No More Tomorrows by Schapelle Corby Read Free Book Online Page A

and began a year-long course in 2003. I had one unit to finish when Dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer.
    For ages he’d complained of lower-back pain, and he’d been told by his doctor to take a course of antibiotics and stop drinking beer for a week or two. The doctor diagnosed it as a urinary tract infection. When they finally gave him the proper tests, Dad was told he had six months to live, as not only did he have prostate cancer but it had also spread to his bones. He got a second opinion and that doctor was more optimistic, telling him he could maybe go on for a few more years.
    At first, Merc and the kids moved in with Dad, on his land up north, but it got too difficult for her and she was spending too much time away from Wayan. We organised a nurse to check on Dad every couple of days, but one day she found him collapsed at home. I decided that it was time for me to look after my dad, just like he’d always looked after me. I drove up in my old Toyota Corolla and brought him back to the Gold Coast to live with me in 2004.
    Merc’s father-in-law had also had cancer and had died recently in Bali. So in July of that fateful year, she and Wayan went to Bali for five months, planning to be home by Christmas. It meant that Wayan could spend some time with his little brother and that their kids could get a taste of Balinese culture before little Wayan started school in Australia the following year.
    Merc was determined that her kids would have a good education and wanted them to be schooled in Australia. Merc and Wayan had argued over it, as both wanted to live in their own country – the age-old problem with international relationships – but eventually they agreed it would be Australia.
    The idea for a group of us to go to Bali that October to help Merc celebrate turning thirty wasn’t a spontaneous hit. She was a bit depressed by the whole idea of leaving her twenties behind, but, as a few friends talked about coming over for a party, she gradually warmed to the idea. In the end, about sixteen of us were going to be there for the big night. It would turn out to be a bigger night than any of us had expected.

4
Bali Bound
    L IFE DIDN ’ T GIVE ME ANY WARNING THAT IT WAS ABOUT to take a radical turn. The normality of my existence gave me no clue as to what lay ahead. Now those simple happy days are just a relic of another life: a surreal memory.
    Two nights before I flew to Bali, I was sitting and talking with Dad, enjoying a beer as I glued the ripped plastic on the top of my boogie board. I’d spent the day cleaning the house and stocking the fridge so that Dad would be OK for the two weeks I’d be gone.
    The night before I flew to Bali was just as normal. I slept in a bed with my little sister Mele, while my travelling buddies Katrina, Ally and brother James were in the other beds. We were all staying at Mum’s, as she was just twenty-five minutes from the airport and we had a 6 a.m. flight.
    ‘I believe the seven months I have been in prison is severe enough punishment for not putting locks on my bags,’ I said to the judge sat my trial. It wasn’t a crime, but it was dangerously foolish not to lock my bags. I sure know that now, but it’s a bit late. I can’t believe that on the morning of the flight, I actually mocked Katrina for putting locks on her bag.
    It was the joke of the morning when we noticed Katrina, the virgin traveller, had carefully put locks on her suitcase but had already lost her key. We thought it was hysterical – our nervous little travelling mate. I was the one making a big deal. ‘What are you doing?’ I teased. ‘You don’t need to lock your bag; you’re only going to Bali! And you’ve lost your key anyway! Ha ha ha!’
    How I’ve eaten those words.
    At the airport, Ally, Katrina and I checked our bags in under my name, as I’d booked our flights. We were told to take the boogie board up to the oversized-luggage counter. Meanwhile, James was checking in at another