Those Other Women

by Nicola Moriarty

  Poppy glanced sideways at Annalise and wondered if she was feeling the same way she was. In a word: humbled.

  * * *

  The woman at the front finished her speech to thunderous applause. Now that there was another break in proceedings, Annalise took the opportunity to excuse herself. ‘I’ll be back in five,’ she said to Poppy, and hurried away from the table.

  She wanted to take Poppy aside now and confess her secret. She wanted to do it as soon as possible, before she lost her nerve. The only thing was, that speech had hit her hard.

  As the woman had spoken, all she could see standing in front of her was her mother. The woman’s dark hair had morphed into waist-length red locks. Her eyes had turned piercing blue and she’d been speaking directly to Annalise. It’s easy for other people to judge, she’d said. They think that you’re selfish, they think that you’re a bad mother. Towards the end of the speech, Annalise’s stomach had started cramping and now she headed to the bar, hoping that a fizzy drink might help ease her discomfort.

  It was true. She did think her mum was a bad parent. She always had. Why can’t we just leave, Mum? Why can’t we run away? But was it the same for her mother as it was for this woman who had spoken? Did her mum have those same fears? Was she terrified that he would track them down? That he would make them pay if they escaped?

  Did she refuse to leave because she was trying to protect her?

  It was a romantic notion, the idea that her mother loved her so much that she stayed simply to protect her. But it was also unlikely. She was obsessed with him. Brain-washed. That was why she stayed.

  What if she had been a part of a mothers’ group along the same lines as MOP back in those days, before she met him? Social media might not have existed, but community groups did. What if she’d had that same sort of network, the support of friends who might have seen the signs before she was drawn in by his lies? Women who might have stopped her, talked sense to her. Women who might have saved both of them. Could things have been different?

  As Annalise stepped up to the bar, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. Stop it, she told herself. There’s no point running over and over the past when there’s nothing you can do about it now. She squashed the memories back down and waited to be served. But as a bartender caught her eye she was hit by another one of those stabbing cramps and she leaned forward and grabbed at her stomach. Ouch! The pain was getting sharper and a wave of nausea swept over her. She grimaced at the bartender and gave a small shake of her head to indicate she’d changed her mind, then turned and headed for the bathroom instead. Was this really nerves? Or maybe it was morning sickness. She quickened her pace.

  In the bathroom, she pushed her hands against the sink and leaned forward to let her forehead rest against the cool glass of the mirror. For a moment, she flashed back to that service station bathroom from a week and a half earlier, remembered looking at herself in that sheet metal and feeling so afraid and lost and unsure.

  She was still afraid, but at least she felt like she had a way forward now. At least she knew what she wanted.

  * * *

  Frankie watched as Chelsea filled up her glass for her, having snatched a bottle off a passing waiter and refused to give it back.

  ‘Okay,’ said Chelsea, ‘talk to me. What was all that about?’

  Lucy had disappeared from the table the moment the speech had finished so Frankie felt free to chat with Chelsea about her sister. And, the constantly refilled glass was helping to loosen her tongue. She explained her part in the entire MOP/NOP debacle as best she could from start to finish, but it involved plenty of backtracking as Chelsea tried to follow.

  ‘So, wait, were already worked with some people from NOP but you joined —?’

  ‘And who was Viv? Oh, you were pretending to —’

  ‘But Lucy was Carla. Why did you all keep changing your names?’

  When she was done, and Chelsea seemed satisfied she understood everything, they both fell quiet for a minute as Frankie took another large gulp of her drink and Chelsea looked deep in thought.

  Eventually, Chelsea spoke. ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘so you might have started out in this group as a bit of fun and to one-up those girls at your work, but it turned into something more for you. It was an escape.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Because you were finding life as a working mum hard?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you thought people like me, stay-at-home mums, we had it easy?’

  ‘Ye — wait, what?’

  ‘It’s okay, Frankie. You know how you said you could see the way those girls looked at you at work, how you thought they judged you? Well, I could tell the same thing about you. I could see the way you judged me. I knew you were pissed off when I asked you to help out at the carnival.’

  ‘Oh.’ Frankie didn’t know what to say. She wanted to argue, to tell her she’d misunderstood, but it wouldn’t be the truth and she was getting too drunk to form a coherent argument anyway.

  ‘Honestly,’ said Chelsea, ‘it really is fine. I get it. There’s a few of us mums on the P & C who cop that kind of shit all the time. And you know what happens with us? People don’t actually even ask us if we’re free when it comes to organising or helping out with school events. They just assume. They just count you in. It’s always, “Oh Chelsea can do that, she doesn’t work.” “Oh, Chelsea will run the Mother’s Day stall. Chelsea will run the Father’s Day stall. Chelsea will organise the fun run.” You know what? Just because I don’t work, it doesn’t actually mean I have all the time in the world. Or that I don’t want to take a bloody break! I have three kids. Between them they do activities and sports five afternoons a week. My eldest is a swimmer. A good swimmer. Like, she might make it to the Olympics one day. That means 5 am training before school. My husband takes the fact that I don’t work as a given that I’ll do everything, I mean everything, with the house and the family. I’m busy! So once in a while, I want other mums to step in and pull their weight when it comes to volunteering for school stuff. Is that too much to ask? When the school puts out a note asking for parents to volunteer, do you know how many people actually respond? We’re lucky to get one parent per class. Because everyone thinks someone else will do it. It can be really disheartening.’

  Frankie was blown away. Helpfully, Chelsea topped up her drink for her again.

  ‘Chelsea,’ she said, ‘I’m really sorry.’

  ‘Forgiven,’ Chelsea said lightly. ‘I just wanted the chance to share my side with you. So when you say that there’s this big “us and them” war going on between mums and non-mums, it kind of makes me think, maybe people just need to sit down and talk. Share their side of the story. A little understanding and a little empathy could go a long way.’

  Frankie nodded.

  ‘And as for your sister, sounds to me like she has a serious chip on her shoulder. You mentioned you’ve always seen her as the perfect mum, right? Well, have you ever asked her how she sees herself?’

  * * *

  Poppy had gone looking for Annalise when she ran into Yasmine outside on the deck. She thought about what Yasmine had said earlier: ‘Instead of congratulating or supporting me, you booted me out. It bloody hurt!’ She was right. It wasn’t fair.

  Poppy stopped right in front of her and stared her straight in the eyes. ‘Yasmine,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have kicked you out of the group. It was a dick move.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Yasmine, ‘it was. I really liked you guys.’

  ‘I was being childish. I was hurt by my ex who was having a baby and I thought that to keep NOP as my safe place, my happy place, I had to shut out anyone who was different. Anyone who wanted something other than what I wanted. I was selfish, really, really selfish.’

  ‘And an arsehole,’ said Yasmine and she folded her arms tight.

  ‘Yes, and an arsehole.’

  ‘You know, I actually really miss some of the girls I became friends with through NOP.
’

  ‘Listen, you probably wouldn’t want to … but if you want to rejoin, you’re welcome to.’

  Yasmine unfolded her arms and looked down, one hand absent-mindedly caressing her pregnant belly. ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘You accept people with dual citizenship? Or are you going to expect me to give up MOP as my country?’

  Poppy laughed. ‘Half of our fucking members seem to have dual citizenship anyway, so what’s one more?’

  * * *

  The cramps worsened, her stomach clenched and unclenched. Her body started to heat up. Annalise splashed water on her face. Out of the corner of her eye, she clocked two women walk into the bathroom and head to the mirrors to fix their makeup. Annalise turned away from them and hurried into a stall, closing the door firmly behind her, to try to compose herself. She didn’t want a couple of strangers staring at her, thinking she’d had too much to drink.

  Inside the stall, more spasms forced her to double over in pain.

  This isn’t normal, she thought. This isn’t nerves and this isn’t morning sickness. This is something else altogether. And then she felt it, a dampness in her underwear. She tugged at her dress and pulled down her pants to see. There was blood. Dark, red streaks of blood.

  Another cramp hit and this time she dropped down to her knees and wailed.

  * * *

  Frankie found Lucy at the bar, doing shots. There were several full shot glasses in front of her, along with an alarming number of empty ones.

  Neither of us are going to be sober enough to have this conversation, she thought and she pulled up a stool next to her sister.

  ‘Talk to me,’ she said. ‘And give me one of those shots, would you?’

  ‘What do you want me to say?’ Lucy asked. But she obediently slid a shot across to her sister.

  ‘Tell me what’s going on with you?’

  Lucy sniffed. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ She sounded like a sulky teenager.

  ‘Too bad. You have to. Start by explaining how you ended up as a member of NOP in the first place.’

  Lucy threw back another shot.

  ‘And also tell me how the hell you got all these drinks at once! Where’s the responsible service of alcohol?’

  ‘I slipped that guy back there a hundred-dollar note. He was happy to give me as many as I wanted.’

  ‘Jesus! You’re not drinking them all, okay? You’ll end up needing your stomach pumped.’

  Lucy reached for another glass and Frankie blocked her. Lucy tried to bat her hand away, Frankie grabbed at her wrist and they descended into a hand-slapping battle reminiscent of their childhood. Frankie was the tiniest bit more sober, so she prevailed and Lucy finally gave up.

  ‘I’ll let you have the next one when you answer my question.’ Frankie poked her tongue out at her sister and shot one herself.

  ‘Fine. I heard about NOP from a parent at school who had a sister in the group. I thought it sounded interesting and I was trying to learn to “think like a journalist”, as my lecturer keeps saying. I had an assignment coming up and I thought it might make for a good story. So, I made up a fake name and a fake account and I joined.’

  ‘How’d you join so easily? Didn’t they notice your account was brand new?’

  ‘They mustn’t have checked it. I think they were at the stage where it was really starting to take off, lots of new members. Anyway, soon after, I got invited to a get-together in real life.’

  ‘And you actually went along?’ Frankie couldn’t help but feel impressed by how brazen her sister was. Any time she’d been invited to any event, her alter ego ‘Viv’ had politely declined. Although she never would have got away with it, as Poppy and Annalise would have recognised her on the spot.

  ‘Yeah. You remember my old friend Sophie from uni? I convinced her to sign up too so I’d have some back-up. She never had kids so she was able to be a genuine member. You want to know the most embarrassing part?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I actually wore a disguise when I went along. In case one of them ever saw me out and about with the kids.’

  ‘You’re kidding me! What kind of disguise? Did you put on a little fake moustache and a bowler hat?’

  ‘Shut up! No. But I did wear a wig. Stop laughing at me!’ Lucy paused. ‘I’m having another shot now and if you try and stop me I’ll punch you in the arm.’

  Frankie picked up two glasses, handed one to her sister and clinked their glasses together before they both threw them back.

  ‘What are we drinking, by the way?’ Frankie screwed up her face. ‘It’s not exactly pleasant.’

  ‘It’s called a “Kick in the Balls”. Tequila, whiskey and a liqueur.’

  ‘That explains it.’

  Lucy touched a finger to her lips. ‘Did you know that Mum used to love tequila and Dad loved whiskey?’

  Lucy was only four years older than Frankie, but every now and then she would come out with some titbit of information that took Frankie by surprise. She shook her head.

  ‘They were never big drinkers or anything like that. But I can remember a night around the kitchen table just after I turned eighteen … the three of us doing shots together.’

  ‘Where was I?’

  ‘Can’t remember. A sleepover at a friend’s house? You would have only been fourteen, so they wouldn’t have wanted to do it in front of you. Mum drank the both of us under the table.’

  Frankie smiled. She wanted to continue their conversation about NOP and the article, but she also didn’t want to stop talking about their mum and dad.

  But a shadow crossed Lucy’s eyes.

  ‘So anyway, I infiltrated their stupid group, and at first I didn’t think there was much of an angle there after all, until all of a sudden Poppy went on this hate rant and I decided it was going to make for a brilliant story. I wrote my anonymous article, which stirred things up even more. After that happened, Sophie started to feel uncomfortable about the group. She didn’t like the way the women were behaving. Next thing, Poppy turns up at her salon for a haircut but Sophie was out the back ’cause she had a headache. Then, when the hairdresser who was covering for her joins her out the back halfway through the cut, Soph starts gossiping with her about how Poppy started up NOP, not realising the other hairdresser had actually already had some kind of big altercation with NOP. Apparently the hairdresser lost it at Poppy when she went to finish her cut.’

  ‘Wow. I didn’t hear about that. Okay … so I understand why you wrote the article. But when you were yelling at Poppy and Annalise back there, you sounded so … offended by them. Like you’d taken it really personally. What was that all about?’

  Lucy spoke quietly. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’

  She looked away and reached for another shot. Frankie stopped her again, but this time her touch was gentle. ‘Tell me the truth,’ she said.

  A tear slid down Lucy’s cheek. She faced her sister. ‘I think I was trying to self-destruct,’ she whispered. ‘You don’t understand what it was like. I went into the group thinking it was all about wanting a story, but then it wasn’t that. Because I became this different person. I liked being Carla. I liked pretending I wasn’t a mum anymore, because if I wasn’t a mum, then that meant I wasn’t failing as a parent.’

  ‘Failing? Are you kidding me? How could you ever think you were failing? You’re the most amazing mother I know. The perfect mum. The super mum!’

  The moment Frankie said the words ‘super mum’, Lucy flinched. ‘You really think that about me, don’t you? Don’t you realise how much it drives me up the wall that you think of me that way? Don’t you get how much pressure it puts on me?’

  Frankie pulled back, frightened by her sister’s anger. ‘I didn’t … I didn’t know. But I swear, it’s only because you honestly are incredible as a mum, so much better than me.’

  ‘I’m NOT! What kind of a mum jumps on Facebook and wishes away her children?’

  ‘Me! I do! I was exactly the same on
NOP. I loved having an alter ego. I loved pretending to be someone else.’

  ‘You’re just saying that to try and make me feel better.’

  ‘No, I’m not. Look, I joined to spy on the “mean girls” from work, but I stayed because I loved it. How did you know Viv was me anyway? How could you tell?’

  ‘You told a cute story about giving your neighbour a bottle of wine but I’d already heard that story direct from you – only it was the other way around; they were the ones who gave you a bottle when you were at the end of your rope.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘What made you decide to share it but reverse the roles?’

  Frankie shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. I guess maybe it was nice playing the part of the person who has it all together instead of the one who needs to be rescued.’

  ‘The hero. I get that. For me though, the more I enjoyed playing the part of Carla, the more I hated myself for it. But I couldn’t stop. So instead I decided to tear the group apart.’

  Frankie thought back to the words Lucy had screamed at Poppy earlier. You stupid, childish girls, playing your ridiculous little games.

  It wasn’t about them at all, Frankie realised, Lucy was angry at herself.

  ‘You know I have all the same problems with my kids as you do with yours?’ Lucy said. ‘But I keep it behind closed doors. I play the part of Happy Little Families when in truth I argue with my kids just like you do. I lose my shit and I yell at them. Sometimes I open a bottle of wine the second they get home from school, just to make it through the afternoon with their constant nagging.’

  ‘But why wouldn’t you just tell me these things? Why keep it all behind closed doors?’

  ‘Because ever since Mum and Dad died, it’s been on me to protect you. I’m the one who’s supposed to be there for you, not the other way around. I’m the one who’s meant to have it all together. You don’t need to hear about my problems.’

  ‘Lucy! That’s ridiculous! I’m your sister, of course I’m meant to be there for you. It’s supposed to work both ways.’

  ‘Can I tell you something?’

  ‘Anything.’