The Mummy Bloggers

by Holly Wainwright

  And when they were all asked about their father, and Elle said, ‘It’s a loss we feel every day. He was such an enormously important part of our lives, not just as kids but as adults, too. He was the first person I would call with any problem, and we talked all the time. I miss that,’ neither of the boys laughed or even smirked. They just looked at their hands.

  Then the camera followed her around Thalwyn on her own, as she looked at buildings wistfully, like the old school and the corner shop where she’d had her first job, saying things such as, ‘It’s hard to leave a town like this—the community is like nowhere else. It’s in your blood.’

  All in all, the episode had played pretty well, Elle thought.

  Her followers agreed.

  My heart breaks for your beautiful family, @stylishmumma You have such a lot on your plate. Praying for you.

  Your brothers are bogan babes, @stylishmumma. Where do we get us one of those?

  What a special lady you are, @stylishmumma, to come from nothing and be where you are. Hats off.

  Afterwards, she spoke to Bobby on the phone. ‘You alright?’ she asked. ‘Think you’ll get any grief for it?’

  ‘No, mate,’ Bobby said. She could tell he’d had a couple. ‘Pretty shitty reception for Channel 8 up here, and no one’s seen the old man in months. She’ll be right.’

  ‘Okay. Just remember, any drama at all, call me.’

  ‘Got it, boss.’

  Being reunited with her shitbag brothers wasn’t as bad as she’d thought.

  Elle had been working on Adrian ever since she’d got back from Thalwyn, and once he was reassured her family treachery had come pretty cheap, he mellowed about Elle’s decision kill off her dad. Sitting beside him watching the show, Elle was pleased to see Adrian was back on board, proud of his clever wife.

  So Elle had spent Monday breathing easy, going through the motions of another fake chemo session.

  But now, there was the text message.

  • • •

  Elle called Adrian.

  ‘What’s up, baby?’

  ‘I want you to come home. You’re too sick to work.’

  ‘Actually, I’m in the middle of a merger meeting. I’ll be home about seven.’

  ‘No. I’m serious, Adrian. You need to say you’re struggling, that you need a lie-down. You’re not convincing enough. You’re not thin enough, not pale enough… Look, someone’s on to us.’

  ‘What?’

  Elle heard Adrian shift from a room full of people into a quiet space. The soft closing of a door.

  ‘Adrian. We can’t talk about this now. Someone’s on to us, and I need you to come home.’

  A pause, a sigh. ‘Do we need to speak to anyone?’

  ‘I’m about to speak to someone, but we don’t know what we’re dealing with yet. Just come.’

  ‘Okay, okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ He hung up.

  Cate came back into the kitchen. ‘Those boys,’ she said. ‘Just one of those days! They’ve calmed down now, I’ve put them on the iPads while we prep the shoot. Are you okay?’ She walked over to the benchtop, examined Freddie’s handiwork. ‘That’ll come up. We’ll just have to tell Ena to use that special cleaner, I’ll make a note—’

  ‘Cate.’ Elle stepped in front of her, put out a glossy white-nailed finger, lifted Cate’s chin so she was looking into Elle’s eyes. Cate seemed startled.

  ‘Cate. Who have you been talking to?’

  ‘Um… what do you mean?’

  Elle pressed harder on Cate’s chin. ‘You know what I mean. Who have you been talking to?’

  ‘About what?’ Cate asked, shaking her head loose.

  Elle put her hands on Cate’s shoulders. ‘About Adrian. Who have you been talking to about Adrian?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  ABI

  ‘Who do I have to fuck around here to get a chai soy latte?’

  Abi was waiting to go on talkback radio in Melbourne. In the week leading up to the Blog-ahhs, she was on the promotional trail. She and Zoe were sitting in the radio station reception, poring over their phones and feeling jubilant.

  Abi overheard the intern hiss to the receptionist, ‘Who is that?’

  ‘It’s that really scary mummy blogger,’ the receptionist whispered back. That made Abi’s heart sing.

  She was texting Arden. Her being up and down from the farm a lot lately had left the girls a little… untethered. They were still worrying about their dad, spending a lot of time at home with an increasingly stressed-out Grace, and now Arden was telling her that Grace wasn’t home either.

  SHE GN TO SYD. The text read. BOYS WITH EDIE. JENELLE IS STAYING.

  Jenelle was a former student of Grace’s who sometimes babysat the kids—a nineteen-year-old hippie chick who was always trying to get Alex and Arden to plait her hair and chant. She called it ‘mane meditation’.

  Arden was not a fan. I DNT NEED A BABYSITTER. CAN I JST GO TO DAN’S?

  NOPE, Abi replied. STAY WITH YOUR SISTER. I’LL CALL YOU AFTER THIS INTERVIEW.

  ‘Where the fuck is Grace?’ she said out loud.

  ‘What?’ Zoe pulled out one of her headphones. She’d been raving to Abi about this investigative journalism podcast she was listening to, going deep on conspiracy and cover-up.

  ‘The girls are home alone as of last night.’

  Abi called Grace. Grace’s phone rang out. ‘Very weird. I think I’m in trouble.’

  Where are you? she texted.

  • • •

  Abi and Zoe’s hotel was very close to Elle and Adrian’s Brighton glass-house. They’d spent the previous afternoon playing at being private investigators, and their amateur efforts were paying off. Abi couldn’t remember when she’d had more fun.

  They’d sat outside the house in a hire-car and borrowed hats—Abi had Otto’s school baseball cap—and watched as, at lunchtime, Adrian drove up in his Porsche and went inside. He looked terrible. His expensive work suits were hanging off him, his hair was gone, and he was an odd colour. As soon as Abi saw him, she decided they must be wrong.

  Then she re-read Elle’s morning Instagram post, which said:

  It’s chemo day #cancerwife

  The picture was of her hand on a thin male hand, presumably Adrian’s, and it was sepia-toned.

  ‘Corny as all shit,’ Abi said, waving her phone around. ‘Who puts a sad-face emoji on a cancer post? I mean, seriously?’

  ‘My sister does,’ said Zoe, sinking deeper in the car seat.

  About half an hour after Adrian came home, he and Elle emerged holding hands. Adrian had changed into… ‘Is that a tracksuit?’ Abi asked. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’

  ‘It’s a fancy tracksuit,’ said Zoe. ‘I think it’s like Hilfiger or something. Anyway, you want the guy to wear a three-piece suit to chemo?’

  ‘You mean, to fake chemo?’

  Abi couldn’t believe she agreed to it, but they followed Elle’s Range Rover through the city. ‘We’re staying at a distance of two cars,’ said Zoe. ‘Google says it’s the most effective interval for surveillance.’

  ‘Can you believe this? Follow that car! We are idiots.’ Abi was tempted to eat a doughnut, just to add to her sense of being in a bad cop movie, but things really had been getting out of hand on the processed food front lately.

  Elle and Adrian drove to exactly where anyone would have expected them to go to—the cancer centre—and went into the underground car park.

  Abi and Zoe debated what to do, then decided against following them in. ‘Too risky,’ said Zoe. ‘But it doesn’t really prove anything, that they’re at a hospital.’

  ‘Well, come on,’ Abi said grudgingly, ‘if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck… He has no hair, looks a hundred years old and they’re at a cancer hospital.’

  ‘I know my sister. I say we go back to the house.’

  And that was how Abi—a grown woman with two almost-teenage daughters and two stepsons—found herself standing at
the gate to the glass-and-white mansion, pressing the intercom.

  ‘Hello?’ a young woman answered.

  ‘We have a delivery for Elle Campbell,’ said Zoe. ‘Can you sign?’

  ‘Hold on. I’ll buzz you in.’

  Just like that, Abi and Zoe were granted access to Elle and Adrian’s world.

  Poor Cate looked stricken as she threw open the door and saw that the two people standing there were not the parcel guys. She went to slam it, but Zoe had presumably looked up door-stopping on YouTube—she stuck out her foot and hand, holding it firm.

  ‘There’s a panic button!’ Cate said. ‘I’ll call the police.’

  ‘I’m Elle’s sister,’ Zoe said, arm and foot still extended. It didn’t look comfortable.

  ‘And I’m Adrian’s ex-wife,’ said Abi. ‘We just want to stand here for one second and talk to you about something.’

  Zoe got straight to it while her arm still had the strength to hold the door—Cate was pushing back hard and showed no sign that she would run for the panic button.

  ‘We know Adrian doesn’t have cancer,’ Zoe said loudly.

  The look on the young girl’s face told Abi what she needed to know.

  ‘The kids are in the house,’ was all Cate said.

  ‘We’re not going to hurt anyone.’ Abi peered past Cate to see inside, where she’d never been. Was that a teardrop chandelier? ‘Just tell us yes or no about Adrian. Nothing else. We’ll do the rest.’

  ‘I can’t…’ But Cate had stopped pushing on the door. Her shoulders slumped. She looked defeated. ‘I really can’t.’

  ‘Cate, love,’ Abi said, in what she hoped was a motherly tone, ‘Adrian and I have two daughters. They think he might be dying. Can you imagine what that’s like for them?’

  Zoe sighed, pulling her hat a little further down over her eyes.

  ‘I know you,’ Cate suddenly said to her. ‘From that terrible town.’

  ‘Hey,’ said Zoe, ‘I grew up there.’

  ‘Just tell us, Cate. Is Adrian really sick?’ Abi said.

  ‘I signed an NDA.’

  ‘A what now?’ Zoe really had watched a lot of movies, thought Abi.

  ‘A non-disclosure agreement. I can’t tell you anything—I’d get in huge trouble. I just, I just… help with the social media, babysit the boys.’

  ‘That’s not a yes, though, is it?’ said Abi. ‘To the question of whether Adrian has cancer. That’s not a yes.’

  ‘CAAAATE!’ screamed a little boy, and then an impossibly cute child in a ridiculous skinny-jeans-bow-tie combo popped into view. He was familiar to Abi from Instagram—one of Adrian’s astonishingly beautiful sons. He stared at them, looked at Cate. ‘What you doing?’

  ‘That’s not a yes, is it?’ Abi asked Cate again.

  She shook her head. And Zoe took her hand off the door. Pulled her foot back.

  Cate bent down to the little boy. ‘Nothing, Freddie, everything’s fine.’ She straightened, looked at Abi and Zoe, and shook her head again. Then she closed the door. That was that.

  Abi met Zoe’s eyes. There was a beat. Then Abi felt a huge grin spread across her face. ‘We’re excellent at this! Legends!’

  ‘And your husband doesn’t have cancer,’ said Zoe.

  ‘Ex-husband. No. He doesn’t. Seriously, what an absolute prick.’

  ‘And my sister. What an idiot.’

  ‘I wonder where they really are when they’re meant to be at the cancer centre…’ Abi started.

  They both almost ran to the car.

  • • •

  At the radio station, Abi and Zoe still felt like giddy teenagers. They hadn’t told anyone what they’d found out—not yet. But thirty minutes earlier, they’d sent their first ‘deep throat’ text to Elle from an old Nokia that Zoe had bought at Cash Converters.

  ‘It’s called a burner phone,’ Zoe had explained to Abi. ‘We want to keep her guessing.’

  ‘I watched The Wire, I know what it is,’ Abi had assured her.

  The DJ was ready for Abi. He was Dave Ellis, a thirty-something comedian, and this was his morning talkback show. Abi was there to chat about the Blog-ahhs, about trolls and Shannon Smart, and all the usual things she’d been interviewed about lately.

  ‘Remember,’ Zoe said to her before she walked into the sound-proof room, ‘dial down the crazy, just a little.’

  Abi laughed.

  Dave gave his spiel as soon as she sat down. ‘Today I have with me one of the nominees for the prestigious Parenting Blogger of the Year Award at this Sunday’s Blog-ahh event in Sydney. Daylesford’s very own Abi Black blogs as The Green Diva with more than eighty thousand followers. Very impressive, Abi. How do you do that?’

  ‘Hi, Dave,’ Abi said, then gave her usual intro. ‘Well, I have a voice that some parents really want to hear more of—a voice outside the mainstream. I’m telling people to throw the rule book out when it comes to raising your kids, to go with your gut, and people really respond to that. There’s not enough authenticity out there.’

  ‘Sure, but not everyone likes it. Am I right that you cop your fair share of abuse online, Abi?’

  ‘Well, yes, we all do, Dave. It seems a woman with an opinion is always going to be a bit too scary for some guys. I like to think of them as guys with tiny—’

  ‘Woah! I can see why they call you the most dangerous mummy blogger, Abi.’ Dave laughed a big, radio laugh. ‘Well, well, aren’t you a firecracker? How do you deal with the trolls? Didn’t one of the other nominees for this award get attacked recently?’

  ‘Yes, they did, Dave. That was Leisel Adams, a blogger out of Sydney, and someone I know a little bit. It was terrible what happened to Leisel, but she’s just been tremendously brave—if not a little bit foolish—with what she did, talking to her troll on camera. I think that’s just wild. I like to keep my trolls at arm’s-length.’

  ‘Good, good. Well, we have some callers for you today, Abi, a few people who want to talk to you about the things you say online. Are you ready?’

  ‘Ready as anything, Dave. I have the confidence of a mediocre white man.’

  ‘Oh, that’s hilarious.’ The DJ glared at Abi.

  ‘Yes, Dave, it is.’ Obviously, a bit close to the bone.

  ‘Our first caller is Adele from Dandenong. Adele? You’re on with Abi, The Green Diva.’

  ‘Hi, Abi, I have a question about nappies—’

  ‘Oh, here we go,’ Dave interrupted. ‘Mothers talking nappies on the call-in show, who would have thought it?’

  ‘Dave, you really are a dickhead,’ Abi said, knowing the producer would get to the censor-beep. She did.

  ‘Woah, woah, she bites again! Living up to your reputation there, Abi. Come on, Adele, tell us about nappies.’ Dave couldn’t have looked less impressed with his guest.

  ‘Well, I want to use cloth nappies because they’re better for the environment, but washing them is just the worst job in the world. And the thing is, my partner, well, he’s the one who’s absolutely insistent that we should use them and that disposables are the devil’s work, but he’s not the one up to his armpits in, you know… That’s me.’

  ‘Oh, Adele, Adele.’ Abi was shaking her head.

  ‘So, what do I do? Can I use disposables sometimes? Am I really killing the planet with my laziness?’

  Dave raised his eyebrows at Abi. ‘So, Abi, is Adele killing the planet?’

  ‘Yes, absolutely. Our environmental catastrophes are all your fault, Adele, it’s all on your shoulders… No, no, truly, Adele, I’ll tell you what your problem is—and it isn’t the nappies. It’s your beep-head husband. Look, disposables are not great, they do end up in landfill, and they are responsible for millions of tonnes of waste each year. But seriously? Looking after babies is hard. And babies crap a lot. And if you are the one who is wiping the arses, you should be the one who gets to choose the nappies. Buy the greenest disposables you can, and tell your husband that if he doesn’t like it, he’s on poo duty from he
re on in.’

  ‘Abi, I like your style,’ Dave said, looking over her shoulder at his producer. ‘Adele, are you happy with that?’

  Adele was still laughing. ‘Oh yes, that’s great.’

  ‘Our next caller is Samantha from Ballarat. Samantha, what do you want to say to The Green Diva?’

  ‘I want to tell her that she’s a dangerous monster.’

  The atmosphere in the studio changed instantly. Dave actually smiled, leaning in to the microphone, as Abi stiffened.

  ‘Those are strong words, Samantha,’ he said. ‘Do you think you could keep things civil while you explain?’

  ‘I am very happy to keep things civil, Dave, but people need to know that the lies that woman spreads are very dangerous. She kills babies.’

  ‘You don’t kill babies, do you, Abi? I mean, I know you’re pretty scary, but you’re not actually a witch, right?’

  Abi could sense where this was going well before dickhead Dave, who clearly still thought this was all a hilarious gag. She opened her mouth to speak, but Samantha got there first, her voice breaking. ‘My beautiful baby daughter Lucy died of whooping cough nine months ago. She was too little to be vaccinated. And I know that it’s because of people like you, Abi, who tell parents that vaccines are dangerous, who have convinced so many vulnerable idiots to believe you. My baby should still be here. Lots of babies should still be here. You are a dangerous, evil woman—’

  The producer cut her off, and Dave jumped right in. ‘Samantha, we have stopped you there. Not because we don’t respect your opinion, but things were just getting a little too heated, which is completely understandable. Abi, I have to ask you the question that Samantha wanted to ask you: do you tell people not to vaccinate their children?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ said Abi, but her voice was small. ‘I am not in the business of telling parents what to do.’

  ‘But… and my producer is handing me some notes on this now—’ Dave was looking at his screen ‘—don’t you give a platform to anti-vaccination voices, the so-called anti-vaxxers? Didn’t you support that movie Spiked, for example, that was banned recently?’

  Abi looked up to see if Zoe was on the other side of the glass panel. She wasn’t, just a desk of serious-faced producers. Abi thought about Grace: Is that really what you believe, Abi? She thought about Shannon Smart, and Stephen from the Keen Clean Green brigade, and all the crunchy mamas she’d had on her podcasts.