The Mummy Bloggers

by Holly Wainwright

  ‘Oh, come on.’ Leisel threw back a mouthful of champagne. ‘I don’t think we can assume anything.’

  ‘Ha. I think we can. This is Zoe, she is Elle Campbell’s sister, and my genius full-time content-producer-slash-social-media manager.’

  ‘Really?’ Leisel almost spat out her wine.

  ‘Really. And this is Cate Bajkowski. Cate is a brilliant social media brain and is looking for a new gig. Any fabulous ideas?’

  Leisel laughed. ‘Far out, Abi, you are a piece of work. Let’s talk, Cate.’

  The girl beamed.

  Zoe was looking nervous, as if she could feel the heat of Elle’s fury from across the room.

  ‘Don’t worry, Zoe,’ Mark offered. ‘She’d have to leap about six tables to throttle you.’

  ‘I bet she could,’ Zoe said, glancing over at the door. ‘Have you seen her glutes?’

  • • •

  For Adrian, the awards, once they started, seemed to go at an unbearably slow crawl. Plates were cleared, glasses were refilled, victory speeches were made, tables leapt up screaming, others groaned and plunged heads into hands. He and Elle had been put on a table with the Interior bloggers, and they all wanted to talk to his wife, to admire her jewellery, to shower her with compliments about the glass-and-white house.

  To him, they just shot nervous, sympathetic glances and offered to refill his water glass before the waiter got there, just in case Adrian was too weak.

  His eyes had only met Abi’s once, and she’d made a thumb-and-little-finger phone gesture at him and mouthed ‘Call your girls’. He’d looked away.

  He knew Elle was seething, but she seemed remarkably serene on the surface, chatting about benchtop details and on-trend tiles.

  And then, finally, it was time.

  • • •

  Shannon Smart was clapping the Best Travel Bloggers offstage and receiving a new set of envelopes. She was straightening her dress and stepping up to the microphone.

  ‘The night’s final award is one of the most highly contested of this whole campaign. Partly because Parenting is such a huge segment of the blogging market, and partly because of the—’ Shannon paused, raised an eyebrow at the crowd ‘—colourful nature of many of the personalities involved. I don’t think there’s anyone here who doesn’t know what I’m talking about, and believe me—’ she paused again, for effect ‘—I have encountered some of this colour first-hand.’

  ‘Fuck you,’ muttered Abi. Grace squeezed her hand.

  ‘But it’s a serious business: the winner of tonight’s Blog-ahh for Best Parenting Blog will receive a $500,000 cash injection, plus the chance to sit down this week with some of the world’s biggest tech investors at the Blog-ahh conference and pitch their vision for taking their brands global.’

  Leisel’s hands were sweaty. Elle was straightening in her seat.

  ‘The nominees for Best Parenting Blog of 2017, are Abi Black, The Green Diva…’

  Abi’s face appeared on the huge screen behind Shannon Smart’s head and then broke into tiny pixels that rearranged themselves into a page from her blog, spinning away into nothingness.

  ‘Seems about right,’ Abi whispered to Grace.

  ‘…Elle Campbell, The Stylish Mumma…’

  Among the cheers were a few audible boos, mostly from Abi.

  ‘…and Leisel Adams, The Working Mum.’

  Mark stood up as he clapped for Leisel, her smiling photo dissolving into mini-Facebook Like symbols on the screen.

  ‘I’m going to throw up,’ she said, pulling on Mark’s suit sleeve for him to sit down.

  ‘And the winner is…’ Shannon Smart seemed to open the envelope a millimetre at a time, pull the card out in slow motion, and look it over three times before she read the contents out loud. ‘Elle Campbell, The Stylish Mumma!’

  Hundreds of people breathed in at once. There was a tiny pause before the first few claps rang out, breaking into hoots, and then hundreds of mobile phones lit up as everyone took to Twitter at exactly the same time.

  • • •

  Adrian looked at Elle. She looked at him. She didn’t seem even a little bit surprised, he thought—her mouth was pulled tight, but she was smiling. She stood up slowly, bending to kiss him on the head. ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ she whispered in his ear as she pushed back her chair. The Interior bloggers at the table were standing and clapping, stomping and whooping. He heard Abi shouting something in the background while he watched Elle walk slowly up to the stage. Every noise felt like a blow to his head.

  ‘Sorry?’ Adrian said, to no one.

  Elle lifted her hem as she walked up the three steps to the microphone, where Shannon Smart was standing with the award: a great, big, glittering glass iPhone on a silver stand.

  ‘Oh!’ Elle took the award from Shannon, kissed her on the cheek. Shannon whispered something in her ear, and Elle turned to the mic. ‘Oh,’ she said again. ‘I can’t believe this.’

  ‘NO ONE CAN BELIEVE THIS!’ Abi yelled from her seat and was immediately shushed by an usher. Zoe was crying and getting out of her seat. Cate’s head was in her hands. Leisel was laughing, Mark rubbing her back.

  ‘I can’t believe this,’ Elle repeated, smiling, looking at the award in her hand. ‘Because it’s an extraordinary act of kindness, this decision.’

  Then she stopped smiling. Her smooth face settled into as serious an expression as her fillers would allow, and she took a meaningful pause, gazing around the crowd and breathing through pursed lips in a way that suggested she was building up the courage for a revelation.

  ‘There’s something I need to tell you. It’s something I told the wonderful Heads from Blog-ahh—Patty, Abe and Ivan—this morning, something that I was sure would mean there was no chance I would be lucky enough to stand up here tonight.’

  Adrian began to feel dizzy. All eyes were turned in his direction. His vision was getting shimmery around the corners. He grabbed a glass of water, his hand shaking, and took a gulp.

  ‘You might have heard,’ Elle went on, ‘you might have heard some rumours about my husband and me, these past few days. Anyone who follows The Stylish Mumma—and thank you, all of you—knows that these past couple of months have been extremely difficult. I have been helping my husband, Adrian, through cancer treatment.’

  Is it possible for air to be heavy? thought Adrian. He undid his top button, pulling at his tie.

  ‘Or, at least, I thought I was.’

  This time, the collective gasp was more like a shriek. Elle paused, letting her words sink in.

  ‘It’s true, what you have read. My husband, Adrian Campbell, does not have cancer. He is perfectly well… physically, at least. These past couple of months, I too have been the victim of his conspiracy, as have my followers. As have—’ Elle cast down her eyes ‘—my two little boys, who have been worrying about their daddy every day.’

  Nothing was making sense to Adrian. What was she saying?

  ‘You see, it has only become clear in these past few days that Adrian Campbell has been pretending to have an illness in order to win fame and influence—and to stop me from leaving him. Any woman who has found herself in an emotionally abusive marriage will understand that a desperate man will do anything to keep you under his control. Adrian’s always been an ambitious, driven person, and I genuinely think that he believed this conspiracy was going to help him, and he didn’t care who he hurt along the way.’

  Adrian found himself standing up, knocking over his chair. ‘It’s not true,’ he said quietly, and then louder, ‘It’s not true!’

  But it was like being in a dream where you shouted at the top of your lungs and no one could hear you. An usher was suddenly taking his arm. The whole room was turned towards him, phones in the air, recording the whole thing. ‘It’s not true!’ he yelled as another usher came, and the two men pulled him away from the table, towards the door.

  ‘I want to thank the wonderful people from ATGT and the Blog-ahhs,’ Elle was saying.
‘They could easily have changed the outcome of tonight’s awards under the circumstances, but they have decided to support me, to stick by me in this difficult moment. And I am so grateful they chose to do that. I know that my followers are, too.’ Elle held her award up high, as actors do on televised award shows. ‘This is for them. We will keep going, we will keep smiling. We will keep shining. Thank you all!’

  The cheers were still deafening as Elle stepped back from the microphone and hugged a weepy Shannon Smart.

  The crowd’s applause and chatter drowned out Adrian’s shouts from outside the auditorium. ‘It’s not true!’

  • • •

  For a glorious moment, Elle looked out on a room of approval and respect. She had won. The award was hers, the money was hers, the moment was hers. She had created this, and it was just the beginning.

  But something was happening at the Blog-ahh table in the front, where the Heads whom Elle had met with ought to have been standing, beaming, applauding her win. They had been so full of understanding for a woman fooled by an ambitious man.

  Now a uniformed man was bending over their table, talking to Patty Semple. The other Heads were on their phones.

  The crowd’s eyes had shifted from Elle—they were looking at the scurrying ushers, the flustered officials. They were turning to the doors at the back of the room.

  Elle was still at the microphone, where seconds seemed to pass like minutes. None of this movement made any sense to her. Only this morning, she had explained to Patty that she was the victim here, not the villain, and the Heads had agreed to stick to their original decision. They had known the attention their decision would attract.

  At the side of the stage, Samira, the young publicity assistant, was crying into her phone. ‘What?’ Elle said, to the room. ‘What?’

  All eyes shifted back to her. And suddenly, Patty was up and walking the few steps to the stage, a young woman by her side. Patty smiled as she approached Elle, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

  ‘What?’ Elle asked again before instinctively stepping back, holding the award to her chest.

  ‘I’m going to need to take that,’ Patty said in a steady voice. She pulled the award from Elle with both hands. ‘Elle, we have a problem here.’

  As if the room had suddenly come into sharp focus, Elle saw clearly that the young woman with Patty was Zoe.

  ‘What? What is it?’ Elle shouted now. ‘What’s she doing?’

  ‘This young woman has something to say.’ Patty gave Zoe a gentle push towards the microphone. The babble of confusion seemed to pause.

  ‘Hello.’ Zoe’s voice was quiet. ‘My name is Zoe Wright, and I’m not a blogger. I don’t belong here. I know this has been a crazy evening, everyone. But there’s something I have just told the officials, something that I think is important for you all to know. And there’s someone I need you to meet…’ Zoe motioned to the back of the auditorium, and hundreds of head swivelled. ‘Abi, could you bring them in?’

  The back doors opened, and Abi ushered in a tall man who was pushing a wheelchair. In the chair was a frail, older man, wearing a suit, clean-shaven, with an uncertain expression. The man pushing the chair was familiar to Elle: he had a strong look about his face, familiar milky colouring, freckles across a flat nose.

  ‘The older man is my dad,’ Zoe said, as Abi walked with the two men over to their table, all eyes on them. ‘And Elle Campbell’s dad. His name is Bill Wright. Some of you might have seen my sister, Elle, on the television just a week ago, telling the world that she doesn’t have a dad. That he died a few months ago. But that’s not true. Our dad is alive. He is not well, he’s fighting hard, but he is here.

  ‘All of you lovely people who got all dressed up to come out here tonight, you need to know that this woman up here, Elle Campbell, is not a real person. She has created an avatar for you to follow, and that avatar is a liar. That monster lies and hurts other people as it takes what it wants. Elle Campbell has pretended that my father is dead, has pretended that her husband has cancer—and, right now, she is pretending to have earned that award. She has not.’

  ‘Thank you, Zoe,’ Patty said, putting a gentle hand on Zoe’s arm and stepping in front of the mic. ‘That’s enough. I need to try to get tonight’s proceedings back on track.’

  An uneasy giggle went up around the room. Elle was still on stage. She was frozen, unable to look away from the man in wheelchair, who was smiling at the crowd, appearing for all the world like a proud father who hadn’t got the joke.

  Zoe, on her way offstage, said quietly to Elle, ‘That’s Liam. Our brother, remember? I don’t think you’ve paid him anything.’

  ‘I don’t need to tell you that this is completely unprecedented,’ Patty told the room. ‘When the Blog-ahhs decided to have an event in Australia to honour your vibrant blogging community, we could never have imagined that it would be quite this—’

  ‘Colourful,’ Shannon Smart chipped in. She was back in host mode, taking the award from Patty.

  ‘Thank you, Shannon, “colourful” is one word for it. But it seems, when it comes to this very important Parenting category, that we made a mistake. The Blog-ahhs stand for authenticity. As an organisation passionate about user influence, we do not, in any way, condone lying, bullying or cheating your way to more followers, engagement and glory. Tonight, we got this wrong. And I hope we can go some way to putting it right before the night is over.’

  Patty turned to where Elle was still standing and said, ‘Goodnight, Mrs Campbell.’ Two security guards appeared, one gently taking her arm.

  Elle hadn’t taken her eyes off her brother and her father since the doors opened—two terrible ghosts who had floated into her perfect moment. Her dad, she could see, was trying to make eye contact with her, all the way across the room. What could he possibly want to communicate to her?

  The crowd cheered as she was guided offstage.

  • • •

  Over at the Parenting table, Leisel had her head buried in Mark’s shoulder. ‘This is remarkable,’ he said to her. ‘I had no idea it would be this exciting.’

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ she said. ‘I can’t watch that poor woman get walked out of here.’

  ‘Poor woman?’ Mark leant over to Liam and Bill Wright, extending a hand. ‘Hello, fellas, quite an entrance there. Lovely to meet you.’

  Liam reached out and shook Mark’s hand. ‘Pleasure,’ he said simply, then went back to adjusting his dad’s chair, pouring him a water.

  Leisel looked at Abi. ‘You really are remarkable,’ she said. ‘We so need to be friends.’

  Abi smiled back. ‘We’re family, Leisel. More than friends.’ In that moment, Abi was feeling so generous she even dashed off a text to her mother. Tell the Doctor we’re all on for dinner next week. And I mean all.

  ‘So, we are going to try to put this right,’ Patty Semple announced. ‘Tonight’s award for excellence in Parenting blogging will go to the category’s rightful runner-up, a woman whose frank writing has built a loyal army of followers who find solace and strength in her and one another. It has also put her in considerable danger, and if this award was for bravery as well as blogging, it would be totally appropriate.’

  ‘Oh my god,’ Leisel said, pulling at Mark’s sleeve. ‘I really am going to throw up.’

  ‘No, Lee, you’re going to win,’ he said.

  ‘It gives me great pleasure to present this award to Leisel Adams, champion of working mums everywhere. Leisel, up you come.’

  The room erupted in applause one more time, foot-stamps and hollers and whooping rising from all corners, as Leisel stood and hugged Mark. She went to embrace her sister, but suddenly, in that crazy moment, Grace was gone. The only people left at their table were the Wrights, who were deep in conversation, and Cate, who smiled and gave her a double thumbs-up as she turned for the stage.

  Up there, lights in her eyes, Leisel looked at the award and felt it heavy in her hand. She thought about the $500,000 prize. She t
hought about the text she would send to Zac in the morning: Taking a break. Think you’ll manage without me.

  She gazed out at a room of people who were all now heads-down, typing madly into their phones. And she said, ‘I wasn’t meant to win this tonight, I know that. The woman who everyone wanted to win was the one we all thought we wanted to be: the beautiful woman with the perfect house, the handsome husband, the photogenic kids.

  ‘Most of us suspected that woman didn’t exist. I’m not talking about Elle Campbell, I’m talking about the illusion of that perfect wife, mother, friend. She only exists on your Instagram feed, filtered and facetuned and hashtagged. We wanted her to win tonight, didn’t we? Until we realised just how empty that image is.’

  Leisel took a big breath. She looked at Shannon Smart—who seemed like she needed a good lie-down—and then out at the table, at Mark who was grinning at her.

  ‘Influence is a currency we trade in now,’ Leisel went on, finding the speech she’d allowed herself to recite in her head a hundred times. ‘And influence is everything. We talk about the influences we want around our children, our workplaces, our planet. But in this world, we only care how much of it you’ve got, not what you do with it. So I… ’

  Here we go, thought Leisel, it’s my Oprah moment.

  ‘I want all of us to consider the kind of influence that counts. The kinds of opinions worth listening to. The stories that we share to lift us, not drive us to make dangerous decisions to hate ourselves, or hurt someone, or lie, or pretend we are someone we are not. From here on, let’s focus on our real lives, not the illusions.

  ‘So I’m dedicating this award to the people who raise my roof and mess up my table, and to the children who crowd our bed every fucking night.

  ‘Thank you, I love you. Good night.’

  The audience lifted their heads long enough to cheer.

  • • •

  The video of the moment Elle’s dead dad was wheeled into the awards was already on YouTube. Fifty thousand views in four minutes.

  Outside the auditorium, past the neon carpet, down the escalator and in the chilly night air, Abi, Grace and Adrian were sitting on a step under the close eye of security guards. Grace’s head was on Abi’s shoulder, Abi’s hand was on Adrian’s.