The Mothers' Group

by Fiona Higgins

  Pippa stared at the newspaper, her hands shaking. Had someone from the mothers’ group actually spoken to a journalist? She wouldn’t have believed it, if not for the photograph.

  She slumped down onto her forearms. Oh God, poor Cara.

  Heidi began to whimper in her cot. The day beckoned, with all its trivial permutations. How could she go through the motions of changing Heidi’s nappy, spoon-feeding her porridge, reading her nursery rhymes and putting her to bed when Astrid was dead? And yet, she had no choice. The rhythms of Heidi’s life continued, irrespective of her own needs. The world was utterly insensitive to those it had abandoned. Life goes on, ready or not.

  During the day Pippa snatched every spare moment to follow the media coverage of Astrid’s death. While Heidi napped at three o’clock, Pippa listened to a popular talkback radio program. She grimaced at the announcer’s opening comments: ‘We don’t know the full details, listeners, and police investigations are continuing, but we do know that the child’s mother wasn’t present at the barbecue when she went missing. What are we to make of that, listeners? Nothing is more important than watching your child. Your comments, please.’

  His lines were jammed with callers for the next hour, mostly women with children themselves, expressing their deepest sympathy but . . . ‘How could a mother turn her back on her child? No one could be that selfish, or that stupid. Some women just aren’t fit to be mothers.’

  Pippa listened until she felt sick, then switched the radio off. It’s Cara you’re talking about, she wanted to scream. Sweet, generous, kind-hearted Cara. She couldn’t hurt a fly if she tried.

  Later in the day, she checked the internet and was shocked by the number of comments in online articles and blogs covering Astrid’s death. Someone had even set up a Facebook page dedicated to the incident. There were vitriolic comments deploring Cara’s neglect of Astrid, others condemning the local council for the lack of fencing around Manly Dam, and postings from people who were convinced of paedophile involvement because ‘How could all those people at a party just let a child wander away?’ Pippa wept as she scrolled through dozens of posts.

  Over dinner, she flicked between television channels as she guided sausages and peas into Heidi’s mouth. All the commercial channels had covered the ongoing police investigation, despite the absence of any new information.

  She went to bed before Robert arrived home, but lay awake, reliving the day’s media coverage. When she finally heard Robert creep into the room after nine o’clock, she feigned sleep. To her relief, he simply climbed into bed and turned off the light. She couldn’t bear sharing it all over again.

  Three days later, her fingers hovered over the buttons of her mobile phone, as they had a hundred times since Sunday.

  A text to Cara would be useless, she knew. What could she possibly say? How could she roll the universe into a hundred-character text message? She couldn’t intrude on her grief so soon. A text to Miranda? After all, Pippa had left her with the police on Sunday night, alone. It was now Thursday and she’d heard nothing from her. God knows what had happened at the police station, or what had become of the Evian bottle. And did Miranda know that she had dobbed her in?

  She recalled all the help the mothers’ group had given her during her own time of crisis. Surely they could all pull through this together? She needed to talk to them, to share what she’d seen, to find out how they were coping. Her fingers moved over the keypad of her telephone. Anyone welcome at my house after 10 am tomorrow, she typed. Beachcombers just didn’t seem right anymore. I’m so sad, she continued. Then she deleted it.

  She sent the one-sentence invitation to everyone except Cara. She had no idea who might accept.

  Made was the first to arrive, stepping forward to embrace Pippa on the doorstep.

  ‘Oh.’ The sound escaped from Pippa’s mouth like air from a blow-up mattress. She leaned into Made’s tiny frame, bowing her head. ‘It’s just so unfair.’

  Made nodded, patting her back. ‘No words,’ she said. ‘No words.’

  Eventually, Pippa raised her head and motioned Made into the lounge room.

  ‘Tea?’ she asked, wiping her eyes.

  ‘Thank you,’ Made replied, lifting Wayan out of his stroller and onto the floor. Heidi and Wayan began to play with their usual enthusiasm, unaware that one of their number was gone forever.

  Suzie arrived next, carrying Freya on her hip. Her eyes were swollen.

  ‘Is Miranda coming?’ she asked, placing Freya on the floor.

  Pippa shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ Unsure of what else to do, she patted Suzie awkwardly on the shoulder. Everyone’s fragile, she thought. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

  Suzie slumped onto the sofa and covered her eyes with her hands.

  ‘I’m making tea . . .’ started Pippa.

  ‘No thanks,’ said Suzie. ‘I can’t keep anything down.’

  Just then, Ginie walked through the door. She was carrying Rose, who waved at the other children.

  ‘Oh, I thought you’d be . . .’

  ‘Working? No.’ Ginie looked at Pippa, her voice unsteady. ‘I’ve taken the week off. I need to be near Rose. I can’t let her out of my sight.’

  Pippa nodded, understanding. She felt the same about Heidi.

  Ginie sat down on the sofa next to Suzie. Rose immediately crawled off her knee and onto the floor in pursuit of a green plastic caterpillar.

  ‘I didn’t ask Cara, obviously,’ said Pippa. ‘I just didn’t think . . .’

  ‘No, it would be too hard for her,’ sighed Suzie, waving a hand towards the children. ‘But we should . . . I don’t know, try to do something for her.’ She stifled a sob.

  ‘But what can we do?’ asked Ginie. ‘Nothing’s going to bring Astrid back.’

  Pippa frowned. ‘I don’t know, we should stand with Cara somehow. Let her know she’s not to blame . . . that she’s not alone.’ Pippa remembered how isolated she’d felt from the mothers’ group once, trapped in her own private hell.

  ‘But she is to blame, there’s no way around that.’ Ginie’s voice was low and controlled. ‘Cara should never have left Astrid for that long.’

  Suzie gasped. ‘How can you say that, Ginie? The only thing Cara did was leave Astrid in our care, her mothers’ group. We’ve all done that before. If she’s to blame, we’re all to blame.’

  ‘Oh come on,’ snapped Ginie. ‘It’s not like we’re registered child –carers. None of us had any formal responsibility in relation to Astrid. Look, Cara’s a nice person, don’t get me wrong. But unless some paedophile came along and kidnapped Astrid, there’s only one culprit here and that’s Cara, whether we like it or not.’

  Pippa’s hand flew to her mouth. The conversation was spiralling out of control. ‘Look, we’re all upset. I . . . I think we should all take a breath.’ Her mouth went dry. ‘Astrid died last Sunday. We don’t know exactly what happened. We should let the police investigate before we . . .’

  Her phone beeped receipt of an SMS. She glanced down. The message was from Miranda. Pippa read it several times over before saying quietly, ‘It’s Miranda. She’s in a drug and alcohol clinic.’

  ‘What?’ Ginie sounded incredulous.

  Suzie made a small sound, and her mouth dropped open.

  Pippa read the text aloud. ‘Won’t be there today. Admitted to Delamere Clinic D&A unit yesterday. It’s okay to tell the others. Willem is here. Hendrika is looking after the boys. I’m so sorry for everything.’

  ‘What the fuck is going on?’

  Pippa hesitated, considering how much she should reveal. ‘I don’t know for sure,’ she said, ‘but I think Miranda might be an alcoholic.’

  ‘No,’ objected Ginie. ‘I don’t believe it.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘You know that Evian bottle she carries everywhere? It’s not water in there.’ Pippa felt her cheeks redden under Ginie’s gaze. ‘I happened to taste some of it last Sunday.’

  ‘Oh?�
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  ‘There was neat alcohol in it. Vodka or gin.’

  ‘So what?’ Ginie demanded. ‘We all had a few drinks, didn’t we?’ She looked around the room. ‘It doesn’t mean we’re alcoholics. That’s a big assumption to make.’

  Pippa sighed. ‘Look, this is what I know. There was neat alcohol in Miranda’s water bottle at the birthday party last weekend. And I heard Cara ask her to watch Astrid. The police took Miranda down to the station for a formal interview on Sunday night.’

  ‘What?’ Ginie exploded. ‘Did she have any legal representation?’

  Pippa shrugged, suddenly weary. ‘I don’t think so. She went willingly.’

  ‘And did you tell the police about the alcohol?’

  Pippa felt as if she was being cross-examined. She nodded.

  ‘God almighty, Pippa, what were you thinking?’ Ginie’s eyes flashed. ‘You realise that this might lead to a manslaughter charge against Miranda?’

  Pippa’s stomach clenched with fear. She’d had no idea it might come to that. ‘I . . . I just thought it was the right thing to do,’ she stammered. ‘To tell the police everything.’

  ‘Oh, please.’ Ginie shook her head. ‘I don’t care how drunk Miranda was, or anyone else for that matter. Mothers are only asked to do one thing in life, and that’s to look after their children. It’s pretty simple stuff. If your mother doesn’t look out for you in this world, who will?’ A single tear streaked down Ginie’s face; she swiped it away angrily. ‘Last weekend, it was Cara who walked away from Astrid. Sad as it is, she’s the one to blame. But congratulations, Pippa, you may well have ruined Miranda’s life too.’

  Suzie began to cry, weeping into her hands. Made sat statue-like on the floor, her head tilted to one side, as if listening to a barely audible sound.

  Pippa’s heart thudded in her chest; she could almost hear the rush of blood between its chambers. No one had ever spoken to her like that.

  ‘I . . . I just told the police everything I saw,’ she faltered. ‘My parents brought me up to tell the truth.’ She’d always known that Ginie didn’t suffer fools gladly, but the last time she’d felt like this, she’d been on the wrong side of the school bully.

  ‘You know what I think, Ginie?’ she ventured. ‘What happened on Sunday to Cara, it could have happened to anyone. It could have been me, it could have been you. But maybe you left all human empathy behind at law school.’

  Pippa couldn’t believe she’d said the words, or how good it felt.

  Ginie stared at her a moment. ‘It could have been you, for sure.’ Her tone was cool. ‘But not me. I’d never have left Rose exposed like that. No sensible mother would.’

  Pippa bristled. ‘So says the woman with a full-time nanny. You leave Rose in someone else’s care all the time. Nicole sees more of Rose than you do.’

  ‘That’s a low blow.’

  ‘Stop it,’ cried Suzie. ‘Just stop it now, both of you.’

  Made reached across and patted Suzie’s hand.

  But Pippa wasn’t finished. She’d put up with a year of Ginie’s comments, her self-righteous assertions. This attack on Cara was too much. Pippa stood up and plucked Heidi from behind the sofa. ‘Things aren’t always totally in your control, Ginie,’ she said. ‘Sometimes life gets away from you. Things happen that you can’t predict. Maybe you think you’ve got it all worked out, but you don’t.’

  Ginie snorted. ‘Risk management is my living. People pay thousands of dollars for my expertise. What would I know?’

  Pippa’s fury erupted. ‘Well, if you need evidence that you haven’t got everything under control, go home and ask Daniel what he’s been doing with the nanny.’

  Ginie’s iPhone clattered to the floor.

  ‘What did you say?’

  Pippa met her gaze. ‘You heard me. That day I went around to your house, when you were in Melbourne and Rose needed her immunisations? I saw them together.’

  Ginie’s face was ashen. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Daniel’s got a lot of faults, but he isn’t a cheat.’

  Pippa shrugged. ‘I saw what I saw.’

  Ginie stood staring at Pippa, her lips moving almost imperceptibly.

  Then she began to walk around the room, retrieving her belongings: Rose’s shoes, the nappy bag, her car keys.

  ‘I don’t know what you think you saw,’ said Ginie eventually. ‘But let’s not forget you’ve been diagnosed with a mental illness.’

  Their eyes locked.

  Ginie picked up Rose and strode across the rug. When she reached the door she turned. ‘I feel sorry for you, Pippa,’ she said. ‘I know the depression’s been hard on you. But I don’t need to put up with that sort of bullshit.’

  And then she was gone.

  Pippa sat shell-shocked on the sofa. A great wave of relief had flooded through her as soon as she’d uttered the words. She’d felt euphoric, triumphant, a messenger of truth. But now, staring after Ginie, she felt nothing at all. Like an empty vessel, drained of life.

  Suzie sat on the floor, wide-eyed. Made sat next to her, head bowed. Looking at them both, Pippa was painfully struck by the realisation of what she’d just done. Not only to Ginie, but to the mothers’ group itself. How had it got so out of hand? What should have been a moment of shared grief and understanding had somehow descended into venom and vitriol. And she was responsible.

  A moment later, she was weeping, hiccuping into her hands. Made moved to the lounge and put an arm around her.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ Pippa repeated. ‘I shouldn’t have said any of it.’

  Suzie offered her a tissue. ‘Don’t be. We’re all human. It was bound to happen with Ginie. It’s been coming for a long time.’

  Made looked thoughtful. ‘Death hard for people,’ she said. ‘People say wrong things, because too hard at first. But time passes, things get better. Maybe Ginie come back, some time.’

  Pippa simply couldn’t imagine it.

  *

  One month later, on the psychiatrist’s recommendation, Pippa increased the dosage of her antidepressants.

  ‘It’s just a stop-gap measure,’ he assured her. ‘You won’t be on them forever. You’ve been through a significant trauma. Your husband’s right: you need some extra support right now. You were making some excellent progress before Astrid’s death. But now you need to let yourself grieve safely.’ The psychiatrist paused, studying her. ‘You have to give yourself permission to grieve, Pippa. Part of the reason you got post-natal depression was that your old life, the life you loved before Heidi arrived, disappeared when she was born. And you didn’t allow yourself to grieve its passing. This time, go with it. Think about how you’re going to recognise your grief, how you’re going to honour it. Because it’s only when we’ve honoured our grief that we can learn to let it go.’

  When Robert returned home from work later that day, Pippa sat at the kitchen table opposite him, dreading a disagreement.

  ‘I don’t want to go back to work next month,’ she announced, staring at the tablecloth. She’d taken a full year of maternity leave, and a further eight weeks of accrued annual leave.

  Robert’s mouth opened in surprise. ‘But . . . you haven’t got any more paid leave. And you’re better now. I thought you wanted your old life back.’

  ‘I do. I mean, I did.’ She sighed. ‘It’s complicated.’

  With the help of her psychiatrist, medication, and the PND support group, she was feeling a lot better about life, about mothering. It was as if she’d been given a second chance, and that was precisely the issue. Now that she’d been given her life back, she didn’t want to spend it at work.

  ‘Rob, I feel like I’m only starting to be a proper mum now,’ she began. ‘I’m actually starting to enjoy Heidi. I don’t want to rush back to work and miss out on her first years.’ She looked out the kitchen window, at the vegetable patch they’d just planted. ‘Heidi’s only young once. Who knows what the future will bring? We only get one chance. Astrid’s shown me that. I don�
�t want to have any regrets.’ Pippa stared at the kitchen table. ‘I know it’s not what we agreed. I know we’re treading water financially. I’ll go back to work if you say so.’ The possibility brought tears to her eyes.

  ‘We’ll make ends meet,’ he said, reaching across the table for her hand. ‘Call your work tomorrow. Explain the situation. Tell them about the surgery, about Astrid. They don’t know any of it, do they?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Ask them if they’ll extend your leave again. If they say no, we’ll find a way around it.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘You deserve a second crack at motherhood.’

  Against all odds, her work agreed to a further six months of unpaid leave.

  Life felt new again, as though blinding scales had been sloughed from her eyes. Suddenly she saw it all. The incredible beauty of Heidi asleep, translucent lids twitching as she dreamed. The intense physicality of Heidi awake, striving to master her own body and the world around her. The breathtaking power of her smile, the beauty of her tiny fingers exploring tinier spaces. The crushing pain of separation from Heidi, outstripped only by the pleasure of reunion. She could smell Heidi, taste her, feel her embedded within her being. Only death could separate them, and that prospect was unbearable.

  She remembered the early months of Heidi’s life, when every aspect of her own life seemed barren, when nothing had felt right or normal. Now, it felt entirely natural that she should seek the best for Heidi. Pippa wasn’t religious, but she suddenly recalled the biblical message she’d had drummed into her at school all those years before: For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. It was only now, as a mother, that the concept held any potency. If there was in fact a God, she mused, it seemed entirely befitting that He was a parent. What else could divine love be, if not parental? A love so fierce, so willingly sacrificial, so self-abasing and abiding? The love between adults, siblings or friends all paled into insignificance compared to parental love. She’d do anything to prevent pain in Heidi’s life. Only a superhuman force could allow their child to suffer for the benefit of others.