The Mothers' Group

by Fiona Higgins

  A noise escaped from the back of Cara’s throat, a tiny guttural cry. She stared at Richard. They both knew the answer to his question.

  ‘Talk to me, Cara. If we try to get through this together, we might be okay. Why aren’t you helping me?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she croaked. Her first words in three months.

  He looked at her, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

  ‘But it’s not okay, Richard,’ she whispered. ‘It will never be okay for us.’

  Slowly, he stood up.

  ‘Show them in,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to protect me anymore.’

  Richard paused for a moment in the doorway, then he nodded and closed the door behind him.

  She made no attempt to smooth her hair or plump the pillows. Their footsteps on the stairs were deferential, like students visiting a war museum. She could sense them hovering, uncertain, in the purgatory outside her door.

  ‘Come in,’ she said.

  The doorknob turned slowly and Made peered around the door.

  ‘We no wake? Richard say okay.’

  Cara shrugged.

  They filed in. Made was first, wearing a bright blue sarong that trailed across the floor. Tiny silver studs were woven into the fabric, like stars dotting the night sky. Pippa was behind her, a different woman to the one she’d once been. Her skin was ruddy, tanned almost, and she wore slim cream pants and a navy singlet. She carried a large bunch of yellow roses, gripping them with both hands. Suzie followed Pippa, her long purple dress billowing at the ankles, an expression of acute discomfort on her face.

  They hovered at the foot of her bed. She didn’t invite them to sit down.

  ‘Where are the children?’ she asked.

  Suzie’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘They’re with Robert,’ answered Pippa. ‘And Monika’s helping too.’

  ‘That’s good of them,’ she said. ‘The babies must be so big by now.’

  ‘Oh, Cara.’ Suzie covered her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘How are you doing?’ asked Pippa.

  She didn’t reply.

  They stood in uncomfortable silence. She wanted them to leave.

  ‘We go see Miranda next week,’ said Made suddenly. ‘Maybe Cara come? Next Thursday morning. She at Delamere Clinic.’

  Cara had never heard of it.

  ‘It’s a private treatment centre,’ explained Pippa. ‘For people with alcohol and drug dependencies.’

  Cara had been aware of the police interview with Miranda, who’d declared herself inebriated on the day of Astrid’s death. But police investigations had delivered insufficient evidence of culpability on anyone’s part, let alone Miranda’s.

  Despite the initial media frenzy surrounding possible kidnapping and paedophilia, the post-mortem report confirmed that Astrid had not been subjected to physical force or sexual interference of any kind. The cause of death, it submitted, was drowning.

  The media had continued to trade in blame, however, scrutinising the roles of both Miranda and Cara in Astrid’s death. Richard had stopped bringing her the newspaper in an attempt to shield her from public opinion. But for Cara, it was merely external verification of what she already knew: that her daughter had died that Sunday afternoon because Cara had failed her. No one else had been responsible, not even Miranda. Indeed, most days Cara lay in her bed anticipating a knock on the door, when the police would arrive and arrest her, the guilty party.

  So it had come as a surprise, several months after Astrid’s death, when the coroner had handed down his findings. She’d reread the letter from the lawyer a dozen times: The coroner is satisfied that an inquest will not take this matter any further. No suspicious circumstances were identified and it has been determined that Astrid died of an accidental drowning death. The matter will not progress to an inquest and it is unlikely to be referred for further criminal investigation.

  ‘Cara.’ Three figures hovered at the end of her bed.

  Oh yes, she thought. They’re still here.

  ‘I just wanted to say we’re here for you,’ said Suzie.

  Made moved towards the bed. Cara stared at her sarong, mesmerised by its glittering silver orbs.

  ‘I bring this.’ Made removed a small green basket from her bag. Plump rose petals, a sprig of passionfruit vine, a sweet biscuit and grains of rice were nestled within the wide green leaves lining the basket. She removed two incense sticks and a box of matches from the folds of her sarong.

  ‘I leave you to light. If you want to bring gods into room.’

  Cara looked at her.

  ‘And this.’ Made placed a scroll of white paper next to Cara’s hand. ‘If you feel like to read.’

  Cara nodded. ‘I’m tired now.’

  They left quickly.

  She lay staring at the ceiling as their footsteps retreated. Eventually, Richard tapped at the door.

  ‘Your sleeping tablets.’ He passed her the four pills and a tall glass of water.

  She held her thumb over one, tipping the rest into her mouth.

  ‘Was it okay, seeing the others?’ He laid a hand over hers.

  She stiffened, afraid he might discover the pill.

  ‘They . . .’ She cast about for something to distract him. ‘They brought some nice things.’ She nodded at the flowers.

  ‘What’s this?’ Richard picked up the scroll.

  She slid the tablet under her leg.

  ‘I don’t know.’ She was irritable. ‘Open it.’

  He undid the gold ribbon and unfurled the paper. ‘It’s a letter,’ he said. ‘I’ll leave it for you to read.’ He stood up from the bed, then turned to face her. ‘What you said this morning, about us . . . I don’t agree. We can make it, Cara. We just need to get through it together, one day at a time.’

  ‘Richard,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’

  His shoulders sagged. He turned and left the room.

  She felt for the tablet beneath her leg, then pulled the pencil case from its hiding place. She unzipped the case and dropped in the pill, exhaling with relief.

  As she settled herself back against the pillows, her hand brushed the scroll. She picked it up and began to read.

  Dear Cara,

  This my first proper letter in English, so please forgive mistakes that definitely inside here.

  When I was younger girl, my brother die from blood fever. He is my mother’s joy. He the light in our family. After he die, my mother very changed. She still has the sadness, even he die long time ago. I think now, why my mother still sad, when brother unhappy if he know this? Then I answer to myself, mother has no chance to heal inside since he die. She never stop working, she never be still and let the gods help her.

  I have some news. Gordon no longer have Australia job. This economy crisis bad for his company, they ask him to stop work. We go back to Bali now for a while. Cheaper in Bali to live. We stay there until Wayan is two or three years, then we come back to Sydney for his lip operation. We stay in my mountain village whole next year, maybe little more.

  My family compound not big. But we have spare room for you. We have noisy roosters that wake up at sunrise, but life in village is good. Time to be still and have healing place.

  I want to ask if you come with us, Cara?

  I not very good friend for you, I know. Not many years together. But you friend in my heart, in the sadness. You stay long in the village, you stay short, it no matter. My family welcome you. Richard too, if that is the wish.

  We leaving September 21.

  You come with us, we happy. You no come with us, we no matter.

  You call me if you liking.

  Your friend,

  Made

  Cara laid down the letter and stared at the ceiling.

  This isn’t Eat, Pray, Love, she thought. There is no happy ending.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Richard watched her, stunned.

  She turned from the vanity towards him. ‘Putting on lipstick.’
>
  His mouth worked silently for a moment. ‘It’s . . . nice to see.’

  She began applying blush to the hollowed recesses of her cheeks. She’d lost far too much weight.

  Who am I? She wondered, staring into the mirror. I don’t look the same. I don’t feel the same. I’m not me anymore.

  She picked up her handbag. ‘I’m going out,’ she said. ‘To the Delamere Clinic. Miranda’s in there again. She’s relapsed a few times since . . .’ She still couldn’t bring herself to say the words. ‘Pippa’s picking me up.’

  Richard frowned. He laid a hand on her arm, preventing her from brushing past him. ‘Are you sure you’re ready for this?’ he asked. ‘You haven’t been outside for months. And . . . do you really want to see her?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said simply.

  Richard looked uncertain. ‘Well, can I pick you up afterwards?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ she said. ‘Pippa will drop me home.’

  A horn tooted outside.

  ‘There she is now.’

  Climbing into Pippa’s car, she tried to ignore the obvious signs of Heidi. The half-eaten crackers, the smell of stale milk, the soft toys dangling above the car seat.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, clipping her seatbelt into place.

  ‘Hi,’ said Pippa. ‘How are you?’

  Cara didn’t know how to answer that truthfully. ‘Oh, you know.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure I don’t,’ said Pippa. ‘No one can, I imagine.’

  Cara leaned back in the seat and stared out the window. ‘You’re right.’

  They drove the rest of the way in silence. Pippa didn’t attempt to force the conversation, and Cara had nothing to say. She looked through the window at the world outside, spinning violently without end.

  The Delamere Clinic was an unassuming cream and blue building on an ordinary suburban street. Just like any other block of units, Cara thought, bar the notice hanging in the foyer: Change is the first step in a lifelong recovery process. A middle-aged woman in a pink blouse sat behind a reception desk. She looked up from her paperwork and smiled at them.

  ‘We’re here to see Miranda Bianco,’ said Pippa.

  She nodded. ‘Please sign in, then go through to the visitors’ area at the rear. Follow this corridor, turn right at the cafeteria, then you’ll see it. Visiting hours finish at eleven o’clock.’

  Pippa glanced at her watch. ‘Twenty minutes will be plenty.’

  When they rounded the corner at the cafeteria, Cara immediately spotted Miranda among the residents and visitors gathered in the courtyard. She was sitting on a long wooden bench, her head bowed. A slim book lay on the bench next to her, open at the centre. In profile, she was still striking. Cara waited for the anger to rise, tsunami-like, inside her. But looking at Miranda now, she felt nothing at all. Miranda looked fragile. As if, with a breath of wind, she might shatter into a thousand pieces.

  As they walked across the courtyard, it became evident that Miranda was talking to someone. It was Suzie, crouched on the other side of the bench. Cara could see from her heaving shoulders that Suzie was crying. Miranda’s eyes were closed and her forehead knotted with pain. Cara stopped, reluctant to move any closer. Pippa hovered next to her. Neither of them spoke.

  Miranda’s eyes flew open. She looked at Cara, her mouth opening slightly with alarm or shock.

  Suzie followed Miranda’s gaze.

  ‘Oh.’ Suzie sat back on her heels. ‘I didn’t hear you. It’s nice to see you both.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘Miranda and I were just . . . Well, I had an apology to make.’

  Cara looked from one to the other. Both of them looked like they’d been crying for some time.

  ‘Don’t we all?’ said Miranda. She pushed herself off the bench with bony hands.

  Cara watched her, a skeleton moving under skin. Human bodies are so feeble, she thought. Astrid had abandoned her little body so quickly, they couldn’t call her back.

  Miranda took several steps towards Cara.

  ‘I’ve thought about this moment a thousand times,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance.’ Her chest heaved. ‘You trusted me. And I failed you.’ Tears coursed down her cheeks. ‘I wish I could give up my life for Astrid’s.’

  ‘You and me both,’ whispered Cara.

  ‘I won’t ask your forgiveness,’ Miranda said. ‘I don’t expect that, ever. But I want you to know, I will pay for Astrid’s death every day for the rest of my life.’

  ‘So will I.’

  I wish we were both dead, Cara thought. It was my mistake, but you let it happen. She screwed her eyes shut against the anger. It won’t bring her back. Nothing will.

  When she opened her eyes again, Miranda was still hovering before her, like a pale apparition.

  Cara shook her head.

  Then, weary of everything, she extended her hand.

  Miranda caught it between hers.

  ‘Hello.’ A familiar voice interrupted them. Made stood behind them, carrying two trays of takeaway coffees.

  Miranda dropped Cara’s hand.

  ‘Sorry I late, I bring the coffee,’ said Made.

  ‘We need some,’ said Miranda with a weak smile.

  Made looked around the group. ‘It good to see you all.’ She placed a soft hand on Cara’s arm. ‘Especially Cara.’

  Made’s touch was tender. For all of Richard’s attentiveness since Astrid’s death, he hadn’t been able to touch her. She hadn’t wanted him to. But Made’s hand on her arm now seemed to reach into her chest and gently hold the pieces of her heart. Tears obscured her vision.

  A squawking sound made Cara start. She sank into a chair at the sight of Wayan, sitting in his stroller behind Made, grinning his warped, toothless smile. His limbs were much longer. Dark hair flopped over his ears and his hands strained at the harness that confined him.

  ‘You want come down, Wayan?’ Made unbuckled him. He slid deftly to the ground and proceeded to walk unassisted.

  ‘Here, Cara, coffee.’ Made passed her a cardboard cup. Cara sucked at the hole in the lid, her eyes trained on Wayan. His haemangioma was still prominent, a purple cleft across his lip. And yet he was perfect, Cara thought. Such exquisite beauty in his humanity. They watched him potter about the courtyard, examining chair legs and pot plants and cracks between the tiles.

  ‘When do you fly out to Bali, Made?’ Suzie asked suddenly.

  ‘Wednesday next,’ said Made. Her smile was electric. ‘I see family soon.’

  Suzie nodded. ‘I know how you feel. I’m moving back to Queensland.’

  The others made noises of surprise.

  ‘I’ve made some mistakes.’ Suzie glanced at Miranda. ‘And the cost of living in Sydney is too high. It’ll be sad to leave Monika, but . . .’

  ‘You don’t have to do that on my account,’ said Miranda suddenly. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

  Of course it wasn’t her fault, Cara thought. It was mine.

  Suzie sighed. ‘I just really want to go home.’

  There was silence for a moment.

  ‘So do I,’ said Miranda. ‘I’ve been in here three times in four months.’ She dabbed at the corners of her eyes. ‘There’s no quick fix for my problem, though I wish there was, for the kids’ sake. They’re doing okay at Hendrika’s, but it’s been very destabilising for them. As for Willem . . .’ She sighed. ‘Things aren’t looking good for us.’

  She picked up the black volume on the bench next to her. Cara wondered briefly if it was the Bible, if Astrid’s death had prompted some kind of religious conversion. ‘Ginie sent this to me,’ said Miranda, looking up. ‘It’s Daniel’s novel.’

  She turned the book over in her hands, fingering the raised silver lettering on the plain black cover. Blameless by Daniel Hargreaves.

  Cara nodded. She’d received the same gift from Ginie several weeks previously, but she hadn’t even opened it. She couldn’t possibly tolerate reading about the fictional lives of others with her own in such disarray.

&nb
sp; ‘Yes, I saw a review of it, then Ginie sent me a copy,’ said Suzie. ‘It’s dedicated to Ginie, you know.’

  Pippa gave a little grunt of surprise.

  ‘I haven’t seen Ginie since . . .’ Pippa reddened. ‘Since I said some things to her I shouldn’t have. I need to call her and apologise. She didn’t tell us that Daniel was working on a novel.’

  ‘I didn’t think it would ever get published.’ Cara turned to see Ginie, right there.

  ‘Oh . . .’ Pippa’s face was flushed.

  ‘Hello.’ Ginie looked around the group. ‘When Made told me you’d all be here today, I just had to come.’

  She stepped forward and laid a hand on Miranda’s shoulder. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’ve been better,’ said Miranda.

  Ginie nodded. ‘It must be hard.’

  Then she turned to Cara. ‘Are you . . . alright?’

  Cara shrugged.

  ‘Stupid question.’ Ginie shook her head. ‘I’m full of them.’

  Ginie seemed different, Cara thought. Still tall and angular, but softer, somehow.

  Ginie gestured to the book in Miranda’s hands. ‘I didn’t take Daniel’s work seriously. In fact, I didn’t take him seriously.’ She sat down on the bench next to Miranda. ‘Daniel and I have been going to a relationship counsellor. You got us there, Pippa. Here’s your copy.’ Ginie riffled through her bag, then passed a book to Pippa.

  Pippa flushed a deeper red. ‘I’m really sorry about what I . . .’

  ‘Don’t be.’ Ginie cut her off. ‘You told me what you saw that day. That’s fair enough.’ She looked around the courtyard. ‘The thing is, Daniel swore he wasn’t unfaithful. He’s admitted he got too intimate with Nicole, and I’m furious with both of them. I had to fire Nicole, and it’s been a bloody disaster for my work.’ She put her head in her hands. ‘I’ve also had to tell Daniel that just because he didn’t put his dick in, doesn’t mean everything’s okay between us.’ She looked up. ‘It’s not as straightforward as it looks. Daniel should never have got that close to Nicole, but after Rose was born, I stopped making an effort with him. I wasn’t affectionate, I couldn’t be arsed. But it’s hard when you’ve got a baby, isn’t it?’ She hesitated. ‘Anyway, you mightn’t understand, but I’ve had to recognise my role in this whole bloody shambles.’