Lisa Heidke

protected the downstairs windows and doors, so Gloria and I talked Dom into scaling the front verandah and breaking in through the balcony door to my upstairs bedroom. From day one, I lived there with the knowledge that if it’d been that easy for a pissed student to break in, it’d be a snap for a real-life thug. But I loved that place. It always had a faint smell of marijuana, and the fridge was usually empty except for ice, vodka, beer and cheap chardonnay.
‘My friend Dominic,’ I say. ‘Won an art scholarship and left Australia to become a wildly successful sculptor in Europe.’
‘Then what?’
‘Then I met your dad and lost contact with a lot of these people -’
‘Except Gloria?’
‘Yes, except Gloria.’
‘So you don’t know what happened to him?’ Bella continues, picking up another photo of Dominic, this time shirtless (those abs!) in cut-off jeans (what legs!), reclining in a banana lounge in the sun, as was the fashion at the time. ‘He’s kinda cute looking,’ she says.
I don’t particularly want to discuss Dom, especially with my daughter. But yes, he was cute. He was also my best friend, even though I did fall in love with him. I only found the courage to jump him the night before he headed off to Europe on a one-way ticket.
‘Why now?’ he’d asked as I followed him into his bedroom and began disrobing.
‘Because I’ve wanted to since forever.’
‘But . . .’ Dom said, as we lay on his bed.
‘But what?’
‘Luce, I’m leaving the country tomorrow.’
In the end, we did make love. But the fact that it took me three and a half years and a healthy dose of liquor to have one of the most special nights of my life, only for him to leave the next day, was beyond heartbreaking.
‘I don’t have to go,’ Dom had said the next morning.
‘Good idea. Reject the scholarship and stay with me,’ I joked, knowing it was too big an opportunity for him to miss.
‘I’ll write . . .’
After Dom left, I’d cried, showered and then cried some more. I didn’t make it to the airport to say goodbye.
For years, I’d thought back to that night and the following day and wondered: what if? What if Dom had stayed? What if I’d kept in contact with him? What if I’d flown to Europe to meet him?
But after a while I moved on. Although my life was crap on a personal level, I hit the big time professionally. A year after landing a supporting part in Against Time, I scored the lead role of Sophia. It was a dream come true. I knew I’d made it because every second person wanted me to be their girlfriend - including Max.
I resisted Max for a long time. But he was persistent and the intensity of his attention was flattering. Gradually, day by day, month by month, I fell in love with him. We got on well and the sex was great. Before long it seemed natural that we’d marry and have children.
When the kids are asleep, I pick up the photo of Dom and examine it again. Daggy nineties clothes aside, he was bloody good-looking and had a truly amazing smile. He was also a great person to hang out with. We used to spend hours talking, drinking, being stupid and having fun. He’d come up with ridiculous questions like ‘Would you rather be intelligent and extremely ugly or beautiful and stupid?’ and ‘If you were the eighth dwarf, what would your name be?’
Just thinking about Dom and his laugh is enough to make me break out into a sweat. Even after all these years.

Day 13
Sam’s soccer game kicks off at 8.30 am. I manage to get us there at 8.15. Bella sulks in the car till half-time. When she finally skulks over to me asking for a sausage sandwich, I agree. You have to pick your battles.
Soccer used to be a lot more social. Today, the parents are concentrating intently on the game. No time for chitchat. Trish, our babysitter’s mum, barely manages a nod, so I don’t like to hassle her about whether Alana is around tonight to babysit. Instead, I smile at the people I know and follow their lead by focusing on the game. It’s a bloody big field for eight-year-olds. Little legs scramble all over the place. I can’t tell them apart, so I focus on Sam’s jersey, number thirteen.
‘Good on you for coming,’ Nadia says at half-time. ‘How are you bearing up?’
I look to her for more information.
‘With the renovations? Max?’
‘The house is coming together nicely and Max is at a conference,’ I lie.
Trish walks past us, this time looking furious. I go to wave but she’s clearly in no mood for a cheery Saturday morning greeting.
‘Whatever anyone might say, it’s not your fault. You mustn’t blame yourself,’ Nadia says.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask, worried. It’s the second comment in as many minutes. Obviously she knows something’s up.
‘Uh, I’m -’ she begins, but one of the mothers grabs Nadia’s arm and whispers urgently into her ear.
‘Nadia,’ I push, but she just says ‘Sorry’ hurriedly and leaves with the other woman, giving me a look that convinces me Sam has said something to Lachlan.
Twenty-five minutes later, Sam’s team has lost three-nil and the parents are suitably subdued. As soon as they come off the field, the boys, including Sam, disappear into the nearby scrub, stuffing themselves with lollies and singing rude made-up songs about their teachers.
I try the babysitter’s mobile again. No answer. Obviously out with her uni mates and clearly not too hard-up for spending money. I relent and call Mum.
‘We’re gonna party,’ chirps Gloria when we arrive at the entrance to the Actors’ Studio. I’m not overly enthusiastic, feeling more than ever like an old, deserted housewife. Still, sometimes you’ve just got to cross the bridge and experience life on the other side.
As soon as we step inside, I know I’ve made a huge mistake. Beautiful young things