Lucy Springer Gets Even

by Lisa Heidke

  It’s amazing how I can torment myself with lurid images. It takes practically no effort at all.

  ‘No answer, I’m afraid, ma’am,’ He slides the card into a box above the door handle and the door swings open.

  The first thing I notice is that the bed - a huge king-sized bed - hasn’t been slept in. Nor is there any other sign that Max came back last night. I feel sick with anxiety.

  I wipe away tears, trying to keep it together but fearing the worst. We were at Jimbaran Bay a couple of hours before the blast. It’s not beyond the realms of possibility that Max and Alana were walking past one of the restaurants when the bomb exploded.

  On the way back to the hotel foyer, I rack my brain, trying to work out what to do next. The obliging duty manager rings the Australian Consulate helpline and I’m asked for Max’s passport details, flight numbers and last-known whereabouts. But I don’t have those details. I can only tell the consular official where he’s staying and that he didn’t return last night.

  I’m told to go straight to Sanglah General Hospital in Denpasar, where I’ll be met by staff and can continue my search. I give the duty manager my number and ask that when, not if, Max returns, could he please phone me.

  As Wayan drives me to Denpasar, I stare out the window thinking of all the things I haven’t said to Max. And all the things I wish I had. And I pray - my first time in years (Trish would be horrified). I pray that I’ll find Max at the hospital with only minor injuries. Then I bargain with God, promising that if Max is alive, I’ll never yell at my children again, blaspheme, or make snap judgements about people I’ve only just met. I’ll take the time to be patient and nurturing, the way a kind mother should be. I’ll be the best mother, best friend, best person I can possibly be. I just need Max to be alive. Slightly bruised is fine, but in one piece …

  I feel like I’m trapped on some out-of-control emotional roller-coaster … one minute I’m thinking, even hoping, that Max is off with his girlfriend so he’ll be safe, the next minute, I’m back to thinking he’s dead.

  Fuck Max. (Apologies to God. Promise broken.) If he hadn’t left me, we’d still be at home dealing with Patch and thieving cabinet-makers. Now look where I am, heading to a hospital in a foreign country where scores of injured people lay waiting to be treated. What if he never gets to see Bella and Sam grow up? His grandchildren? The grandchildren we helped create?

  For a moment, it’s all about me. I’m the one suffering. I’m the one with a broken heart. I’m the one driving to hospital, searching for him. Me! I’m the one dealing with this shit.

  The roads are narrow and there’s too much traffic. I’m desperate to get to the hospital, but desperate not to find out if Max is injured, or worse. My skin’s crawling. I almost can’t breathe. What if Max is in pieces somewhere? Why couldn’t he just have stayed at home? I still love him, I realise. Even while I hate him for leaving us for a teenager.

  My phone rings and I’m flooded with relief. It’s short-lived.

  ‘Lucy, is that you?’ It’s Dad. ‘Your mother wants to know when you’re coming home?’

  ‘I haven’t really had -’

  ‘Your mother’s very upset. We both are. You need -’

  ‘Max is missing,’ I cut in. ‘So’s Alana. I’m sure they’re fine. It’s just that they didn’t make it back to their hotel last night, so I’m checking the hospitals, just in case.’

  I try to sound upbeat but my voice falters. Maybe I’m really not that good an actress.

  I can hear Mum in the background, whimpering.

  ‘Don’t tell Mum, but we were all at Jimbaran last night,’ I say. The whimpers turn into a shriek. I guess he told Mum. Big mouth.

  Mum comes on the line. ‘They’ve been killed!’ she wails.

  ‘No, God, of course they haven’t. But I’m going to the hospital just to -’

  ‘And then you’re coming straight home, aren’t you, Lucy?’ Dad says, taking control of the phone again. ‘Promise me you’ll be on the first available plane out once you’ve found Max.’

  At the hospital, the scene is chaotic. Cars, motorbikes and people compete for road space. Wayan stops his van where he can and I get out. I haven’t got a clue what to do or where to go. When I get close to the hospital entrance I see that the area is clogged with dozens of injured men, women and children lying on stretchers, their bodies ripped apart by the bombs. Those who can walk have blood oozing from wounds, metal shrapnel sticking out of their arms, legs and, in one case, both shoulders.

  The stench and heat are overwhelming, but I’m shivering. I want to run and vomit under the red hibiscus trees nearby. I’m too afraid to push through the crowd and into the hospital. If this is what’s outside, I can’t imagine the carnage beyond the doors. So I hang around out the front, watching, listening, terrified and shaking.

  Finally, I force myself to walk towards a woman holding a clipboard. She’s surrounded by scores of people, all clamouring for her attention. She has short dark hair, an olive complexion, and her worried expression is at odds with the pink tropical shirt and aqua shorts she’s wearing. When I get to the front of the queue, she asks me my name. She has an English accent and is my age, maybe younger. It’s hard to tell. As I piece together all the information I can remember about Max and Alana, she takes notes. I’m pleased I can recall what they were both wearing last night. She asks if either of them have distinguishing marks. My mind goes completely blank. She nods sympathetically and tells me to go inside and search for them there. But my legs won’t budge.

  ‘The sooner you go in …’ she says, placing a hand on my shoulder. ‘In the meantime, their details will be entered into a register. If we find a match, we’ll let you know. But it will be quicker if you can look yourself.’

  ‘I know. I know,’ I say. I take a deep breath and walk inside the hospital. The corridors are full of able-bodied people like me, crying and searching for friends and relatives. Others - those who have heard the worst or fear the worst - sit slumped in corners, too shocked to move.

  I stare at the bodies on stretchers. Many victims are being treated for cuts caused by broken glass; several have horrific injuries, missing arms, half a face. It’s hell on earth. I’m operating on autopilot, remaining calm, in a trance-like state as I walk past dozens of victims searching … searching for Max.

  I see an arm poking out from beneath a bloodied sheet on an old, sagging stretcher. The rest of the body is hidden from view. Though blood-spattered, swollen and broken, the arm is familiar because of the bracelet. It’s the one Max was wearing last night.

  I hear myself screaming. I cover my mouth with my hand but can’t walk closer to the stretcher. I don’t know how long I stand there, dazed, before a nurse comes to my aid.

  ‘My husband,’ I say, and collapse in tears.

  She sits me down on a crowded bench and retrieves the paperwork stuck to the sheet. ‘It is a woman you are looking for?’ she calmly asks me.

  I shake my head. ‘No. My husband.’

  She pats my leg and explains that the body under the sheet is female.

  I’m relieved, then feel guilty that this person is someone’s dead mother, daughter or sister.

  As I fill out pages of forms at an overcrowded nurses’ station, snippets of conversation fill my ears.

  ‘I was at Jimbaran when the bomb exploded,’ a woman with a British accent says. ‘It sounded like waves crashing. People started running everywhere, screaming and crying.’

  I bite my top lip, ignoring the pain and blood, keep my head down and continue writing.

  ‘We were in the building next door to a restaurant hit in Kuta,’ a man, possibly German, says. ‘There was a massive boom and the shop’s windows blew out. Complete chaos. People were lying in the streets with arms missing. Everyone gathered around trying to help however they could.’

  I hang on to the hope that Max was one of those helping the victims rather than being helped himself.

  It’s just gone eleven o’cloc
k. Again, I phone Max’s mobile. It’s futile. I can’t help but imagine his phone smouldering in the wreckage alongside him. I text him, Where are you? then continue my search through the hospital.

  Half an hour later, worn-out and numb, I return to Wayan and the van. There’s no sign of Max at this hospital and no matching descriptions so far. I guess that’s a good thing. But it’s torture not knowing for sure. At least when you have all the facts you can start to deal with them. Until then it’s more searching, and waiting - the endless waiting - and anxious jumping every time the phone rings.

  Wayan offers me a cigarette. I don’t smoke. It’s hot, the air is thick and it hurts to breathe, but I accept his offer. He puts his arm around me while I cry and we smoke together in silence as chaos swirls all around us.

  Wayan takes me to Graha Asih Hospital, and I repeat the awful process. Nothing.

  We head back to the hotel. I’m angry with the gawking crowds growing ever thicker on the streets. Why are they here? Why are there sightseers taking photos of the hospital? They’re blocking the access of those who need to get to the hospital - all those broken bodies still being recovered.

  I try to blink away the tears as they form but they’re falling too fast. Glancing out the window, I see my reflection. I look tired and drawn. Millions of thoughts race through my mind: the past, our love, but the most important of all - what am I going to say to Sam and Bella? The thought of telling them their father is dead fills me with dread and despair.

  I close my eyes and somehow manage to nod off because the next thing I know we’re back at the hotel and Max is opening the car door.

  ‘Lucy!’

  ‘Thank God, Max. Is that really you?’ I fall into his arms, huge sobs escaping my mouth. ‘Thank God, thank God,’ I say, kissing him over and over again. The father of my children is alive. My relief is beyond any emotion I’ve ever experienced. (Including how I felt when Trish blurted out the news about Max and Alana.)

  ‘Where have you been? Everyone’s been so worried.

  You’re okay?’ I say, hugging him tighter, tears rolling down my cheeks. ‘I thought you were dead.’

  Max hugs me back. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I can explain.’

  ‘As soon as I heard about the bomb, I rang your mobile,’ I say. ‘Then your hotel. When you didn’t answer, the kids and I -’ I swallow my tears. I know I have to be strong. I need to focus on Max and our children.

  ‘It’s okay. We’re all okay,’ Max tries to reassure me, rubbing my back and squeezing me tightly.

  ‘I guess, but it’s just so awful - all those dead people, and so many others badly wounded. I thought I’d never see you again.’

  ‘Hey, I’m all right. I’m here. I’m sorry about everything you’ve been through,’ he whispers in my ear.

  ‘I was worried for the children … you’re their father.’

  ‘And not a very good one,’ he says. ‘I am so sorry, Luce. I really haven’t done the right thing by you or the kids.’

  ‘You’re okay now, that’s the main thing.’

  I’m so exhausted. I don’t want to argue with Max, or ask him why he’s been fucking us around - his children, his family. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to hear the answer, or maybe I’m just too tired and relieved right now.

  ‘How are Bella and Sam?’ he continues.

  ‘Missing you. They’ll be pleased you’re here. I’ve left them in the hotel’s care. And Alana?’ I ask, her name catching in my throat.

  ‘In shock. She’s spoken to Trish … it’s not easy for her.’

  ‘No, I guess it isn’t.’

  Of course, it’s been a cakewalk for me, I want to say, but I don’t because I’m trying to become a better person in light of everything I have seen today.

  Bella and Sam are beside themselves with happiness at seeing their dad. Max stays with us for the rest of the day, and in the early evening he has dinner with us in the hotel’s seafood restaurant.

  ‘Enjoying the evening?’ he asks me at one stage, giving me a warm smile.

  I look at the kids engrossed in eating their messy mud crabs, relaxed and safe, and I can’t help but nod. This is making me feel nostalgic for a time when Max wanted to be part of our family.

  ‘Why were you so worried about the bomb, Mum?’

  Bella asks. ‘Did you think Dad had been killed?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ I reassure her.

  ‘Mum was worried because the whole family wasn’t together, but we are now,’ Max says, stroking Bella’s hair. ‘You’re growing up so quickly, Bell. Soon, you’ll be as tall as your mum.’

  ‘What about me?’ Sam asks, bouncing up and down in his chair like an overgrown puppy.

  ‘You too, sport; you’ve shot up in the last few weeks.’ Sam beams with pride.

  Max hands me a glass of wine just as the restaurant doors fold back and a dozen or so Legong dancers take to the outdoor stage nearby. We have a perfect view and the children are fascinated.

  ‘I didn’t expect to be doing this tonight,’ I say, sipping my drink and watching the dancers against the backdrop of the shimmering ocean and full moon.

  ‘Yeah,’ says Max. ‘It’s been a great night, considering.’

  I look over at Bella, who is imitating the hand movements of the female dancers. Sam is mesmerised: first by the musicians, then by the dancers’ colourful bird costumes.

  ‘Hey you,’ Max says, bending over to kiss me - on the lips. ‘Can I stay tonight?’

  ‘What about Alana?’

  ‘I love you, Lucy, I always have,’ he whispers.

  ‘Max, I’ve been so angry with you. And today, with everything … I don’t know what to believe anymore.’

  ‘You don’t believe I love you?’

  ‘I don’t know. At the moment, all I can focus on is how happy I am that you’re alive.’

  ‘I want to come home, Lucy,’ he says, looking sincere. ‘Today, I realised how much you mean to me, how much our family means to me. What a huge mistake I’ve made.’

  When Max puts his arms around me, kisses me and tells me everything will be okay, I don’t push him away. I’m confused. I feel distraught over everything I’ve seen today and I want to feel safe, protected, loved. So we snuggle closer and watch the dancers perform a piece about the courtship between a male and female bumblebee. The bees flirt and dance and fly joyously from one flower to another. The music becomes more frenzied, the bumblebees more infatuated with each other, until eventually they are consumed by passionate love.

  As we walk back to the suite, Max kisses me again. I feel slightly uncomfortable, but, for God’s sake, Max has been my husband for eleven years. Surely I should be over any embarrassment about him kissing me in front of the children.

  Perhaps I’m too easily influenced by the copulating bumblebees, but I want to believe Max. I want to believe that our family can be patched together again. So, for the sake of happy children and happy endings, I let him stay the night … in my bed.

  Day 44

  I wake up about four in the morning. Max is on his side of the bed, curled up and snoring, just like the old days. For the briefest of moments Alana doesn’t exist. But then I remember …

  In my heart, I know this can’t possibly work. Not after the heartbreak of another affair, the humiliation, the betrayal. But still, a tiny part of me hopes we can work it out because in many ways it would make life easier. Certainly for Bella and Sam.

  I try to be positive. Who knows? Yesterday, shocking and horrific as it was, could actually bring Max and me closer together.

  I doze again until the children rush in and jump all over Max. They can’t wait to take him to breakfast.

  ‘There’s so much food!’ Sam squeals.

  ‘You go ahead,’ I tell them. ‘I’ll be there soon.’

  I take my time showering and dressing. The rational, sensible, adult part of me knows it was a mistake to allow Max to stay last night. Bloody bumblebees and their courtship rituals! It was impossi
ble to say no. Not to mention the half a bottle of wine and two cocktails I’d drunk by the night’s end, which may have slightly impaired my judgement.

  ‘You won’t let me down, will you?’ I say to Max after breakfast, when he tells me he’s leaving to sort things out with Alana.

  ‘How can you say that after last night? You and the children are the most important people in the world to me,’ Max says and kisses me gently on the eyelids. ‘My family.’

  ‘So you don’t love Alana anymore?’ I ask. I can hardly bear to hear his response.

  Max lets the question hang and kisses my forehead. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

  Back at our room, the phone’s ringing as I open the door. It’s Mum, distraught we haven’t flown home.

  ‘If we allow these people to hijack our lives, then they’ll win,’ I tell her.

  ‘But, Lucy, you have children to think of.’

  ‘Exactly. And they’re on holiday. I’m looking after them. They’re not in any danger,’ I say, peering out to the grounds that are now patrolled by gun-wearing security guards. I’d be less than truthful if I didn’t admit the sight of them unnerves me somewhat.

  I reassure Mum again that we’re okay and say goodbye.

  When I return to the pool, Sam’s drinking lemonade. ‘Mum, we’re having the best day,’ he says, spitting soft drink all over me.

  ‘Where’s Bella?’ I ask, anxiously looking around.

  ‘You’re supposed to stay together.’ I can’t help the alarm in my voice.

  ‘Over there,’ he says, before jumping back into the pool. ‘Watch me. I can hold my breath underwater for five minutes.’

  Bella’s having her hair braided by three Indonesian teenage girls wearing beige safari suits topped off with beige pink-rimmed caps.

  ‘Mum, isn’t this cool?’ Bella says when I reach her. ‘Do you like them?’ She twirls one of her new tiny braids. At the end of each plait is a red and green bead. ‘There were so many colours to choose from, it was hard to decide.’

  ‘You look gorgeous,’ I tell her.

  ‘Is Daddy all right? Is he coming back? Are we having lunch with him?’

  ‘Yes, of course he is. Not sure if he’s coming to the pool, though. We’ll have to wait and see.’