Lucy Springer Gets Even

by Lisa Heidke

  Further into the magazine there’s a tiny piece about Gracie Gardener. Apparently, she’s being sued by her ex-husband after enticing him over for dinner, spiking his drink and supergluing his penis and testicles to his abdomen when he was out cold.

  Flying over Alice Springs three hours later, my nervous twitching cranks up several degrees. I read a statistic in the in-flight magazine that says one in five flyers use alcohol or prescription drugs to help overcome anxiety. I guess I’m one of those because I’m guzzling a gin and tonic. Although my anxiety’s more about arriving than being up in the air.

  Before I left Sydney, Gloria asked me, ‘What makes you think Max will agree to see you?’ Her words play on my mind, even though at the time I told her not to be silly.

  ‘He has to see me,’ I said. ‘Or he has to see his children, at least.’

  Now, I’m not so sure.

  What the hell am I doing dragging my kids to a foreign country so I can confront my philandering husband? A year ago, even three months ago, I could never have imagined this was how our first family holiday to Bali would come about. But as I gaze at the endless speckled brown earth below, I realise that I don’t have a choice. I need to go to Bali. Not only to face Max, but so I can work out what the hell to do next. I need to move on with my life.

  Sam alternates between playing his Nintendo DS, reading Harry Potter and watching three movies at once. Bella’s still trying to figure out how she’ll cope with foreign germs.

  ‘What about bird flu, Mum?’ she asks. ‘How will I know it’s that and not some ordinary flu?’

  ‘You’re not going to get sick. Full stop.’

  ‘Bali belly?’

  ‘No.’

  Her mind ticks frantically as she lists all the disastrous things that could befall her. Dirty cutlery’s just the tip of the iceberg.

  When we’re given our meals, we also get plastic cutlery in vacuum-sealed plastic bags. After much cajoling, the flight attendant gives me another five lots. It’s a good start. Bella’s on a mission to collect at least fifteen sets.

  *

  We arrive at Denpasar at two-thirty in the afternoon. Everyone, including me, ignores the flight crew’s instructions and immediately stands up and opens the overhead lockers. I look around at three hundred hot, weary travellers all frantic to find a pool, a beach, a beer, or all three. Everyone rushes forward as the doors open.

  ‘Stay close to me,’ I say to Bella and Sam as I get pushed ahead of them.

  A searing wall of humidity hits us the moment we step off the plane. The air’s also heavy with cigarette and petrol fumes, making breathing difficult. As we surge into the terminal, the passengers from our plane catch up to passengers being processed from an earlier flight. The huge mass shuffles forward in a haphazard queue to hand over seventy-five American dollars for temporary visas.

  Three-quarters of an hour later, we’re waiting at the baggage carousel for our luggage. Security guards watch us, leaning against the concrete walls and smoking pungent cigarettes. An assortment of shrink-wrapped bags ride the carousel waiting to be claimed. Having taken no such precautions with our bags, I suddenly feel insecure. Twenty years is a long time to spend in jail, even if it is the tropics.

  I breathe deeply and try to stay calm as dozens of bags circle, none of them ours.

  Several long minutes later, I spot our suitcases under a battered pram and an enormous blue esky decorated with red lobster paintings. Why would anyone import lobsters to Indonesia?

  As we make our way towards customs, we’re stopped by several Indonesian men in military uniforms. My stomach lurches as one of them leads us to a desk and unzips our bags. He examines my brown tankini and other personal items, much to Bella’s horror. Then he opens Bella’s bag.

  ‘This?’ he says, picking up several small bags of plastic cutlery.

  Bella squeaks, ‘Don’t let him take them, Mummy.’ She’s on the verge of tears.

  ‘For eating,’ I explain, putting my hand to my mouth and making biting actions. ‘For my daughter.’

  He smiles and waves us through.

  Outside the terminal is a thick sea of people, pacing, sitting, standing and smoking. It’s hot and sticky and I immediately regret the pants I’m wearing. Even though they’re made from light cotton, they cling to me. My hair sticks to my head, and my palms, the backs of my knees and my forehead are all soaking with sweat.

  Sam spots a piece of cardboard sporting the word ‘SprinGer’. I grab the kids and push through the milling throng towards the smiling man holding the sign.

  ‘Selamat Datang di Bali, welcome to Bali,’ he says with an enormous grin. ‘My name, Wayan.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Wayan,’ I say. ‘I’m Lucy and these are my children, Bella and Sam.’

  The four of us nod and smile at each other.

  Wayan’s hand reaches for my head and I take a step back before realising he’s only trying to place a yellow hibiscus flower behind my ear. Very pretty, but I’m nervous and overwhelmed and protective of my personal space. Bella and Sam are given frangipani necklaces to wear.

  I keep telling myself everything will be okay and it will be - once we’ve booked into the hotel.

  A hot breeze blows through the car as we drive in bumper-to-bumper traffic through the crowded streets of Kuta, narrowly avoiding dogs, small children and tourists. It’s loud and vibrant. The children stare out the window, trying to take in the colour of the market stalls and the DVD shops and the garbled clashing sounds of music, scooters and blaring horns. Many of the buildings we pass are new or half-completed (just like home), but there are also plenty of traditional Balinese-style homes and family temples.

  ‘Look. Four people on a motorbike and none of them are wearing helmets!’ Sam squeals.

  ‘You like?’ Wayan says, beaming.

  ‘Imagine the bacteria in that food,’ Bella says, pointing to a roadside stall where meat is roasting on an open fire over coconut husks.

  After a thirty-five-minute journey, Wayan drives into lush gardens dominated by towering coconut palms. Not the Sheraton Nusa Dua, where Max is staying. I do listen to Gloria sometimes. Instead, I’ve book us into a hotel at Legian Beach, several kilometres from my husband and his new lover.

  ‘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?

  Day 41

  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.

  Day 42

  After 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 hi
m 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.