The Mummy Bloggers

by Holly Wainwright

  ‘Sure. I’m missing an important acquisitions meeting so that we can pretend we’re going to the hospital, just in case anyone is stalking us. Things are great.’

  ‘Yes, but you get to spend the afternoon with me. Bonus?’ Elle kissed him. Adrian seemed unmoved. ‘Besides, those stalkers at your work will see the posts.’

  ‘Where are the boys?’

  ‘Preschool. Cate will pick them up at three—we’ll take the Range Rover.’

  ‘Do we have to do this every time?’

  ‘Nope,’ said Elle. ‘It’s just to get us started on the right foot, babe.’ She yelled up the floating staircase. ‘Cate! We’re going. You’ve got that chemo post scheduled for 4 p.m., right?’

  ‘Got it. Good luck!’ she yelled back.

  Elle could tell from Adrian’s face that he believed everyone was losing it. But also that he wouldn’t make a fuss. Good boy, she thought.

  ‘Hold on.’ There was one more optic to fix: a cashmere zip-up bomber for Adrian. She went to get it from the cloakroom. ‘You’d want to be comfy-cosy at chemo.’

  ‘You are the worst person in the world,’ he said. But he was smiling.

  Elle had a plan to make him smile some more. They were driving to the Peter MacPherson’s Cancer Centre—the home of Melbourne’s best oncologists—and she’d scouted it. They would park and go in the front door, then out the back and straight around the corner to where a boutique hotel room awaited them, complete with a bucket of Bollinger on ice.

  ‘I think you’re going to like this afternoon,’ she said, pushing him through the door.

  And so would the pap out the front of the cancer centre—she’d got Cate to call him, giving him an ETA. There would be a shot of her and Adrian getting out of the car and heading into the centre. And after it had appeared on the Trail, she would post it to her Instagram and ask for privacy at this difficult time.

  It was all coming together beautifully.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ABI

  ‘Hashtag cancerwife! Give me a fucking break.’

  Abi was melting down at her local wholefoods co-op.

  She was on the phone to her friend Marg, who in a past life did PR for a major tech company but since moving to the country just did a bit of consulting work for a few low-key clients. Abi had started using her to help with the Blog-ahhs after the whole Shannon Smart thing.

  Stressed-out people yelling into their phones were frowned upon at the co-op, where you were meant to be scooping quinoa in bulk and sourcing the perfect matcha for your gut health—but these days Abi was finding it harder to locate her zen.

  ‘I know, love,’ Marg was saying. ‘She’s painful, but I have to tell you it’s working. Engagement on her page is up 150 per cent on pre-Adrian levels.’

  ‘I can’t believe it.’ Abi’s voice was wrestling something between a giggle and a sob. ‘He was my dickhead husband, and he was no use to me whatsoever. Now he’s sleeping with the fucking enemy, he’s elevating her to greatness.’

  ‘Watch it, Abi,’ Marg cautioned, a touch of sarcasm in her voice. ‘Anyone would think you were jealous of someone having cancer.’

  ‘Well, obviously not. Obviously not.’ Abi stopped in the aisle near the raw almond mountain. ‘I just… I just can’t believe all this shit is happening. Poor fucking Leisel’s going great guns now she’s a survivor, and Duckface is exploiting the father of my children for clicks. Meanwhile, I’m being crucified for having an opinion. It’s just—’ Abi was this close to kicking the almond bucket and watching the mountain topple. ‘—frustrating.’

  ‘Abi. I think we have to consider our options here. You don’t sound like you’re in a good headspace right now to talk about it, but we need to think about going into damage control. Maybe I can come ’round later, talk to you and Grace?’

  ‘Sure, sure. We’ll both be home about five. Come then. If the kids haven’t nicked the SCOBY again, we’ll have a fresh batch of kombucha.’

  ‘Why would the kids nick… ?’ Abi could hear Marg picturing the white, flabby starter disc of bacteria that spawned fermentation in the sour, fizzy tea.

  ‘They play frisbee with it—they’re fucking monsters. Come over at five. The way things are going, we might have some wine, too.’

  ‘I’ll see you then,’ said Marg. ‘Hold off on the wine. So much negativity.’

  • • •

  Abi’s problems had begun not on the day she found out about Adrian—although that had hit her harder than she’d expected—but the next, when she got a call from Shannon Smart.

  ‘Darling Abi,’ the woman started, and Abi immediately sensed impending doom.

  Within hours of the podcast’s release and the accompanying story, the interview’s more forthright moments had been picked up by every media outlet, exactly as Abi had anticipated. GREEN GODDESS SHANNON SMART SAYS UNHEALTHY PEOPLE DESERVE TO DIE was a typical headline. THESE DANGEROUS WOMEN NEED TO BE SILENCED screamed another.

  Podcast downloads had never been bigger, and the Twitter war was the best entertainment Abi had had for weeks.

  @shannonsmarter speaks the truth when no one else will #greendivashed #spiked

  Anti-science propaganda shouldn’t be allowed to spread unchecked. Get these witches off the air #greendivashed #spiked

  Can’t understand why this truth-teller isn’t on my TV every morning anymore. We need more like @shannonsmarter #greendivashed #spiked

  Couldn’t vaccinations and sugar have taken out @thegreendiva and @shannonsmarter before they became insufferable zealots? #hoping

  Abi’s phone was buzzing non-stop with requests for comment and TV soundbites. She was digging up her favourite blue top for back-to-back studio segments when Shannon called. ‘Darling Abi. We have a problem.’

  ‘Oh no, Shannon, I hope everything’s okay. What’s up?’

  ‘Well, darling, it’s the podcast. I’m going to need to ask a little favour.’

  ‘Of course, what is it?’ Abi was now rummaging in the back of the wardrobe for her favourite flower crown. She’d had to hide it from the girls.

  ‘I need you to take it down.’

  Abi stopped. ‘What? But it’s getting such a big response!’

  ‘I know, but Abi, darling, I had no idea it would get this kind of attention. A candid chat in the country, all over the mainstream media—’

  ‘Well, Shannon, that’s kind of what we wanted, right? Spreading the word?’

  ‘Abi. You need to understand. It’s not me, you know, but my… people, they are very protective of my brand. It’s millions of dollars, you know. And maybe that day I was a little unguarded and went a little further than I might if I’d had my publicist with me. You know…’

  ‘I don’t know, Shannon. But I’m trying to understand.’

  Silence for a moment. Abi remembered something Adrian had told her. ‘In any negotiation, the most powerful person is the one who says the least.’ Saying the least was not Abi’s strong suit.

  ‘Shannon, I can’t take it down. I’m on my way to Melbourne to do The Process…’

  ‘I know, darling. They called me, too. Everyone’s calling. And I’m afraid that we’ve started telling them…’

  ‘Telling them what?’ Abi’s stomach lurched.

  ‘That you edited me. That you misquoted me. That you took what I said out of context to make me look bad.’

  ‘But Shannon, you SAID it!’ What the fuck was happening?

  ‘Abi, darling, it’s up to you. If you take the podcast down, it will just fade away—’

  ‘I am NOT taking it down.’ Abi was furious now.

  ‘Then I’m afraid my people will just keep saying you’re misrepresenting me.’

  ‘How can I misrepresent you? Those words actually came out of your mouth.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know, darling.’ Shannon’s voice was so calm, so steady. ‘People these days, they can do all kinds of things with technology. Chop things up, filter and alter them. I’m not saying you did—
’

  ‘Because I didn’t and you know I didn’t.’

  ‘But I’m not going to say you didn’t. Basically, you won’t have my backing and that conversation will always have a question mark over it. That’s it, really. Think about it, darling.’

  ‘Shannon, I—’

  ‘And I think it would be better if we spoke through my agent now, don’t you? Just to clear up any confusion. You have Marvin’s number, don’t you, darling? Good. You have a think. Bye.’ And Shannon Smart hung up.

  Abi stared at her phone, stunned.

  • • •

  In the wholefoods co-op, Abi set off in search of Otto and Alex, who were off somewhere in the gluten-free aisle.

  Alex didn’t like to be away from her at the moment—Adrian’s cancer had really shaken her. Last night, she’d come into Abi and Grace’s bed, something she hadn’t done since everything was topsy-turvy right after the divorce. She hadn’t said much, but Abi sensed her younger daughter wanted to make sure that at least one of her parents was right where she could see them.

  Adrian was holding the girls at arm’s length. They had only been to see him once in the past three weeks, and he had made it clear to Abi that she was not welcome.

  ‘Put them on the bus,’ he’d said on the phone. ‘I’ll meet them at Southern Cross.’

  ‘Adrian, it’s a bus and a train. There’s no way I’m letting them do that change on their own.’

  ‘Then drive them to Woodend and put them on there. Seriously, Abi, I can’t do a big scene right now. I just can’t.’

  ‘Who said anything about a big scene, Adrian? I just want to put our daughters in your hands. They’re shaken up.’

  ‘Come on, Abi. It won’t be any better for them to have to see us together.’

  A compromise had been reached. Abi had driven all the way in to Brighton and dropped the girls off at the glass-and-white box. She’d waited in the car as Elle came to the door, looking nothing at all like a stressed #cancerwife, smiling at the girls and waving to Abi. And then closing the door.

  It was too weird, even for Abi, hearing about her ex-husband’s health problems through a series of sparkly Instagram posts and smoothie recipes. Abi and Grace were keeping the girls offline as much as they could, but she knew they were seeing all this too. The chemo post had been a bit much, really—Elle was going too far. Abi couldn’t help it, she felt furiously protective of her girls. And even, she surprised herself in admitting, of Adrian.

  ‘Alex? Otto? Where are you guys?’

  She found them looking at the labels on Super-Greens powder packets. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘This one says it can alleviate cancer treatment side-effects, Mum. Can we get some for Dad?’

  Abi pulled her daughter into a hug. ‘Of course, darling. Throw it in the basket.’

  Quietly, Abi had been texting Adrian with advice on how he should really be dealing with his cancer diagnosis. Her father knew many of the best oncologists in Melbourne, and a couple of calls from the Doctor could put Adrian near the top of their lists.

  Abi—Elle and I are dealing with it. Thank you, was all that had come back.

  ‘Let’s go, kids. Gracey’s waiting.’

  • • •

  Abi hadn’t taken the podcast down. And Shannon Smart had been true to her word—she’d backed away from the comments and made a statement so infuriating in its ambiguity that Abi couldn’t believe it worked.

  Shannon Smart would like to apologise to anyone who was offended by the views she appeared to express on the niche podcast The Green Diva’s Shed. The interview has been heavily edited, and Shannon’s comments have been taken out of context.

  Ms Smart would like to make it particularly clear that she does not support calling any child ‘fat’ and she only advises that any parents who are considering the implications of vaccinating their child speak to their preferred medical professional.

  But it did work. The tone of the raging media storm turned from attacking irresponsible Shannon Smart to eviscerating irresponsible social media ‘celebrities’ like Abi Black.

  ‘They’d rather go you than one of their own,’ Marg had explained to Abi on their first call. ‘Shannon has some serious status, and they need her to sell their shows and magazines. You, on the other hand, are fair game.’

  ‘Great.’

  Abi didn’t usually shy away from a social media dust-up. She had built her brand on being the mainstream voice of alt-culture, and was more than used to the barrage of shockingly personal insults and death threats that followed an appearance. But there was something so unjust in taking the fall for Shannon Smart that made this onslaught worse.

  Also, it was relentless. Wave after wave of abusive tweets, comments, messages. Even for Abi, this was too much. It was like being at war.

  ‘Take it down,’ Grace had ordered.

  But Marg agreed with Abi. ‘It won’t make any difference now. It’s out there. Taking it down won’t change that. They’ll move on eventually.’

  And they would. But not before Abi had to steel herself every time she glanced at her phone. Not before an all-out screen ban was finally imposed on the house by Grace.

  Holding her tongue had been the hardest part for Abi, but it had also been Marg’s sternest advice. ‘Do not hit back. Do not attack Shannon Smart. Lie low. And stop answering all those requests for comment. Put my number on your voice message.’

  Abi did those things. But she kept looking. It was impossible not to.

  ‘I’ve been upgraded,’ Abi had told Grace, after one parenting site ran a story titled, IS THIS THE MOST DANGEROUS WOMAN IN AUSTRALIA? ‘I used to be a dangerous cunt, now I’m the most dangerous cunt of all. Here, look.’

  Abi Black thinks that children dying of obesity-related diseases is a product of ‘natural selection’, she’s against vaccination, thinks calcium-rich dairy is poison and that feeding your children a ham sandwich is like ‘signing their death certificate’…

  ‘You’re not supposed to be looking at that. It’s banned, remember?’

  ‘I didn’t even say that stuff! Shannon said that stuff. Now they’re just straight up putting her words in my mouth.’

  ‘Put it down.’ Grace grabbed the phone from Abi’s hands. ‘I’m burying this thing for twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Come on,’ Abi said. ‘Imagine this: you know that everyone in town is talking about you—everyone, not just a few people—and you can hear what they’re saying. Would you want to know? Of course you would want to know.’

  ‘I would not want to know.’ Grace folded her hands in front of her.

  ‘Bullshit.’

  Grace rolled her eyes.

  ‘Okay. Well then, that’s the difference between you and me. How could you not listen? And then, how could you not tell them they’re wrong about you, that they have the wrong end of the stick, that they’re twisting things?’

  ‘Abi.’ Grace took her hand. ‘You need to wait for this storm to die down. For the wave to crash over. For the circus to move on. Whichever cliché you would like to choose, pick it, live it. Sit it out. You can’t reason with unreasonable people. And anyway—’

  ‘Anyway, what? Are you going to say, “I told you so”? I know you’ve been dying to say, “I told you so.”’

  ‘No, babe. I wasn’t going to say that. I was just going to say that I’m worried about real hurt being inflicted on real people, like Leisel. And also, this time these commenters kind of have a point.’

  • • •

  Abi took the kids home. Driving up to the farmhouse had always given her peace, a smug pinch of sunshine in her belly. Not at the moment. Everything irritated her, everything felt itchy. Her stomach was constantly unsettled, and there was an immoveable lump in her throat.

  As Abi unloaded the shopping and the kids from the people mover, Grace came out of the house, eyeing her carefully. ‘How you going? How was town?’

  ‘Fine.’

  None of this was Grace’s fault, bu
t Abi was shitty. She was shitty with everyone who didn’t understand what it felt like to be muzzled. What it felt like to watch your hard-won Facebook Likes drop off a cliff. What it felt like to be ridiculed publicly everywhere you turned. She was shitty with the media who were siding with the wrong person.

  And she was shitty with Elle. In fact, she was mighty shitty with Elle for locking her out of her daughters’ father’s life—and printing money while doing it.

  Fuck you all, Abi thought over and over, as she pulled the hessian bags up to the kitchen.

  She was still thinking this when Marg turned up, three kids in tow, at 5 p.m. Alex and Arden took all the kids upstairs, and Marg, Grace and Abi sat around the kitchen table, glasses of fermented bubbling goodness in hand. Abi was barely concealing her annoyance. Marg looked serious. Grace ran her hands through her hair.

  ‘What’s up, Marg?’ she asked. ‘When are we all just getting back to normal?’

  ‘Well…’ Marg looked at her glass. ‘Define normal.’

  ‘Me back online,’ Abi snapped. ‘That would be a start.’

  ‘Darling…’ Grace reached out her hand. Abi moved hers away.

  ‘I have to tell you two things,’ said Marg. ‘A protest against Spiked got out of hand in Sydney. Nothing serious, but a young protester got pushed over by people going to see the film and now he’s suing.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with me?’ Abi really, really wished she’d gone with the wine.

  ‘The woman who pushed the boy is one of your followers—she was wearing a #dangerouscunt T-shirt and has posted her side of the story on your site.’

  ‘Well, we can take that down,’ said Grace. ‘Surely.’

  Marg shook her head. ‘That’s not so easy. It’s been up for a while, so the media have all the screenshots they need.’

  ‘Great,’ said Abi. ‘What’s the other thing?’

  ‘Not finished the first thing, yet. Cinemas have got cold feet about liability and pulled the movie, nationwide.’

  ‘Well, that sucks, but not for us, right?’

  ‘You’ve gone out on a limb defending it, and the filmmaker quotes you as inspiration, so…’