Lisa Heidke

help me understand what’s happening, why Max has walked out.
Determined to stay calm, I repeat the he’s-just-stressed-and-getting-his-head-together mantra. The alternative is too horrible to contemplate. But I have to admit to a troubling feeling of déjà vu.
Max had an affair a few years back. It happened at a truly awful time in our marriage, when Sam was a toddler with a serious inability to sleep more than a couple of hours at a time. I admit I became hard to live with. Psychotic was the word Max used at the time. And when I found out about the affair, I seriously considered leaving. But Max was genuinely remorseful: implored me not to go, stressed how much he loved me and how our family meant everything to him. He insisted we could save our marriage if we both worked hard at it. And hey, no one’s perfect, so I forgave him on the proviso we had couples counselling to get our relationship back on track. Despite our Icelandic therapist being difficult to understand - and insisting on our participation in cheery clapping songs at the end of every session - counselling brought home to both of us just how bad our communication had become. I discovered how unappreciated Max felt after slogging all day at work only to come home to a cranky wife. I came to terms with the disgruntlement I hadn’t known I’d felt about giving up my career to look after the kids. We got much better at talking to one another after our counselling. We made a point of going out once a week and making the time to do things together on the weekend. Our sex life improved too. In fact, looking back, we had a good couple of years. Until talk of renovation reared its ugly head.
The truth is, things haven’t been good between us for a few months - as evidenced by Max’s increasingly late nights at the office, his sudden apathy regarding the renovations, and his total lack of desire for me. We used to enjoy spending time together as a couple and as a family. But I can hardly remember the last time the two of us had fun together. Not to mention the last time we had sex.
I’d rather believe Max is just Maxed out and has taken off for an extended surfing holiday than left me for another woman. I couldn’t endure the cycle of betrayal, anger, sorrow and forgiveness again. It’s just too heartbreaking.
Four hours later, I have no choice. I have to ring Sally.
‘Sally, it’s Lucy,’ I say, my heart pounding.
‘Hi Lucy, all packed and ready to fly? I’m so jealous.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Max told me about the holiday. I thought you might even have left the country by now.’
‘Just about to,’ I say, pedalling hard. ‘He only told me a couple of days ago and it’s been the most amazing surprise! By the way, Sally, did Max say how long he’d be taking us away for? He’s trying to keep that a surprise too.’
‘He’s told me not to book any more clients until mid-October, so two months more or less, you lucky thing. So, did you hear about the drug scandal at that huge movie premiere last night?’
I make small talk until I can escape, then hang up and burst into tears.
Max has left me. He’s really left me.
I can’t believe it. We have two children. We’re halfway through major renovations. We have commitments to each other, our kids, the mortgage. We’re way too busy for Max to just up and leave.
Besides, we love each other. We do. I think back to when we first got together, and how we fucked like rabbits. Max even commissioned a sign-writer to paint a huge ‘I love Lucy’ billboard, then hired a mobile-billboard truck and driver to follow me for the week. That’s love, surely? Yes, we’ve had some ups and downs, but we’ve been doing so well since the counselling. Although that was a few years ago now.
The tears dry up and anger starts to set in. ‘That bastard!’ I yell at the phone. ‘If he thinks I’m going to sit here and sob for him, he’s got another think coming.’
I storm down to the cellar - which, thankfully, has been left untouched by the renovations - choose three bottles of Grange Hermitage - the ones with neck tags that shout DO NOT TOUCH UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES! - and carry them upstairs to our bedroom.

Day 3
I’m woken by a ringing phone. Max! Rolling over to answer it, I almost gag. Big mistake trying to move so fast after my escapade with the Grange last night. You know, I don’t really rate it, despite all the hype. Too woody and dense for my liking.
I bite down to quell the roiling in my stomach and reach for the phone.
It isn’t Max. It’s Gloria, my agent and friend - most of the time.
One of the reasons I wasn’t as keen as Max on doing major renovations to our house was that, with the kids getting older, I was trying to rebuild my acting career. Ever since I played a mother on a couple of vegetable commercials a year ago, I’ve become a recognisable face again. Okay, not so familiar that I could jump the queue at Target or get an automatic upgrade to business class when flying, but sometimes strangers stop and stare at me. And point . . . on occasion.
I used to be a soap star not too long ago: popular and hot - everyone said so. I starred in The Young Residents for a good three years as Nurse Sophia Frances, which was a huge success overseas, selling to numerous countries including the Netherlands, France, even Turkey. Prior to TYR I had a leading role in Against Time, and then after TYR, Marvels. Sure, Marvels was cancelled after half a season, but that had nothing to do with me. Last century, audiences weren’t ready for a crime-fighting dog who communicated