one of us might end up cheating. How could I? Eleven years ago, Max and I were in love.
What if Max wants to come back to me now? To us? Would I be happy? I try to picture Max begging me to give him another chance, but his face is fuzzy around the edges. He’s fading from my memory just like he’s fading from my life.
I’m staring out to sea when I notice Sam and Bella running up the beach towards something . . . someone. Max. And suddenly my heart is in my mouth. I’m shaking and having trouble breathing. I want to throw up. I take a large gulp of beer.
He lifts them both up at the same time and covers them in kisses. He looks different. Casual. Maybe it’s the tan. Or the longer, blonder hair. It’s unsettling seeing him so laidback; at home and at work he’s all about time management, appointments, suits. Is that a
bracelet
around his wrist?
I walk down the beach to meet him. He hugs me quickly, awkwardly, then stands back.
‘Wow, I can’t believe you guys are really here,’ he says as the children continue to climb over him, smothering him with infinite love. ‘It’s great. I’ve missed you guys so much.’ His tone is upbeat but strained.
I’m struggling to believe him. But then, of course he’s missed the kids - he’s not a bad father, just an absent one. And, generally, Max hates conflict unless it’s with Gloria. He would rather run away (to Bali) than confront me. So part of me isn’t surprised to hear the words. He’d hardly want a scene here . . . or anywhere.
I try to speak but can’t find any words. We head back to the table, no doubt looking from the outside like a normal, happy family.
‘Have you been lonely, Dad?’ Sam asks.
Before Max can answer, Bella points to a beach seller loaded with trinkets that flash neon colours. ‘Can we go and look at what that man is selling?’ she says. Max gives them each some rupiah and seconds later they’re gone.
‘So,’ he says, turning his attention to me. ‘It’s good to see you, Luce.’
He doesn’t ask whether I’m happy to see him. Maybe he just assumes I am.
I finally find my voice. ‘What if we hadn’t come looking for you? Would you still be glad to see us?’
He looks anxious. ‘How can you ask that? I’m really glad you’re here.’
I’m not convinced. At the back of my mind I’m still thinking that he doesn’t want to create a scene. He’ll do the usual Max thing: charm me so I forgive him and don’t ask hard questions.
‘I love your hair by the way,’ he says, and smiles. ‘It really suits you.’
He sounds as though he really means it. Does that mean he still likes me? Finds me attractive? Maybe even loves me again? Or is he just commenting on the new style, much the way a neighbour I haven’t seen for a few weeks would?
He’s not exactly asking for forgiveness, is he? He’s just talking about my hair.
Before I can confront him with this, Bella and Sam return. We eat grilled fish and chips, as though it’s a normal family meal. Until something that’s definitely not normal happens.
‘Max, darling! You said you’d only be half an hour.’ It’s Alana and she’s standing barely a metre away from us.
‘Max, darling?’ In front of me? Worse - in front of Bella and Sam! I want to kill her. Insensitive skinny bitch.
She’s wearing a short, revealing lime caftan with sparkly diamantés sewn around the low neckline to accentuate her tanned breasts. Her perfectly pedicured toes rest on dazzling pink-beaded thongs. Her hair’s loosely tied back in a messy ponytail and her only make-up seems to be the slash of pink across her teenage lips. She’s tanned, blonde and pretty. Which I’m not. She’s also young. Which I’m definitely not. Even in a disco with the lights dimmed, I couldn’t pass for twenty-eight anymore. I’m fading away while my husband’s lover - a girl who’s a mere nine years older than my daughter - is brimming with youth and vitality.
‘Alana,’ says Bella, surprised. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Holidays, sweetie,’ Alana replies brightly. ‘Don’t you just love Bali?’
‘Lani, Lani,’ squeals Sam. ‘You’re here too!’
Yeah, we’re all here. Me, Max, our children and Alana. Surely there’s something wrong with this picture?
‘Just another ten minutes,’ Max says, his voice silky and soothing.
Alana pouts, then reluctantly turns away, but not before giving Max a come-hither look full of promise. I want to punch her - and him.
‘What the hell is this, Max?’ I demand as the children happily follow Alana down to the water’s edge. ‘You bring her with you to see us?’
He frowns. ‘Alana’s fragile,’ he says. ‘She’s not like you.’
Fragile, my arse
, I want to scream but the words don’t come out.
‘We’ll talk later on,’ he says. ‘In private.’
‘When?’ I ask, suddenly feeling very tired.
‘Tomorrow morning at your hotel, after breakfast. We’ll go over everything then. I want to do the right thing by you and the kids, I promise.’
He’s in a hurry to leave. His eyes are on Alana, who, despite giving piggybacks to Sam and Bella, is being chatted up by several Indonesian lads. It’s too much. I push my chair back and call the kids, needing to get away from him, from them. I wait while they run up to Max and kiss him goodbye. They don’t seem distressed about leaving their father and that makes me very sad. But I will myself not to cry. I refuse to break down until I’m back at the hotel and can lock myself in the bathroom.
We head back along the beach and my anger almost consumes me. Why should I wait for him again, I tell myself. Why does everything have to be played Max’s way?
‘Stay here a minute,’ I say to Bella, and jog back towards the restaurant where Max is still sitting. I’m not waiting another minute. We need to talk now.
The sight of Alana sitting with him stops me abruptly. I hide from view behind a cart loaded with barbecued corn on the cob. I creep closer to listen but can’t hear a word because three Elvises (complete with white jumpsuits and silver vinyl capes) are serenading diners close by with ‘It’s Now or Never’. So I stay where I am, rigid and straining my neck and ears as far as I can.
They’re laughing and touching each other, holding hands over the candle-lit table. The table where Bella, Sam, Max and I were sitting barely ten minutes ago. Our table, where now, Max and Alana thumb-wrestle and giggle.
I slowly walk back towards the children. They’re further along the beach than where I left them and I’m overcome by irrational fear until I spot them.
‘Why is Alana here?’ Sam asks as Wayan drives us back to our hotel.
‘She’s on holidays too,’ says Bella.
I don’t say anything. My mind is back at the restaurant - where Alana and Max have their heads together, whispering as lovers do, and laughing. No doubt laughing at me, his sucker of a wife. Max isn’t coming home. He’s clearly happy with Alana.