‘Now, we can’t talk about the details of what happened… between us. But Kristen, can I ask, broadly, about online abuse crossing over into real life? When did that start for you?’
The police liaison officer, Bella, was shaking her head.
‘I don’t think a lot of people do that,’ Kristen started. Paused. My kids, she thought. She remembered the conversation she’d had with Bella and Mel about this very question. ‘For me, it was one bad choice after another at that time, Leisel. I can see this now—but then, it felt like all these things were happening to me. I had a very brief new relationship. It went badly wrong. Then I found out I was pregnant, and I… I lost the baby. A baby boy. That’s when I allowed my obsession to overtake my life. I didn’t do much during that time other than sit online at home. And then I started… doing other things. It gave me a little bit of comfort to strike out. Not a good idea.’
Kristen wondered how this was playing on the internet. She knew she didn’t look dangerous. Everyone always told her, ‘You look so young’—she was a little, skinny thing. The people watching probably wondered how she could have attacked Leisel at all. Leisel was so much bigger, stronger.
She looked up at Leisel. ‘Are you afraid of me?’ she asked.
Leisel looked shocked. There was movement behind the camera as people began to flap.
‘I was,’ Leisel said, gathering herself. ‘I was.’
‘But not now? You don’t think I’m a scary person?’
‘I think you’re a person who’s had a lot of bad luck, Kristen.’
‘It’s not all bad luck,’ she corrected. ‘I did a lot of stupid things. But I just want everyone watching to know—I’m not a danger to you. I’m not a danger to my kids. I’m getting help. I’m getting my head straight. I would never do what I did that night again. I don’t even know why I did it. I just… really fucking hated you right then…’ She ran out of breath.
My kids.
‘But I know now, I didn’t hate you. I hated myself. What I’d become. And seeing all of that out there—but it wasn’t out there. It was in my house, in my phone, all this stuff that I couldn’t have. To me it looked like all these people had no idea what they had. How lucky they were. I just… lost it.’
Everything went silent for a moment. Then Leisel reached across the couch, held Kristen’s hand and said, ‘I think I need a drink of water.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
LEISEL
Now that she was by herself, bedtime really sucked. Leisel didn’t know why she’d ever complained that Mark didn’t do enough during The Returns, the endless stroking and patting and fetching of urgently needed glasses of water that dragged on before the children eventually slept.
It had been a huge day. A very strange day, and now the reality of solo bedtime loomed. Leisel wasn’t sure how to process what had happened with Kristen, or the reaction to it. And she didn’t have time to try. Her phone was still buzzing in her pocket. She was home and trying to get a fussy three-year-old to eat his shop-bought lasagna. And to get Maggie to say something to her—anything.
What lay ahead, if the past few nights were anything to go by, was not going to be an improvement on this dinnertime battleground. Rich was crying for his daddy every night in at least three shifts before he’d pass out into a deep sleep, and Maggie was being as well-behaved as a six-year-old could possibly be, clearly unwilling to make any waves at all, which Leisel found even more distressing.
She wanted Mark and Harri to come home. She missed them both so much that her insides ached. But something was stopping her from calling Mark, even when Rich was wailing, ‘I want my dadddddeeeee!’ at 3 a.m.
‘Daddy will be back soon,’ was her line. ‘He and Harri have just gone to visit with Uncle Dan.’
• • •
On the morning after Mark left, she had called him. She’d managed the double drop-off, then raced into the office at 9.05 and collapsed into her chair. Seeing no sign of Zac, she grabbed her phone and went to the bathroom.
Mark picked up. She’d been sure he wouldn’t.
‘Mark.’
‘Leisel.’ He hardly ever called her Leisel.
‘Come home.’
‘Rough morning?’
‘That’s not fair. What are you doing? It’s ridiculous.’
‘I’m not doing anything. I just need some space, and I’m taking it.’
‘And Harri?’
‘You couldn’t manage all three of them, not with work.’
That was true.
‘Is she okay?’
‘Yes. She’s asking for you. We’ll see you soon.’
‘Mark, please don’t—’
‘Leisel!’ Zac was yelling… into the ladies’ toilets?
Jesus Christ. Suddenly, Leisel realised that she was a grown woman hiding from her boss in the bathroom, begging her husband to bring her baby home. Clearly she was at the top of her game.
‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘Please, just come home.’
‘Leisel, I need to clear some stuff up.’
‘Just… come home.’
‘Leeeeeisel!’ Zac again.
‘And kiss Harri for me.’
The whole exchange made her cringe. But in the days since, she’d also got angry. Organising the Kristen interview had been insanely stressful. Zac wasn’t letting up on her at work. The Blog-ahhs were a week away. And Mark was choosing now to throw his tantrum?
Fuck him. She was the one bringing home the bacon, so she was the one who would decide how it was earned. He could take his holier-than-thou bullshit to his brother’s and stay there.
But it was hard for Leisel to maintain the rage when her baby was gone, and a weeping three-year-old and silent six-year-old were glued to her side.
• • •
Midway through another plea for Rich to let something pass his lips, Leisel heard a knock at the flat door. She got up from her knees and went to look through the peephole, her newly installed chain lock in place.
When she saw who was there, she couldn’t get it off fast enough.
‘Grace!’
She stood back and took in the sight of her little sister, standing right there on her Sydney doorstep. Miles from the farm. With—Leisel peered down the hall, left and right—apparently no children in tow. And definitely no Abi.
‘Grace!’ She hugged her hard. The way Grace hugged her back made her think that she wasn’t the only one on a real winning streak.
‘Can I come in?’
‘Well, of course, but what are you doing here? I didn’t think you and Abi would be up here until the awards.’
‘I just needed to get away, come say hi to you. I figure we probably have a lot to talk about. I saw your Facebook Live today on the way up, you crazy woman.’
Rich came barrelling around the corner, straight into Grace’s legs. ‘Auntie Grace!’ he yelled. Then, ‘I thought you were Daddy.’
‘Daddy?’ Grace raised an eyebrow in Leisel’s direction, who shrugged. ‘I’m way better than Daddy. I have gifts!’ Grace produced a beaten-up leather duffle bag that Leisel was sure she’d packed to go on Guides camp when they were teenagers.
Of course, Auntie Grace’s gifts were a bar of hand-milled soap for Maggie and some roughly hewn fingerless mittens for Rich, but the kids exclaimed appropriately. Oh, the glorious age where they just like getting anything new, thought Leisel.
‘I’ve got a mobile for Harri,’ Grace said, looking around.
‘She and Mark are… away.’
‘Oh.’ Grace gave Leisel a hard look, but then said only, ‘Let me help you get these kids in the bath, hey?’
• • •
That was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen. #forgivenessproject
This is a deeply irresponsible stunt. The woman is clearly unwell. #forgivenessproject
I hope both of you are getting the help you need. #forgivenessproject
I’m sorry, but getting divorced doesn’t mean you can go around stab
bing people. She should be in jail. #forgivenessproject
Leisel and Grace were sitting at the kitchen table. The kids were finally down, and they were scrolling through the thousands of comments about Leisel’s Kristen interview.
‘It was hard to watch, Lee,’ said Grace, helping herself to a corn chip and hommus. ‘I can’t imagine what it was like to actually do that interview.’
‘It was confronting. It was… complicated. Look, I don’t know.’ Leisel shook her head, took a sip of wine. ‘I’ve almost forgotten why I wanted to do it. But seriously… that poor fucking woman.’
‘I admire your generosity in saying that,’ Grace said. ‘But there must have been something in this for her.’
‘Oh yeah. I’ve said I won’t pursue the charges. I mean, it’s assault, so she has to be charged, but without a cooperating victim, she’ll get a better outcome. No question.’
‘So the mystery only remains, what was in it for you, then? Putting yourself through all that again?’
‘I don’t know.’ Leisel reached for a chip.
‘The numbers look pretty good.’ Grace motioned to the laptop they’d just been looking at. ‘Engagement will be huge. Picked up everywhere, I’d imagine. That wouldn’t be why, would it?’
‘You sound like Mark.’
‘If I’ve got the right idea about what’s going on around here, I think I might be Mark,’ said Grace, sipping her green tea. ‘This is all coming between you, right? Where is he?’
‘At his brother’s.’
‘With Harri?’
‘With Harri.’
‘Is he okay?’
‘Yes, I think so. He just needs some “room to think”.’
‘Sounds familiar.’
‘Abi?’
‘I needed to get away from that insanity for a minute, Lee. Things have become really… dramatic.’
‘Not your favourite scene.’
‘Hell no.’ Grace took another chip, looked at Leisel. ‘Does Mark feel like I do? Like this blog stuff is getting too big? Is that what it is?’
‘Well, yes, that’s a large part of what it is. I’m sick of carrying all the earning pressure, he’s sick of me moaning about him and the kids on the internet—’
‘Ha!’
‘Grace. I know you’re on the other team but, for me, I feel like this is a chance to change our lives! And I want that.’
‘That’s exactly what Abi says to me. I told her that I don’t want our lives to change.’
‘And that—’ Leisel took another slug of pinot gris ‘—is exactly what Mark says to me.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ELLE
Adrian was eating too much. And working too much.
‘How is Adrian? He looks well, considering, poor man.’ That was the teacher at Teddy’s preschool, when Elle arrived to collect him on Tuesday.
Elle lowered her sunglasses and stared at the woman. Did she know something?
‘Yes,’ Elle said, ‘he’s coping really well, but it’s tough.’
The preschool teacher, who—working, as she did, at a $250-a-day centre—surely knew better than to pry into the parents’ lives, smiled and nodded and gave Teddy a gentle shove towards his mother. ‘Well, we’re all thinking of him. Teddy was great today. His French is coming on really well, n’est-ce pas, Teddy?’
‘Oui, Mademoiselle Sondra,’ three-year-old Teddy replied, taking his mum’s outstretched hand.
‘Well, that’s great, isn’t it.’ Elle put her sunnies back on. ‘He didn’t nap today, did he? It’s such a pain for us if he sleeps when he’s here. We really like him to be tired for bedtime.’
‘No, of course not, Mrs Campbell, we kept him up while the others were napping, like you asked. We’ve got some Baby Sudoku puzzles in just for him.’
‘Good. Well, we’re off. Say bye, Teddy.’
‘Oh!’ the teacher called after her. ‘And I was sorry to hear about your dad!’
Back in the car, Teddy was telling Elle about how, when the other kids were sleeping, he’d put spiky Lego pieces under his enemies’ pillows—but Elle was barely listening as she checked her phone for more messages.
The text she’d received that morning while she was stretching after her workout was still sitting in her inbox.
I know you’re lying about Adrian’s cancer.
It was from a number she didn’t recognise.
She’d stared at it for two minutes and then replied: Who is this? I will report this heartless harassment to the police.
No reply.
It had put Elle on edge all day. She’d had a photoshoot for Abbott’s and a conference call with the Blog-ahhs PR people (who were flying everyone up to Sydney on Thursday for press), and now, when she got Teddy home, she had a styling session with the boys. She needed a good run of their fashion shots to get them through until they were all back from Sydney next week. Post Blog-ahhs and pre-new life.
‘Mum,’ Teddy said from the back seat, ‘I don’t want to do clothes today.’
‘You have to, darling. You and Freddie will get iPad time straight after. I promise.’
‘I HATE CLOTHES!’ Teddy shouted, kicking his feet against the white leather seats beneath his booster. ‘I HATE STUPID CLOTHES!’
This was not what Elle needed. ‘Teddy. STOP. You are giving Mummy a headache and making her feel sad.’
‘I don’t care. I HATE DUMB, DUMB, STUPID CLOTHES!’
This carried on through the short drive home until Elle was basically dragging him up the path to the glass-and-white house, hoping this wasn’t a day that the Daily Trail paps were outside. She thought that she’d seen a strange car out here yesterday.
‘Take him,’ she said to Cate when she got in the door, and she pushed a kicking and squirming Teddy towards the young woman. ‘I can’t handle any tantrums right now. Get him and Freddie ready any way you can.’
Cate put her arms around Teddy tightly, and he started to quiet down. It was going to take a few minutes.
Elle went into the kitchen, closed the door, turned towards the bench and found Freddie, standing on a stool, drawing on the ironbark benchtop with a marker. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ Elle lifted him off the stool and put him on the floor. ‘Cate!’
Teddy’s wails had subsided. Cate opened the kitchen door, the sniffling boy still in her arms.
‘These boys are completely out of control today,’ Elle said. ‘I don’t know what you’re telling them about discipline, but they have no fucking idea. My kids are not brats. Do you hear me? My kids are not brats.’
Freddie started kicking his mother’s lycra-clad leg with his socked foot. ‘No yelling at Cate, Mummy!’ he shouted.
‘Elle, they’re not brats, they’re just having a bad day—aren’t you, boys?’ Cate reached out a hand to Freddie. He took it.
Elle looked at Cate standing in the kitchen doorway, one of Elle’s son’s sucking his thumb on her hip, the other dangling from her hand and giving Elle what could only be described as the stink eye.
She exhaled. ‘Cate. Please take the boys upstairs and lay out some clothes for the next few days. Then I’d like to talk to you back here.’
Cate and the boys retreated.
• • •
Two days ago, Elle’s Sunday Evening episode had aired. On Sunday afternoon, she’d written:
My Stylish Mummas,
Tonight, I’m really honoured to be featuring on a special episode of Sunday Evening about bloggers. If you watch it—or record it, because it is slap-bang in the middle of kiddie bedtime for most of us!—you’re going to learn some things about me and my life that you might not have known before.
My A asked not to appear on the show—and I respected his wishes, of course, as I always do. He is struggling with his treatment right now, feeling a little bit vain (men!) about the way he looks (gorgeous to me, of course!) and he just needs to focus on drawing strength from family and getting well.
But what you will get a good look at is our be
autiful home (eeek! oh how I scrubbed it before the cameras came!), and our beautiful boys, who had the best day with the film crew here.
You’ll also see the town where I grew up. I haven’t shared this with you before, SMs, but my family suffered the loss of my father a few months ago, and what you will see tonight are siblings struggling to come to terms with a life without parents. Until now, we have kept this great loss private, which I’m sure you will understand, but tonight, we pay tribute to the man who made us.
You’ll also see the house where we grew up, poor but happy, you’ll hear some words about our beautiful mum, God rest her soul, and you’ll witness the spirit of the outback, which is what gives me strength every day to face everything that the world can throw at all of us. #cancerwife
I’d love to share all this with you if you will sit down with me and watch tonight. I know many of you out there are going through much more difficult struggles of your own, and maybe by getting a little window into my world, you’ll know that anything is possible.
Remember, we put our brave faces on every day, SMs. Stay strong, shine brightly and let’s share a night on the lounge tonight.
#loveandlight
Elle x
And they had watched.
They saw Elle making raw kale and lemon juices for a perfectly behaved Teddy and Freddie in her immaculate kitchen. They got a peek into Elle’s dressing-room: actually two adjoining mirrored rooms, one for day and evening clothes, one for active wear.
And then, of course, they travelled with her to Thalwyn. Her brothers came across remarkably well, she thought, considering how nervous they had been. They said very little, but they looked suitably serious beside Elle, throwing in the odd word.
When the interviewer asked them, ‘What was it like to lose your mother at such a young age?’ Kai replied, ‘Pretty shithouse, really.’ And although Elle had cringed at the time, on TV it played as endearing honesty.
When the interviewer asked, ‘Do you sometimes look at your glamorous sister and wonder where she came from?’ Bobby answered, ‘You bet we do. She wasn’t such a looker when she was a kid!’ It came across as authentic pride.
The Mummy Bloggers Page 22
