She reread the email countless times.
‘Due process’? What the fuck is this, the Middle Ages?
The panellists had clearly made up their minds before the interview. Or, if they hadn’t, the managing partner had set her up for failure. She scanned the list of other interview candidates and recognised them all. She was their junior by at least ten years.
In the days leading up to the interview, she considered her position. It was a patent contravention of the Sex Discrimination Act, a breach that the Equal Opportunity Commission would relish. She’d win the battle, she knew, with publicity and compensation. It was unthinkable that an established law firm such as hers, with overt diversity guidelines and an impeccable record of gender equality, couldn’t ensure a fair recruitment process. She pictured the front-page headline: OLD BOYS NETWORK SHAFTS PREGNANT LAWYER. But she’d be practically unemployable afterwards.
She imagined confronting the firm internally. But what would she demand from them? An apology? Hush money? Unless she was prepared to leave her job, the prospect was untenable. Not to mention the position she’d put Arnold in, when forced to reveal her source. She contemplated withdrawing from the process altogether, citing ill-health or a change of circumstances. But the fundamental injustice of it all prevented her from pulling out, on principle. So she resolved to make them sit through an interview with her, despite the foregone conclusion.
Arseholes, she thought, smiling at the five panellists.
‘Ginie, why do you want the role?’ asked the managing partner.
It was an unoriginal opener.
‘I have the leadership skills and technical experience to take our venture capital and private equity practice to the next level,’ she replied. She rattled off several examples of her pivotal role in gaining, and servicing, several of the firm’s existing clients.
‘And in terms of the way the current partners run the firm as a whole, how would you do things differently?’
I’d sack a few swinging dicks around here. And I’d offer paid maternity leave.
‘The current partners are well-respected,’ she replied. ‘It would be an honour to join them. I have a few ideas for innovation, of course. But my partnership style would be one of refinement, not revolution.’
‘Now, Ginie,’ said the only female panellist, the director of a recruitment firm. ‘You’re obviously pregnant. That has no bearing at all on our decision today. But tell us, how do you think you’ll cope with a new baby and a partnership?’
Ginie swallowed. They’re clever, she thought, getting a woman to ask that question.
‘Look, I have female staff members with children on my team and, in my experience, they’re actually more productive than most people in the office. But I have good support mechanisms in place, including a husband who’s committed to shared parenting.’ She could feel her face reddening. ‘It shouldn’t impact on my capacity at all.’
She eyeballed the managing partner. He jotted some notes on the edge of his paper. He was just going through the motions.
The managing partner called her late on a Monday evening from Beijing. The line was poor, but the message clear.
‘I understand, thank you.’
She put down the telephone and began to cry. Daniel cradled her head against his chest.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘Fuckers.’
‘You knew it was coming.’
‘Bloody sexist, ageist pigs.’
‘I know,’ he soothed. ‘It’s terrible.’
She wiped her eyes with the tissue he proffered. She didn’t begrudge the successful candidate his partnership. He was an accomplished lawyer and a strategic thinker, a private equity specialist she’d worked with for several years. But she still felt betrayed. By the firm, and by her pregnant body. She had no doubt that if she hadn’t been pregnant, she would have had a fighting chance.
‘You never know, Gin,’ said Daniel. ‘Maybe it’s for the best.’
She lifted her head from his chest. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Well, you know,’ he said. ‘With the baby and everything. You might end up glad you didn’t get the role.’
‘I doubt that.’ She leaned against the kitchen bench. The baby had started to kick boisterously, particularly at night. She’d heard of other women who enjoyed watching their stomachs ripple as the foetus moved, but she found it disconcerting. It was like watching a science fiction movie.
‘You okay?’ he asked, rubbing her shoulders.
‘I’m fine.’
She wanted to slap him. To scream that if she’d known the baby would cost her a partnership, she might have got rid of it.
What sort of person am I? She was horrified by herself.
She needed to book in with her life coach again, and quickly.
‘Come to bed,’ said Daniel.
She nodded.
As she turned off the kitchen light, her mobile rang. It was her mother, again. Ginie had only told her of the pregnancy two months earlier, when it had been impossible to obscure any longer. Since then, her mother had rung on a daily basis, offering some piece of unsolicited wisdom.
‘For God’s sake, Mum, it’s late,’ she muttered, pressing the ‘ignore’ button.
It takes a pregnancy to spark her interest in me, she thought. She’ll probably make a really great grandmother.
‘Come to bed,’ insisted Daniel.
She watched him pad down the hall in boxer shorts, the muscles in his back moving beneath tanned skin. For the briefest of moments, she remembered the sweet delirium of their first few weeks together. The taste of sea salt and perspiration, languid words whispered on twisted sheets. That woman was a world away now. Her stomach was a lumbering impediment to intimacy. After one particularly awkward attempt when she was six months pregnant, they’d given up on sex altogether.
She followed him into the bedroom. Wearily, she changed into her maternity pyjamas and rolled the elasticised support band across her abdomen. Bedtime had become an elaborate exercise in the placement of cushions, propping her body at precise angles in an attempt to ease the heartburn that visited her at midnight.
They lay in bed, hands touching.
‘Can you please repaint the nursery?’ she pleaded into the darkness. ‘It’s a shit-hole in there.’
Daniel didn’t reply.
‘Did you hear me?’
‘What, babe?’ he slurred. She couldn’t fathom how he fell asleep so quickly.
‘Nothing.’
‘I can’t believe how fantastic Nicole is,’ Ginie whispered. They lay in bed listening to her move about the kitchen, fixing Rose’s bottle. It had just gone five thirty, the feed Ginie loathed. Anything between midnight and six am was insufferable.
‘I know,’ agreed Daniel. ‘You were right, Gin. I was against the idea in the beginning, but she’s really great.’
Two months after Nicole’s arrival, they could hardly remember life without her. She made herself useful in ways even Ginie hadn’t imagined. Planning and cooking their weekly meals, doing the shopping, collecting the dry-cleaning, going to the post office. One week, when something had come up for Ginie at work, Nicole had even attended a mothers’ group meeting and written up notes on the topics discussed. Handwritten notes! And now she’d offered to do the dawn feed to allow Ginie to return to her jogging routine.
Ginie could hear Nicole in Rose’s bedroom now, lifting her from the cot to the change table. She rolled over and looked at Daniel’s silhouette in the semi-darkness. He reached out and traced a finger down her cheek. She lay perfectly still. You’re the father of my child, she mused. The reality of that fact still amazed her. How they’d moved from two to three, how Daniel had morphed from husband to father. She loved watching him with Rose, playful and tender. And yet for all of that, his sexual advances still left her cold. Why didn’t she feel anything, anymore?
The kettle in the kitchen began to whistle.
‘Better take that off th
e stove,’ said Daniel, rolling out of bed. ‘Don’t want the house burning down.’
Ginie listened to him walk down the hall, muffled voices in the kitchen. Rose squawked, impatient for milk.
After several minutes, Daniel popped his head around the bedroom door.
‘Hey, why don’t you go down to the beach for a jog?’ he said. ‘Nicole’s got it all under control here. Clear your head.’
Ginie smiled, grateful.
‘Is anyone else getting up five times a night?’ Pippa’s tone was flat. Heidi lay sleeping beneath the sun-proof canopy in which her pram was permanently covered.
Ginie glanced sideways at Pippa. She often had an unwashed look about her, but today was worse than usual. Her oily hair was uncombed, and her chin was dotted with small red spots. In fact, Ginie swore she could detect an odd, stale smell about her. Ginie shifted in her seat, edging ever so slightly away from Pippa. Whenever she could, Ginie always tried to sit next to Cara or Miranda. But she’d arrived late today, and she’d had no choice. Now she was marooned between Pippa and Suzie, the women she liked least in the group.
‘Heidi’s more than three months old,’ continued Pippa. ‘All the books say she should be waking up no more than twice a night. But sometimes she wakes five, even six times. I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong.’ Her eyes darted in Cara’s direction.
‘Oh, don’t be too hard on yourself,’ said Cara, her tone sympathetic. She brushed her honey-coloured fringe out of her eyes and rocked Astrid’s pram with the other hand. ‘Astrid wakes at least three times a night and disturbs poor Richard, who has to go to work the next morning. So I just keep pulling my boobs out to make her quiet. I wonder what the books would say about that?’
Everyone laughed, even Pippa. But that was Cara, Ginie thought. Always putting the group at ease.
Apart from Cara, Ginie felt most drawn to Miranda. She’d had a successful career in arts management before Rory arrived, and her husband worked in finance. Ginie had seen their house, perched on the southern cliffs of Freshwater beach, and was struck by how similar it was to her own. Architecturally elegant, a simple rectangular prism with a slatted facade, oriented to a dramatic waterfront view. They were clearly aesthetes, moving in social circles similar to hers. And despite being permanently tired, Miranda always managed to look stunning. Her long limbs, pixie ears and intense green eyes gave her an otherworldly quality that drew the eye.
As for the others in the group, Ginie often struggled to make conversation. For starters, she could never tell if Made understood her properly, so she’d given up trying. And when Made had revealed her age—just twenty-two years old—Ginie couldn’t quite believe it. Under no other circumstances, apart from this mothers’ group, could she imagine socialising with an Indonesian woman almost twenty years her junior.
Suzie, on the other hand, was just plain irritating. She wore long earrings that jangled and figure-hugging clothes in psychedelic colours, inevitably overemphasising her curvaceous figure. If I had a bum like that, Ginie had thought on more than one occasion, I wouldn’t be wrapping it in bright green batik. And she didn’t know when to stop talking, often hijacking the group’s conversation with inanities. Last week, it had been a ten-minute tirade on the benefits of pawpaw ointment: it was all Ginie could do not to yawn.
As for Pippa, Ginie couldn’t work her out. She was educated, with a degree in psychology, but always seemed so prickly and uptight. She was thin-lipped, pale and never laughed out loud. Ginie had tried to engage her on several occasions, but Pippa had never kept the conversation going. It was like having an undertaker in the group, Ginie thought, solemn and lingering at the edges.
Cara looked at Pippa. ‘If the night waking’s getting to you, maybe you should take a break. Do you have any family nearby?’ she asked. ‘Someone who could take Heidi during the day, maybe?’
Pippa shook her head. ‘My parents are frail, I couldn’t leave Heidi with them. Robert’s parents are pretty much unavailable. He’s the youngest of seven kids, so they’re always busy with everyone else’s children.’
‘Maybe you should consider a nanny?’ Ginie suggested. ‘It’s made such a difference to me. If Rose cries in the middle of the night, the nanny handles it. When I’m at work, I know she’s in safe hands. Don’t get me wrong, Daniel’s great. But you know what men are like. They’re just not as thorough.’
Pippa didn’t meet her gaze. ‘We can’t afford it.’
Ginie said nothing. It was hard not to feel superior. No one else in the group had been as proactive in getting hired help, and now they were all sleep-deprived. Except for Suzie, who claimed she was getting ten hours a night by co-sleeping with Freya. Which only served to confirm how crazy she was.
‘So the nanny’s working out for you then, Ginie?’ asked Miranda, leaning forward to check on Digby, who was worming his way under a nearby table.
‘Absolutely,’ she replied. ‘We’re going away together next weekend. I couldn’t bring myself to leave Rose behind, so we’re taking Nicole along to babysit.’ Ginie glanced about the table, trying to contain her glee. ‘It was Daniel’s idea, actually. It’ll be the first time we’ve had a whole night to ourselves since Rose was born.’
‘Oh, lucky you,’ said Cara, her smile wistful.
Suzie pushed her blonde curls behind her ears. It was another grating habit of hers. ‘Gosh, I wouldn’t be brave enough to leave Freya alone with someone I didn’t really know,’ she said, all wide-eyed and earnest.
Ginie bristled. Over the past two months of mothers’ group meetings, her initial lack of interest in Suzie had morphed into active dislike. She was always mouthing some platitude about positive parenting, or trying to save the world one eco-nappy at a time.
‘Nicole’s a professional with nursing qualifications,’ said Ginie, her tone even. ‘She’s more equipped to look after babies than anyone else I know.’
Suzie pursed her lips. ‘But Nicole hasn’t had any children of her own, has she?’
Ginie could feel the anger rising, constricting her chest. We’re not all hand-holding hippies like you, she wanted to say. Instead, she drained the last of her skinny latte. ‘Well, she’s done a great job of looking after Rose so far. She’s worth her weight in gold.’
‘Oh, that’s good to hear.’ Suzie’s smile was beatific. ‘Because I can’t imagine how awful you must feel, leaving Rose every morning.’
Ginie blinked. The truth of Suzie’s words stung. The first day she’d returned to the office, leaving Rose in Nicole’s arms, she’d cried all the way to work. She’d been forced to redo her makeup in the car park and talk sternly to herself. It’s all for the best. I’m doing the right thing. Daniel’s there for Rose too. Later that night, she’d returned home and scooped up Rose, hugging the baby so tightly that she’d squealed her objection. Nicole had politely suggested that, in future, Ginie refrain from texting her quite so much in one day.
Ginie glared at Suzie, seething. Then she lowered her head and pretended to check her iPhone.
The awkward silence was broken by Astrid, who suddenly farted loudly on Cara’s lap.
‘Oh, lovely,’ said Cara, rubbing Astrid’s back. ‘What a delicate little flower you are.’
Cara had a knack for defusing tension.
They went to the Central Coast for the weekend. Ginie organised everything online—two apartments, each with a laundry and kitchenette. The resort-style complex was set in rainforest hinterland, and had a heated pool, sauna and tennis court.
Nicole gave them all the privacy they needed, entertaining Rose in her room or by the pool. Precisely the conditions they needed for sex, Ginie thought. But when they’d arrived on the Friday night, they’d just collapsed on a couch and watched a DVD. Months ago, it would have worried her. But now she was secretly relieved.
‘Nicole’s amazing,’ said Ginie as they lazed by the pool on the Saturday afternoon.
Nicole had purchased a pink polka-dotted swimming costume for Rose and was wa
ding with her in the pool. Ginie only wished she’d thought of buying it.
Rose gurgled with delight as her feet skimmed the surface. ‘Rose is becoming so much more interactive now, isn’t she?’ Ginie remarked.
‘Mmm,’ said Daniel. He was lying on a banana lounge in board shorts and black sunglasses, a sheaf of papers stacked next to him. He was supposed to be working on his novel, but he sounded half asleep. ‘Makes me want to have another one.’
‘Another weekend away?’
‘Another baby, bozo.’
Ginie flinched. This was the second time in as many months that Daniel had raised the prospect of having another child. They’d talked about it at length the first time, with Daniel admitting that his desire was based, mostly, on his experience of losing his parents.
‘I just don’t ever want to leave Rose alone in the world, without a sibling,’ he’d argued. ‘It’s not fair to have just one child, if you can have more.’
It had taken all of Ginie’s powers of persuasion to convince him to defer the discussion. But she resented having to revisit it again so soon, on their weekend away.
‘You know we can’t consider another baby yet,’ she reminded him. ‘Not in the current climate. We don’t know when this financial crisis will end. Look at Jonathan.’
It was her trump card. Only last week, her brother had been forced into voluntary redundancy, along with thousands of other workers in the finance and investment industries globally. The flow-on effect was becoming evident across all professional services, especially legal and accounting firms, even in Australia. Coombes Taylor Watson was the quietest it had been in years. If she was made redundant, they would lose their home, their lifestyle.
‘But I’m happy to consider it when the crisis is over,’ she added. ‘When we’re on a firmer financial footing.’
‘That’s if you’re still, you know . . .’ Daniel trailed off.
She knew exactly what he was referring to: her age.
She flicked through the pages of her book, trying to suppress her irritation. She’d hoped to rekindle their sexual spark, but this conversation was an instant turn-off. It was all very well for him to hanker after another child so soon after the first. But she was the one who’d have to put her body through another pregnancy and deal with the career disruption. Not to mention the effect it might have on their relationship. Why did he want to complicate things so quickly after their first?
The Mothers' Group Page 5
